Life is like that – Page 2

BORN FREE, BUT NOT BORN TO BE FREE

All of us are born free,
They would like us to believe,
But as soon as we’d hear and see,
They send our freedom on leave.

The first to make us enslaved,
Is memory with which we are born,
Generations of data is engraved,
Love, Fear, Amity, Jealousy and Scorn.

Then we have our parents,
With own and embedded ideas in mind,
They think they’re God’s only agents,
To teach us things of every kind.

Good and Bad is thus imprinted,
With each of their instructions,
You do exactly how they hinted,
Or gave you specific directions.

Already a puppet, you go to school,
To lose more freedom to knowledge of past,
They control you by the Book of the Rule,
And you thought you’d become an iconoclast.

And then you find a job with salary,
Your being bonded is now complete;
Your boss, at your expense, plays to gallery,
And you realise what poison is another man’s meat.

And if there is still some freedom left,
It is time for you to tie the nuptial knot;
You are finally, of all independence, bereft,
That, on being born, you had, from God, got.

And I haven’t talked about fads and habits,
That imprison you in their tight grip.
You hop from one to other like rabbits,
As if you are on a controlled trip.

The society and government keep you on leash,
Not ever wanting you to fall off the line,
There is no way you can carve an independent niche,
Unless you suddenly get powers divine.

Of particular mention is the bureaucracy,
That controls you from birth to death certificate.
It doesn’t matter if you live in democracy,
Rules and regulations make you suffocate.

There is, thus, only one way to redeem your freedom,
It is to happily embrace the messenger of Death;
And get back to Heaven’s Kingdom,
On Earth you are enslaved to your last breath.

EK CHHOTI SI GHADI

दाद दीजिये उसकी जिसने बनाई थी घड़ी,
आज तक कोई चीज़ ना बनी इससे बड़ी।

रोतों को हँसा दे हस्तों को रुला दे,
कई दफा तो लगे जैसे हो यह जादू की छड़ी।

घंटों लोग बैठे रहते हैं फुरसत ओ आलस में,
इसे देखते ही अचानक सबको जल्दी की पढ़ी।

बहुत तेज़ यह चलेे आशिक संग बिताये लम्हों में,
इंतज़ार में ऐसे लगे जैसे एक ही जगह हो खड़ी।

बीमारी की हालत में ऐसा दिलाये यह एहसास,
जैसे मरीज़ की नब्ज़ इसके संग ही हो जुड़ी।

कहीं गर यह आ जाये दहशत फैलाने वालों के हाथ,
टाइम बम की बन जाये यह एक खतरनाक कढ़ी।

ग़रीब की कलाई पे यह शर्मिंदगी से सर झुकाये,
अमीर की बाज़ू में दमके लाल ओ गौहर से जड़ी।

देखने में लगती है यह छोटी और ग़ैर अहम,
पर यकीनन ज़िन्दगी और मौत के बीच यह खड़ी।

EVERYONE HAS A MASK

कैसे करें हम असली या नकली की पहचान,
इन्सान दिखता है हैवान, हैवान नज़र आता है इन्सान।

बहुत चोट खाई है इस दिल ने उन लोगों से,
मिलते ही यूँ लगते थे जैसे हों हमारे मेहरबान।

कईयों ने तो हद्द ही कर दी यह जता के हमें:
मान ना मान मैं तेरा मेहमान।

हमने सोचा था वफ़ा करते हैं जो हमसे,
तैयार कर रहे थे वो हमारी मौत का सामान।

वो जिन्हे हम समझ बैठे थे बहारों की ग़ज़ल,
रफ्ता रफ्ता नज़र आने लगे खिज़ाओं का उनवान।

और कुछ ऐसे भी थे जो दिखते थे सैयाद,
करीब जब आये तो बने प्यार की पहचान।

आख़िर में उनके बारे क्या कहूँ मैं, रवि,
हंसते हंसते ले गए हमारे दिल ओ जान।

शक्ल से अंदाज़ा ना लगाना किसी के दर्द का कभी,
पुर सकून चेहरे में छुपे रहते हैं लाखों तूफान।

Our dad died of a jeep accident, just nine kilometres from our place: Whispering Winds in Kandaghat (Shimla Hills) (Please read: ‘Home Is Where The Hear Is – Kandaghat In Shimla Hills’) on the 1st of May 1984. Tomorrow, would be the thirty-fifth anniversary of that fateful day, a Monday, when he was on his way to Shimla to receive his promotion orders as Additional Director of Horticulture, Himachal Pradesh. On the same evening, he and our mom were to travel by train from Kalka to Shimla to be with us at Bombay for my wife’s first delivery.

When the phone-call came about his demise, I thought it would be dad telling us (for the nth time) about their programme (as was his habit). Our world was totally shaken.

The place whereat his jeep went down the hill at Kiarighat is the unlikeliest of the places for an accident: broad and level road with proper parapets. It was rumoured that he was put to death because of a number of reasons; the chief one being that he was fighting it out with the government against discrimination.

Racial, religious and regional discriminations are rampant in India even though, ostensibly, we portray ourselves as being proud of our pluralism. When I was small, in the Himachal town of Mandi, because of my long-hair (as a Sikh) I was subjected to constant jeering by my school mates. Some of it was just annoying whereas at times it was vulgar (“Jatta, O jatta, teri bhen da tatta” (O Jatt, balls to your sister) and dangerous (they tried to bury me alive once and I was saved at the last-minute when my father crossed the burial spot).

Dad too had to face similar wrath by those who feel that Punjabi speaking should stay in Punjab, Bengalis in Bengal and so on.

Our mom died last year on the ninth of August; she having outlived dad by nearly three decades. She used to have the Bhog (Completion of the entire reading) of Sri Guru Granth Sahib on the First of May every year. She would start reading a few months before. This time, it was left to me to do a Sadharan Paath (Daily reading of SGGS for about ten days) in his memory. It was five to six hours of reading at my speed. What kept me going was the fact that dad, just a few years before his demise, did an Akhand Paath (Non-stop reading of the SGGS until completion) on his own with my mom and I providing him short breaks only for ablutions:

Paath was not the only thing that we learnt from our dad. Here are a few of those things (not in any particular order):

1. You Are As Rich As You Think You Are. Dad was a self-made man and hence never had too much of money. He was also a very proud man; he would rather give than take from others. Even at that, he gave the impression of being many times richer than what he was. He told me that his father had given him this blessing when he was still in college, “Mani, tu bahut paise kharchen” (Mani, you should spend a lot of money). My dad told me that he thought of his dad crazier than what I would have ever thought of my dad. It was because with his meagre resources, his father was giving him blessing to spend even more. It is only in later life that my dad understood his dad’s blessing: that he could spend only if he had and he could spend as long as he had. Grandad was an intellectual and a God-fearing man. What a brilliant blessing he gave my father and to credit to the latter, he followed it in toto. Here is on the tenth page of my favourite book: Sri Guru Granth Sahib ji (Raag Goojri Mehla 5):

kaahay ray man chitvahi udam jaa aahar har jee-o pari-aa.
Why, O mind, do you plot and plan, when the Dear Lord Himself provides for your care?

sail pathar meh jant upaa-ay taa kaa rijak aagai kar Dhari-aa. ||1||
From rocks and stones He created living beings; He places their nourishment before them. ||1||

When dad died, we had next to nothing and yet we never forgot dad’s example of being rich.

2. You Should Fear No One Except God. How could dad do it even though he often had people and circumstances ranged against him? It is because he maintained a clear conscience. He was in the horticulture department and we had a lot of fruits and fruit products coming home. I used to think that these were probably perks of the profession. After my dad died I found, amongst his papers a file in which he had been billed for everything that came home and receipts of having paid. He was a terror when he dealt with people (rigid on his principles) and yet other than being harsh whilst demanding standards and efficiency, he never did any harm to anyone. He had the same way of dealing with his superiors as with his juniors and I have seen and heard his superiors fearing him. Dad stood alone combating all his problems. It was only just before his death that I was saddened to know what he was going through. He never gave the impression that he had any problems. He often sang and I know that he fervently believed in this hymn:

Jis ke sir upar tu swami,
So dukh kaisa paave?

O Lord, one who is under Your protection (one who considers You to be above himself),
How can he experience any suffering (in life)?

Coincidentally, in the Yaad Kiya Dil Ne (my Music Group on Facebook) Group’s Annual Meet at Kandaghat, on 14th April this year, Pammi sang my dad’s favourite hymn that was penned by Sri Gobind Singh ji when he was in Machhivara Forest, alone and separated from everyone, whilst fighting against Aurangzeb:

Mithr piaarae noo(n) haal mureedhaa dhaa kehinaa ॥
Thudhh bin rog rajaaeeaa dhaa oudtan naag nivaasaa dhae hehinaa ॥

Tell the beloved friend (the Lord) the plight of his disciples.
Without You, rich blankets are a disease and the comfort of the house is like living with snakes.

3. Nothing Is Impossible. It has been 35 years after his demise and yet I have never come across a man who believed in this more. If his heart was set on doing a thing, no one could stop my dad. When he constructed the house at Whispering Winds, Kandaghat, the local Panchayat declined to provide water connection so far away from the main town of Kandaghat (we are exactly one and half kilometres away and that’s why our village is called Ded). Undeterred, dad went about laying a pipe from the village Bawri (a water resource in the hills) and next day we had all the water we wanted. This connection is our main source of water even 39 years later. Following our example, the other houses have made similar connections. Fortunately the Bawri has enough for everyone.Two of the very good examples of following in the footsteps of our dad were provided by my younger brother JP. In Shimla, he had just finished learning roller skating when next he broke the world-record of non-stop skating. Later, he had just learnt bicycling when he bicycled all the way from his school (Lawrence School Sanawar) to Kanyakumari.

Dad won’t take No for an answer and always found a way out.

4. Family And Friends Are Important. Dad invariably took us along with him for picnics, get-togethers, visits etc. Even when he was hard on us, we knew he never planned anything without us. Similarly, he made friends easily and stood by them in their hour of need. He was a great party man and offered the best hospitality to all who visited us irrespective of their status in society. I recall that mom would be publicly embarrassed by him in case she wouldn’t have offered the best available at home to the guests. His sincerity and loyalty towards the larger family and towards his friends often saw him through situations that could be messy.

5. Never Lose Your Sense Of Humour. Dad had a sense of humour that never lift him. He would make fun of serious situations and consciously made them smaller than they were. He would often laugh out loudly and include everyone around him in the lighter side of the situation. Conversely, he would make some very insignificant (to us) things look very big. For example, whilst travelling with him, we had learnt after several shocks, that if he would suddenly say, “Oh, eh ki hogeya?” (Oh, what has happened now); we should know that he hadn’t run over something or that the vehicle had developed serious defect, but that we had suddenly crossed a milk-bar without stopping.

6. Never Mix Work With Pleasure. Dad’s full energies and time were utilised on whatever he was engaged in. If he was working, there was no way he could be expected to give less than his best. Conversely, when enjoying, work was farthest from his mind. I remember after I became a commissioned officer in the Indian Navy, I came home on my first leave unannounced, hoping to give him a pleasant surprise. Mom wasn’t at home. I kept my baggage with the neighbours and walked to dad’s office some five kms away. Dad was happy to see me, hugged me, and offered me a glass of fruit-juice. The time was about 2 PM and dad said we would go back together at the end of the day. Within about ten minutes, he was so busy in his work that he had forgotten all about me. It was only when we were going back home that he exchanged pleasantries.

7. Always Be Kind To The Lower Staff. Dad was large-hearted and invariably forgave his staff for even their worst lapses as long as these were honest mistakes. He would slang them until cows came home but I had seen this for myself that the staff had no doubts in their minds that he loved them. On the day that he died, rather than the driver picking him up from our home, dad was to pick up the driver since his house was between our house and Shimla where dad was headed. He was killed just a km short of the driver’s house.

Right now, even after thirty-five years of his demise, we still feel discrimination in our place. Someone who has flagrantly encroached on our land appears to be favoured by the authorities in the garb of being a local. However, with our dad’s principles that we inherited, we bat on regardless and fear no one but God.

Tomorrow, when we have the Bhog of the Sri Gur Granth Sahib, exactly how our mom used to do it for so many years after dad went away, we shall pray that we never falter on those principles that made dad what he was.

Dad, we still miss you but you are still alive with us.

ON MY BIRTHDAY TODAY: TO MY CHILDREN, GRAND AND GREAT-GRANDCHILDREN

From your mom, dadi and nani

On my first birthday, after I went away,
I know you will be miserable and sad,
But today I have something else to say,
I hope that would make each one glad.

Let me start with the eldest of you,
Mona’s husband our dearest Maharaj,
I always loved you, my son Linoo,
You were always the jewel in my taj.

Mona, you have always been a daughter,
That can make any mother proud,
We have shared together tons of laughter,
Sometimes subdued, at others loud.

I am not going to write for you much,
The one nearest, my dear son Ravi,
I know you can write anything as such,
After all, you were born (to me) a kavi.

That brings me to my bahu, my Lyn,
Who shared with me endless love,
I hope that brings, on your face, a grin,
When I shower blessings from above.

JP, my darling, my little “Sweet”,
You were always closest to my heart,
You were there whenever we could meet,
Even death can’t make us apart.

Chuck you came into our lives gently,
I really adored your attitude and skill,
You are smart physically and mentally,
Having you in family was always a thrill.

Let me turn to first of grand and great-grand,
Ankur, Simran, Mohiraa and Noor,
Anywhere they went on sea and land,
Nani‘s house was never too door (away).

Tiny and Ippy are my favourite darlings,
Can’t describe the joy of being with them,
Whenever they visited I developed wings,
One a diamond and the other a gem.

Samira and Arjun filled me with elation,
When they tied their knot together,
I would have given them great celebration,
If they had visited Kandaghat ever.

That brings me to my youngest grandson,
One and only Arun-the-great,
There is no one like you under the sun,
You were really worth the wait.

Birthdays are special, I know,
You’d have wanted me to be there,
But look for me wherever you go,
And you’d find me everywhere.

And I would be waving at you, as always,
When you’d leave Whispering Winds, my abode,
Then, waiting for you to return on important days,
My eyes forever fixed on the road.

HAPPY NEW YEAR – LOOKING AT THE PAST WITH THE WISDOM AND CAPABILITIES OF TODAY

As Time moves on, there are instances when we would love to have frozen a past event or even a moment for posterity. On the other hand, we just let it go without (at that time) realising its true value. Lets say some sixth sense would tell us that a particular moment that we are uncomfortable about or even find detestable would bring us the greatest happiness in future, won’t we preserve it with more wistfulness than the attitude of get-it-over-with-ASAP that we often have?

Let me give you an example. We are sitting in the classroom. The teacher is going on and on whilst we look outside the window. Everything else outside appears more interesting. We want to complete our schooling as quickly as we can so as to get over the boring stuff and get on with some real stuff that makes life worth living. Now, if someone was to tell us that 90 percent of the people when asked about nostalgic moments of their lives mention school-time as the number one, won’t we have enjoyed those moments more?

Here is what a mother told her son who was making faces at her cooking: “Relish it, son. Years later you would be telling your wife how good it was in comparison to her cooking.”

When I was a young officer in the Navy, I remember having seen this movie called The Final Countdown. It was in the year 1980. The movie was directed by Don Taylor and starred Kirk Douglas as Captain Matthew Yelland, Commanding Officer of USS Nimitz, which had sailed from Pearl Harbour, in 1980, for a training sortie in the Pacific. The ship had a civilian observer on board: Warren Lasky, played by Martin Sheen. The ship passed through a strange storm-like vortex and suddenly went back in time to 6th Dec 1941, a day before the Pearl Harbour Attack by the Japanese Fleet. Even though the ship had gone back in time, it had all its armament, sensors and aircraft on board as in the present day (1980). Gradually, as the events unfolded, the ship and its crew realised that they had been transported back in time and that with the modern facilities available on board, just one ship, USS Nimitz, was enough to take on the entire Japanese Fleet that had wreaked havoc in Pearl Harbour on that fateful day. Captain Yelland had to decide whether to destroy the Japanese fleet and alter the course of history, or to stand by and allow history to proceed as normal. Nimitz launched a massive strike force against the incoming Japanese forces, but before it could reach the enemy armada, the time – storm returned. After a futile attempt to outrun the storm, Yelland recalled the strike force, and the ship and the aircraft returned to 1980 safely. History was unaltered.

(Poster courtesy: boredanddangerousblog.files.wordpress.com)

The movie was a fine example of how we can’t alter the past with the wisdom and capabilities of today. Every moment that we live has actually gone forever and there is no way one can alter it.

Many people have this fantasy about seeing their own funeral by traveling back in time even after death and seeing people cry and miss them and pour out their love that they never got the feel of when alive. Urdu poets have written volumes about consoling the love of their lives after death. Why just Urdu poets? Even the great Punjabi singer (greatest?) Asa Singh Mastana sang this ghazal about seeing mourners after his death: Jadon meri arthi utha ke chalange, mere yaar sab gunguna ke chalange (When they carry me in my funeral procession, all my friends would walk humming in sadness).

That’s why the New Year is so attractive; it, and every passing year, allows us to look at the past with the wisdom and capabilities of today. We rejoice in the nostalgia of our childhood and schooling, even forgetting those times when we wanted to fast-forward and get-it-over-with.

Even a person with average intelligence can make out that there is nothing really new in the new year. Each day is a new day caused by the rotation of the earth around its axis. This rotation, completed in 24 hours, makes the Sun appears on the horizon in the East and makes it set in the West, Who made the New Year? We made it. Who made Time? We made it; imagine your landing on some other planet or star that doesn’t rotate around its axis in 24 hours of the earth. What do you call this new Time? Does it have a relationship with Time on Earth? Just like Time varies around the earth (if it is New Year in Japan, it would be another six and half hours before it is New Year in India), now imagine it in the universe. Is it the same time of the day, or even day or year or century in, say, Venus?

Why should we worry about the universe? Ain’t we content about living on earth without having to worry about what happens elsewhere? The short answer is No, we ain’t. Just as Columbus sailed to discover India, we have ventured out to other celestial bodies to see if they are like us. When a mountain climber was asked, “Why did you climb this mountain?” his response made a lot of sense to me, at least: “Because, it is there.”

Imagine a scenario, say 500 years (Earth Years, that is) from now, when the following announcement is made on the Radio Station in Space: “We wish our listeners on Earth a Happy New 2518, on Mercury the continuation of unendable long winter, on Jupiter…….”

The scriptures are very fond of saying that God made Man in His own likeness. He gave the best to Man except, it appears, the ability to alter his past. But, hey, look again and you will know that even that is possible! Have I gone mad? Or madder than I normally am? Well, here goes:

The scriptures erred in one significant point and that is that we must live the present moment and not to live in the past (Please read: ‘Debatable Philosophies Of Life’). Actually, there is no present moment, you can’t live it. By the time you can even think of living it, it becomes past. Your past is, therefore, the most significant period of your life. However old the past is – one moment to several years – we always look at the past with the wisdom and capability of today or the next moment.

Hence, if your past is indeed the most significant period of your life, why not make it more beautiful, more memorable? You know you have to live with your memories more than with your hopes and aspirations (which too are indeed children of your past!). Dissipate all your energies and – hold your breath – time in making it beautiful and memorable. It is in your hands.

Once you make your past beautiful, it is attractive and welcome to recall it.

If you have done so, you would rue burning the effigy of the passing year. You would automatically say: Yes, 2018 would be very beautiful but 2017 was also beautiful; I didn’t want it to end.

And I am saying it despite my having lost my mother – the most precious part of my life – in 2017. She and I made exceedingly rich memories that would never die.

Lastly, ladies and gentlemen, if in the so called new year you are going to do nothing new, isn’t it wasted exactly in the same manner as the past year? Hence, just think of at least one thing new that you would do in the new year that you hadn’t ever done before. Good luck.

Think………………..that’s the biggest gift that God has given us. The second biggest being that He made every moment new and not just the new year.

KUCHH SOYE HUYE ARMAAN

आधी रात को जब उसने बुलाया “honey”,
बढ़ गयी तुरंत मेरी diabetes;
सांस का तेज हो जाना स्वाभाविक था,
दिल की धड़कन भी हो गयी increase.

सब कुछ बढ़ चढ़ के उछाले मारने लगा,
एक brain ही था जो हो गया था seize.
पैंतीस साल हो गए हमारी शादी को,
अभी भी हूँ मैं प्यार का मरीज़ I

गर्मा गर्मी में वो अरमान भी जाग उठे,
जो कल तक लेटे थे होके freeze.
आज तक कभी हिम्मत न हुई थी,
पर अब हमें भी जोश आ गया, please.

और हमने बढ़े इश्किया आवाज़ में कहा:
कल देखेंगे, अब न करो हमें tease.
वो बोली: “खिड़की बंद करने के लिए जगाया था,
और तुम क्या समझे थे, बद्तमीज़?”

“मुझे खूब पता है तुम्हारी काबलियत का,
पुराने जोड़ो में अब नहीं है grease.”
बुढापा आ गया, हमने अंदाज़ ऐ ग़म में सोचा,
छूट गयी हमसे जवानी की दहलीज़।

एक ज़माना था बंद खिड़किया खोल देते थे हम,
अब बोलती बंद है, हम बने हैं नाचीज़।
काश कहीं से जवानी वापिस आ जाए,
और बन जाए मेरी मुस्तक़िल अज़ीज़ I

MOM’S ANTIM ARDAAS

My mom’s Bhog (Antim Ardas) was supposed to be on the thirteenth day (tehranvi). However, that happened to be on Monday, the 21st Aug, and I thought of the convenience of family and friends and had it on Sunday, the 20th Aug.

On the Friday, 18th Aug 17, we started with the Akhand Path (continuous reading from the Sri Guru Granth Sahib) for her at about 1141 hours. My mamaji (mom’s younger brother) came from NOIDA to hold my hand since Akhand Path requires enormous support effort. We did duties in rotation and barely had any sleep during the 48 hours of Akhand Path. Mamaji’s effort is many times more appreciable since he left in Delhi an ailing wife requiring urgent medical treatment. Also, for most people, the 75th Birthday is an important milestone of life. Mamaji’s happened to be on the 18th and coincided with the start of the Akhand Path for my mom and his sister. Much against his strident objections, we had a cake made for him and celebrated life as much as we bemoaned death.

My brother-in-law serving the lunch prepared by my sister to the Bhaijis

My sister Mona and brother-in-law Maharaj could make it before lunch on the next day since their elder son got admitted in the Command Hospital at Chandi Mandir. My sister is simply the best cook and hostess that I have come across. On the first day and night we had managed by ourselves. However, on the second day, she brought enormous and mouth-watering lunch for the Gurudwara Bhaijis since they have only suchcha khana made in desi ghee. Post that, she got busy preparing dinner for them.

Viru, my course-mate arrived from Gurgaon on Saturday evening to attend mom’s Antim Ardaas. Very thoughtfully she brought for the memory of my mom, a brass embossed and beautifully framed picture of the Golden Temple, Amritsar. He didn’t just buy it; he got it made on the way at Ambala and hence, even though he started from Gurgaon at 5 AM, he reached in the evening only.

JP, my younger brother, arrived from Edinburg (Scotland) for the second time in two weeks, for the bhog in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Whilst waiting for me and doing duty at the Akhand paath, I penned a few lines of Punjabi poetry as tribute to my mom. Later, at my mother’s Antime Ardas, at about 1230 hours, I, on behalf of my sister Mona, broher JP and our families, thanked the gathering for attending the Bhog for my mother, recalled her essential attributes and contribution and finally read out the poem I had penned just a few hours back. My coursemate Viru recorded the entire poem and I am putting up the video shot by him.

This is only the second poem by me on this blog, in Punjabi (the first one being: ‘Anne Na Raho (Don’t Remain Blind)‘:

ਮਾਤਾ ਜੀ, ਇਹ ਸਾਡੀ ਹਾਲਤ ਹੈ,
ਤੁਹਾਡੇ ਹੁਣ ਜਾਣ ਤੋਂਹ ਬਾਦ,
ਦਿਲ ਵਿਚ ਇਕ ਉਦਾਸੀ ਹੈ,
ਲਬਾਂ ਤੇ ਹੈ ਫਰਿਆਦ I

ਤੁਸੀਂ ਜੀਵਨ ਚ ਜੋ ਕੁਛ ਕੀਤਾ ਹੈ,
ਅਮਰ ਰਹੇਗੀ ਤੁਹਾਡੀ ਯਾਦ I
ਸਾਡੀ ਜ਼ਿੰਦਗੀ ਚ ਹਰਦਮ ਰਹੇਗਾ,
ਤੁਆਡੇ ਪਿਆਰ ਦਾ ਸਵਾਦ I

ਤੁਸੀਂ ਔਰਤ ਨਹੀਂ ਇਕ ਦੇਵੀ ਹੋ,
ਸਾਨੂੰ ਮਿਲਿਆ ਸੀ ਤੁਹਾਡਾ ਅਸ਼ੀਰਵਾਦ I
ਫ਼ਕਰ ਅਤੇ ਮਾਨ ਹੈ ਸਾਨੂੰ ਇਸ ਗੱਲ ਦਾ,
ਅਸੀਂ ਹਾਂ ਇਕ ਦੇਵੀ ਦੀ ਔਲਾਦ I

ਇਹ ਜਿਹੜੀ ਜਗਹ (Whispering Winds, Kandaghat ) ਤੁਸੀਂ ਕਾਇਮ ਕੀਤੀ ਹੈ,
ਹਮੇਸ਼ਾ ਰਹੇਗੀ ਇਹ ਆਬਾਦ I
ਧਰਮ ਈਮਾਨ ਦੀ ਤੁਸੀ ਮੂਰਤ ਸੀ,
ਅੱਠਵੇਂ ਪਾਤਸ਼ਾਹ ਅਤੇ ਤੁਸੀ ਹੋ ਜ਼ਿੰਦਾਬਾਦ I

ਆਪਣੇ ਬੱਚਿਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਤੁਸੀ ਛੱਡ ਕੇ ਚਲੇ ਗਏ,
ਸਾਨੂੰ ਚੰਗਾ ਨਹੀਂ ਲੱਗਦਾ ਆਪ ਜੀ ਤੋਂਹ ਬਾਅਦ I
ਜੱਦ ਤੁਸੀ ਭੀ ਕਿਸੀ ਤੋਂਹ ਡਰਦੇ ਨਾ ਸੀ,
ਫਿਰ ਕਿਊਂ ਨਾ ਹੋਯੀਏ ਅਸੀਂ ਭੀ ਡਰ ਤੋਂਹ ਆਜ਼ਾਦ?

ਸਾਧ ਸੰਗਤ ਜੀ, ਚਲੋ ਉਸ ਮਾਰਗ ਤੇ ਚਲੀਏ,
ਜਿਸ ਦੇ ਸੀ ਸਾਡੇ ਮਾਂ ਜੀ ਬੁਨਿਆਦ,
ਤਾਕੇ ਹੌਲੀ ਹੌਲੀ ਇਸ ਦੁਨੀਆਂ ਵਿਚ,
ਵੜਦੀ ਰਹੇ ਚੰਗਿਯਾਯੀ ਦੀ ਤਾਦਾਦ I

(Mata ji, eh saadi haalat hai,
tuhaade hun jaan tonh baad,
Dil wich ik udaasi hai,
Labaan te hai fariyaad.

Tussi jeevan ch jo kuchh keeta hai,
Amar rahegi tuhaadi yaad.
Saadi zindagi ch hardam rahega,
tuhaade pyaar da swaad.

Tussi aurat nahin ik devi ho,
Saanu miliya si tuhaada ashirwaad.
Faqr ate maan hai saanu is gal da,
Aseen haan ik devi di aulaad.

Eh jehdi jagah (Whispering Winds, Kandaghat ) tussi kayam keeti hai,
Hamesha rahegi eh abaad.
Dharam imaan di tussi moorat si,
Athhven paatshah ate tussi ho zindabaad.

Aapne bachchyan nu tussi chhad ke chale gaye,
Saanu changa nahin lagda aap ji tonh baad.
Jadd tussi bhi kisi tonh darde na si,
Phir kyun na hoyiye aseen bhi dar tonh azaad?

Saadh sangat je, chalo us maarg te chaliye,
Jis de si saade maa ji buniyaad.
Take hauli hauli is duniya wich,
Wadadi rahe changiyayi di tadaad.

We soon had the family and friends arriving and we had the Samapati (End) of Akhand Paath at about 11 AM. We then shifted the Sri Guru Granth Sahib ji into the drawing-room when more and more people arrived:

All this while, I kept thinking how much mom would have enjoyed the family get-together if she was alive; she would have walked on clouds. Friends and relatives arriving at Whispering Winds, Kandaghat, always put her in the best mood; she actually enjoyed looking after and being with people.

The kirtan for her started and I think the Bhaijis did a very good job of it. It was dignified, on the sober and quiet side, melodious and meaningful; the kind that mom would have enjoyed thoroughly. Said Viru about it later:

“…..I have to say that I was immensely touched by the intensity and ‘fervour’ with which the family and you in particular turned the antim farewell for your dear mother into a remarkable ‘event’ that all (even the Irish) (the night before, Viru was telling me about the Irish Wake) could draw a lesson (I certainly have). from as to what a loving (albeit rather emotional) son must do for his parents. But, it’s like the chicken and the egg story…which one arrived first….love and emotions are also inextricably linked……take care and fair breeze through ‘Whispering Winds’.”

There were two only tributes: one was by me on behalf of the larger family. Amongst other things, I brought out how my mom was only one of my maternal grandparents children who was named after a guru: in her case, the eighth guru Sri Harkrishan ji. He was known as the Bal Guru since he took over at the age of just 5 years and died before the age of 8 years when he caught small-pox whilst looking after people in Delhi (at the spot whereat the present Bangla Sahib gurudwara stands) suffering from Cholera and small-pox, unmindful of his own safety. My mom, I brought out, had some of those virtues. I also brought out how after my dad’s death on 01 May 1984, mom lived in Whispering Winds, Kandaghat, like a sherni (lioness), not at all scared of staying alone or facing all the challenges when all the cards were stacked up against her.

Then there was tribute by Shri Mohan Goel, one of the locals from Kandaghat. Here is what he wrote and sang for her:

Most of our relatives could make it for the Bhog. Mr HS Pannu, my boss at my last job at Reliance, arrived all the way from Mumbai to attend the Bhog. Amongst the friends who visited, a number of friends from my music group Yaad Kiya Dil Ne visited: Viapn Kohli, Suman Saxena, Rakesh Aman Bhatia, Anindya Chatterjee and his wife Deepa and Jaswant Singh Lagwal and his wife Kavita. Just four months ago, mom was there attending the YKDN annual meet and now they were here at her last farewell. JP’s partner Chuck and friend David sent two of the prettiest bouquets of flowers for mom.

I was particularly touched by Mamaji’s daughter Amandeep (Mitu) arriving all the way from Delhi, by car, totally alone. From her childhood days she is polio stricken but that didn’t deter her from attending her loving masiji’s bhog.

We had the langar after the bhog and then one by one everyone left. At night, just the three of us: my brother JP, my wife Lyn and I were at home. We would, of course, never be alone or lonely since my mother’s memories would always keep us company.

Antim Ardaas? For us, it is the beginning of another journey……a very intimate one indeed.

NOW THAT I HAVE FINISHED BURNING MY MOTHER….

Seven years ago I wrote an article on my mother titled ‘Seventy-Eight Not Out‘. The last three lines of the article were:

“We are not going to be deterred by the steepness of the climbs. We shall gleefully look back after conquering each one. You are seventy-eight not out and you will be not out until the end of the match!”

On the 9th of August, the match ended for her.

She ascended from earthly life to eternal life, bestowed upon her by God Himself. The doctors at Indira Gandhi Medical College Hospital (formerly Snowdon Hospital) Shimla declared the end of her earthly life at about 8:40 AM. That’s because procedurally they have to get an ECG done and get a straight-line before announcing it. However, I, who was closest to her when she went, heard it from her, in her feeble and yet lucid voice, at about 8 AM: “Pitaji, beeji, main aa rahi haan” (Father, mother, I am coming (to you)).

Pitaji and Beeji had named her after the eighth guru of the Sikhs: Guru Har Krishan Ji, sometimes referred to as Guru Hari Krishan ji. Guru ji was born to the seventh Guru of the Sikhs, Guru Har Rai ji and his wife Krishan Devi (Sulakhni). Some of my friends who are closest to me do underestand my love for Lord Krishna or Krishan, the name that is prominently there in my mother’s name, and in the name of the eighth guru and both his parents.

After she was burnt on her funeral pyre on the 10th Aug afternoon, the next morning my mamaji, my younger brother JP, my elder son Arjun and I collected her mortal remains from the same pyre, and dispersed them in the river Sutlej at Gurudwara Patal Puri, Kiratpur Sahib. Coincidentally, the Guru after whom my mother was named, was born at Kiratpur.

Gurudwara Bangla Sahib in Delhi, the site of Guru Harkrishan ji tending to the cholera and smallpox stricken people (Pic courtesy: discoversikhism.com)

Now, why have I laboured to bring out these coincidences? Simple, the Guru after who she was named, became a guru at the age of just five years. He had the body and heart of a child. However, his mind was fully grown in that he could recite fluently from the scriptures including the Bhagvad Gita. He was so sacrificing that when he toured Delhi, he found people suffering from cholera and smallpox. Unmindful of his personal safety, he tended to the sick (Gurudwara Bangla Sahib stands at that site) personally and tirelessly, caught smallpox himself and died before the age of eight years; thereby, not just being the youngest guru of the Sikhs but also the one who had the shortest tenure.

My mother had similar attributes. She had the innocence of a child, mind of an intellectual and spiritual, and an overwhelming self-sacrificing nature. All her life was spent in caring for others. She would forgive easily and very often prayed for and wished well even her detractors and enemies. I was, for instance stunned, when those people who have encroached on our land and have dragged us into protracted and difficult court cases had a sadness in their house and my mom said, “Kaka, jaa ke puchh ke aayin je ohna nu kisi help di lodh hove” (Son, go their and enquire if they require any help).

How does it affect me now that my mother is not physically with me? I can think of a number of ways.

The first and the foremost is that the place Whispering Winds, Kandaghat belongs to her and shall always belong to her. It is not just a question of mere ownership of assets by law. For example, in many cases, the assets of the husband automatically pass it to the widow and the children on his demise; which happened with her and us on 01 May 1984 on dad’s death by accident. It is actually much more than that. Dad decided to make their house in this place whereat, to start with, there was nothing: no houses, no connectivity, no resources. Mom stayed in a tent for a number of months until the ground-floor rooms of the house were ready (it took almost an year to be constructed). She supervised the complete construction and found answers to all the problems – small and big – that came up during construction. There were no local buses during those days. She would somehow stop a long-distance bus, go up to Solan (a distance of 15 kms), get the labourers from there by bus and get on with the construction.

Mom with all of us at Whispering Winds, Kandaghat on her 75th birthday on 15th Mar 2007 (Picture taken by my nephew (sister’s younger son) Ankit and hence he is missing from the picture)

The other day I got the bathrooms of the house renovated for the first time after 39 years. The demolition people found it very tough to break down existing tiles etc because mom had personally ensured that the correct ratios of sand and cement and the best materials were used. At the age of 85 years (at the time of her demise), she knew exactly where and in which storehouse what was kept. Just to give an example, I got some of the doors replaced by aluminium framed glass sliding doors. Initially, when these were hard to slide, the fitter suggested that these should be greased. I was at that time making a dozen trips to the market to get this or that. I had just returned from getting something that the plumbers wanted from the hardware store and hence didn’t want to go again to get grease. Just on a hunch I asked my mom if we had some grease at home. Here is how she did loud thinking, “Kaka, jadon saada mushroom project chalda si (in 1983 to 87; for heavens sake, 30 years ago!), tanh asin motoran nu grease dinde si. Guddi (our maid-servant), dekhin gaay de uppar waale kamre wich ik kaale dabbe wich grease payi hovegi” (Son, when we ran the mushroom project (in 1983 to 87), we used to grease the motors. Guddi, please see in the room above the cows room and you will find grease in a black box). Ours is a large house with many disparate linked outhouses. My mom knew precisely where anything and everything was stored. It would be hard for anyone of us to emulate that since none of us had the kind of involvement that she had.

The second is her larger than life presence in my life. For the last thirty-three years, five years more than one-third of her life on earth, she was constantly with me. There was a somewhat reversal of roles in that in addition to being my mother, she became my baby to look after. When I was in the active service of the Indian Navy, there were months when she lived alone at Kandaghat and I spent everyday of my leave with her. However, after retirement in end Feb 2010, she was also constantly and physically with me. Everywhere we went, we went together. Her strong character, will and grit ensured that rather than being my weakness, she was indeed a strength. Whilst I executed all the works in our house in Kandaghat, she did more than her bit, physically and morally. I could turn to her for sane and cool-headed advice, especially under difficult and trying situations. My father was nearing retirement when he died of an accident. He had taken bank loan to start a mushroom project. My mother and I struggled to run the project to pay back the mounting loan. When I joined the Navy, dad had bought a housing plot for me in Ludhiana. I sold it off to partly pay back the loan. Its market price is in crores now since it is in a posh locality in Ludhiana. She put in all the physical effort to run the project. Mushroom is a fast perishable commodity and grows in flushes rather than at a constant daily supply. We faced gigantic problems of marketing mostly due to the avarice of the middle-men (the bane of all agricultural and horticultural marketing in India).

The long and short of it is that in everything I did I banked on her advice and guidance and vice-versa. That thread has broken now and I have to prepare myself to face the world alone. In my favourite song on Maa, the one whose lyrics are most appropriate to describe her (Tu kitani achhi hai, tu kitani bholi hai, pyaari pyaari hai, O maatuu kitanii achchhii hai tuu kitanii bholii hai
pyaarii-pyaarii hai o maa.N o maa.N; penned by Anand Bakshi, composed by Laxmikant Pyarelal and sung by Lata Mangeshkar), there are my favourite lines that describe my emotions towards my mom:

“Ye jo duniya hai, ye ban hai kaanton ka,
Tu phulwari hai….”
(This world that is there, is a forest of thorns,
You are a flower garden….)

Having mom besides me made me stronger to face upto challenges that life threw at us.

The third is the horde of memories that we made together. My mom had the remarkable ability to take things in her stride and I am proud to say that she has passed on some of it to me. Lyn and I were blessed with our elder son Arjun within a day of my dad’s bhog (prayer meeting) on 13th May 1984. Even in her extreme tragedy of having lost her husband in an accident, she quickly shifted to looking after Arjun and my wife Lyn (short for Marilyn).

Arjun brought great joy to her as she looked at him as if God compensated her in some measure for having prematurely taken her husband away. When Arun too was born, two and half years later, her hands were full. We really made great memories together and tried to get over the sadness of dad’s untimely demise. In the accompanying picture you see us together having a picnic in our own orchard at Whispering Winds, Kandaghat.

This is too short an article to give you all the memories that I collected with my mom in the last thirty-three years after my dad’s demise. I am giving you some select ones culminating in the two Yaad Kiya Dil Ne meets in 2016 and 2017 wherein she was the darling of our Facebook group on songs and music (Please read: ‘Yaad Kiya Dil Ne Group Meet At Whispering Winds, Kandaghat‘) I have to live with those memories now and have nothing more to add to them.

The joy of prayers together with Arjun in the home gurudwara at Whispering Winds, Kandaghat

One of those occasions when JP, my younger brother’s visit coincided with ours

It was merely four years ago, in May 2013 that she preferred to walk the steep steps to Shiva Mandir in Chail rather than reach all the way by car:

It was a tough and long day for her at the age of 81 years since we went to Chail, Kufri and Shimla and came back late in the evening but she not only took it in her stride without complaints, she said she enjoyed it. That was the last time she had visited these places:

After I retired from the Navy in Feb 2010, she shifted with us in our house in Jal Vayu Defence Enclave, Kharghar, Navi Mumbai and we had a great time having guests at home, birthdays, Christmases, and visiting nearby places like Lonavala. Everywhere wer went, we went together including movies and restaurants.

She was at her best during Arjun and Samira’s wedding on 08 May 14. I know that this one function made her walk on clouds:

During the inauguration of Kharghar’s Gurudwara on 01 Sep 2013, she surprised everyone by walking all of nearly four kms around the Central Park for Prabhat Pheri (Morning Procession). This was possible because she loved to walk and until April this year, when we returned to Kandaghat for the summers, she would walk 1.5 Kms everyday in the mornings:

Mom also said that she would like to attend Arjun and Samira’s company’s NH7’s Bacardi Weekenders (Music Fests). In the years 2014 and 2015, she attended the fests in Bangalore and Pune respectively. Despite all the crowds and in Bangalore the weather being bad, she enjoyed the experiences, as you can make out from the following pictures:

My mother was the most spirited person I have come across; she was the life of the gathering and no one could have ever suspected her failing health that would lead to her demise so suddenly. Looking back, all of us close to her, now feel that perhaps she knew that time was running out for her. So, last year (2016) starting the month of September, she did two things: first, she went on a tour of Punjab to meet relatives including her elder sister Raj Bans Kaur in Ludhiana and younger sister Surinder Kaur in Nawanshahr. During this visit, she also went to her parents’ (Pitaji’s and Beeji’s) place in village Urapur near Nawanshahr in Punjab:

She insisted on having the larger family over for Diwali at Kandaghat last year. My sister Mona, her husband Maharaj, their two sons Ankur and Ankit with Ankur’s wife Simran and two daughters Mohiraa and Noor, my younger brother JP and his partner Chuck, my wife Lyn and son Arjun attended the get-together. This was the last Diwali at which she was physically present:

The fourth is that my mother was the connect between me and the larger family both on her side as well as on my dad’s side. I had been away to the Navy for long and hadn’t seen many of them for years. She, on the other hand, rejoiced in meeting relatives just as my dad did when he was alive. In my dad’s and mom’s memories, I intend keeping in touch with all these relatives who were so close to both of them.

From the last year onwards, we started having Annual Meets of my Facebook Music Group ‘Yaad Kiya Dil Ne’ at Kandaghat. She liked my music friends and in turn all of them were captivated by her. Here are some of the pictures of this year’s meet:

In the last years YKDN Meet, Raj Dutta put up a video about the meet with the song: Woh bhooli daastan lo phir yaad aa gayi (That forgotten tale, lo, once again I recall it). I had asked him to take it off because it sounded so ominous. However, today, when mom has suddenly left us, its lyrics echo in my mind as the most appropriate to remember mom by. These were penned by Shimla boy Rajinder Krishan (Krishan being in my mom’s name too!) and composed by Madan Mohan. Lata Mangeshkar sang it in the movie Sanjog (Coincidence):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ZSmIJo6h5c

I particularly like the lines:

बड़े रंगीन ज़माने थे, तराने ही तराने थे
मगर अब पूछता है दिल, वो दिन थे या फ़साने थे
फ़क़त इक याद है बाकी, बस इक फ़रियाद है बाकी
वो खुशियाँ लुट गयी लेकिन, दिल-ए-बरबाद है बाकी
कहाँ थी ज़िन्दगी मेरी, कहाँ पर आ गयी
वो भूली …
(There were colourful times, there were songs,
But now my heart asks, those were the days or merely fables,
Only a memory remains now, only a prayer remains now,
All those joys are over now, only deserted heart remains,
Where was my life (at one time), where it has reached now?
That forgotten tale….

The difference is that this tale would never be forgotten as long as I live.

THEY ALSO SERVE WHO HAVE STONES PELTED ON THEM

Mary (curiously an anagram of Army, the institution being discussed here today) of Magdala (a city on the southwest coast of the Sea of Galilee) or just Mary Magdalene was being stoned by a mob because of her sins (particularly adultery; the Army doesn’t have adultery, it has infantry) and that’s the time Jesus came to her rescue and said, “The first stone should be cast by one who hasn’t sinned”. One by one, as per the gospel, they all went home and left her alone. Later, she was witness to Christ’s Crucifixion and Resurrection.

In sharp contrast, we have any number of Indians and Indian political parties who indulge in stone-pelting (physically and figuratively on the national media, for example) against the Indian Army and some of them rejoice in this carefully acquired hobby. Jesus, and for that matter Mohammad, Rama, Buddha, Nanak and others all keep quiet. It is not them but the Army that is being crucified.

The dark humour is in the fact that some of them are the same people who cannot exist in those hostile situations even for a minute without the army directly or indirectly protecting them. However, at the quickest opportunity they take up such issues (without understanding them at all) as repeal of AFSPA or Armed Forces Special Powers Act.

And what is or are the sins that the Army has committed to earn this opprobrium? I can think of a few; you are welcome to add more:

It is ensuring the territorial integrity and sovereignty of our nation and that’s not to the liking of the vested interests that would like to see this great nation being broken up into fragments.
Through elaborate, exhaustive and nerve-racking training, its men and women have become shining examples of discipline, valour, uprightness and patriotism, the very attributes that stand in the way of people who revel in chaos, avarice, cowardice and ill acquired comforts.
It has values that the countrymen hold dear and there is a dire need to bring it down to the gutter that some of these people find themselves in. “Will teach these holier-than-thou b____s not to try to be different“.
It has been victorious in very war that was thrust on it and come out in flying colours in any task or situation it was asked to handle. “It is high time these s.o.b.’s taste defeat” (“what do they think of themselves?”)
It believes in the tenet of ‘selfless-service’, which is ‘foreign’ to self-aggrandizing lot.

In all this, no one has ever thought of the scenario wherein the army says (not that it ever would, with its self-imposed restraint and discipline): “Enough is enough; let them fend for themselves in all situations other than foreign-aggression.” (Please read: ‘Long Time No War‘, for example)

The politicians and bureaucrats have a quick-fix solution to anything and everything by calling the armed forces to handle internal situations that have been caused by the acts of omission and commission of those who should have been directly responsible for handling those situations. In my essay ‘Identification Of Friend Or Foe In Indian Maritime Scenario’, I had brought out how the Indian Navy was wrongly blamed for the failure to prevent 26/11 Mumbai Attacks and how, post that, it is the only leading navy in the world made responsible for coastal security. Having been made responsible, the Indian Navy personnel even went about conducting census of fishermen in the coastal states to bring a modicum of order in the near chaotic scenario that prevailed. They presented this data to local authorities whose job it was to conduct such census.

The joke going around in the naval circles was and is: ‘Anytime you see water, think of us‘.

It is the same with the army on land.

Recently, my wife and I undertook a trip to Kaza in Spiti district of Himachal Pradesh from our home place in Kandaghat. Roads were alright up to Rampur Bushair, Jhakri and Karcham. But, from there onwards it was an ordeal. There were only three kinds of roads: the good and wide metalled roads (about 10 percent); roads that could be distinguished from khuds and nallahs with a little closer scrutiny; and finally, what I call as environmentally friendly roads: ie, no change from their original condition before the roads were constructed.

In many places, after Powari and Reckong Peo, we came across army jawans having been placed at really bad stretches of roads. Their purpose? Hold your breath – to prevent injury to people from falling and shooting stones!

You don’t find humour in this? Well I find enormous humour in this: these are the same people that people pelt or hurl stones at and these are the valiant men who think nothing of risking their own lives to keep you from getting injured and/or killed!

These are the kind of valiant men (my friends Durga Dutt and Amit Kumar Rana) on which stones are pelted and yet they think of only saving the pelters from injury.

We had lunch with the army at a palce called Sumdo (we cross over from Kinnaur district to Lahoul and Spiti district there). The place is free of all vegetation and there are bald ills (the distant ones had still snow on them). When we were driving back to Malling, we found a Malling Detachment of army men, being posted there in a hilly road of shooting stones, to keep people safe when it is not even their task to do so.

They offered my wife and I hot tea and Good-Day biscuits and said, “Saab thak gaya hoyega” (Saab must be tired).

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I am giving you my first unadulterated reaction (and please forgive me if it is a little unparliamentary language):

“Bloody ungrateful countrymen”.

P.S. One of the WhatsApp messages going around is about one of our countrymen complaining to the waiter about stones in the rice-pulao he had ordered. The waiter clarified: “It is Kashmiri pulao, Sir”.

NAVY, THE SILENT SERVICE THAT VERY FEW UNDERSTAND

Now that we are less than two days away from decommissioning Indian Naval Ship Viraat, the world’s oldest warship in active service, perhaps it is time that we take in how huge are things at sea in comparison to what we are used to ashore.

I remember when I was undergoing the Army Higher Command Course in 1996-97 and it was being discussed how two-third of India’s energy imports are in the Gulf of Kachchh (GoK), within easy reach of the Pakistan Navy and Pakistan Air Force, it was discussed as to why should we have these imported there? Why couldn’t we transport it “by lorries” etc to safer places? When I mentioned that a lorry carried up to about 20 tons of fuel and that an average VLCC – just one VLCC that is (VLCC – Very Large Crude Carrier) – being received at GoK ports was anything between 100000 tonnes to 250000 tonnes, this was the first time that their minds were exposed to something as large as this.

A VLCC at a Single Buoy (or Point) Mooring in GoK

There is, therefore, no shame in admitting that one is almost totally at sea whilst discussing matters of the sea. Even some of the Navy guys don’t understand the enormity of things of another branch or department.

Take the case of a ship at sea wanting to exercise with a submarine that she had met by chance encounter. The submarine signaled back, regretting her inability to do so since ‘she was charging her batteries‘. At this, the ship signaled to the submarine that she would approach close to her and batteries could be transferred to the ship for charging by her.

Didn’t understand the joke? Well, a submarine displaces about 2000 tonnes. Roughly about one-fourth to one-third displacement of the submarine is due to her propulsion batteries. These are the batteries that the submarine charges whilst on surface or at periscope depth so as to provide her with underwater propulsion. And, the CO of the ship was asking her to transfer them to the ship for charging! A submarine’s battery is not a small, unitary device like a car battery, but a massive collection of huge individual cells gathered in a large compartment in the lower section of the hull!

Cut-up view of the Russian Kilo-Class submarines (Indian Sindhughosh class) Observe the rows of batteries at the bottom (Pic courtesy: defense-update.com)

Viraat is a light aircraft carrier (only about 25000 tonnes). Yet she carries with her, in the form of her flight deck only, about 3 acres of Indian sovereignty wherever she goes. And she has done this, until 23 Jul 2016, when she sailed last, 1,094,215 kilometers of passage around the globe (Vikrmaditya is about twice her tonnage and more than 4 acres of flight deck). Viraat is about a quarter of a kilometre long and you add another about 60 metres for Vikramaditya! Anything between 28 to 33 feet of the ships are underwater. Vikramaditya, for example, has 22 decks (equivalent to ‘storeys’ of a building).

INS Vikrmaditya (Pic courtesy: jeffhead.com)

However large a ship may be, it can never match the enormity of the sea. Ask a pilot, for example, and he would tell you that at sea, landing on Viraat appears to be like landing on a match box.

In one of the theatre-level exercises, being the Director of Maritime Warfare Centre, I and my staff were in the Control Centre and also asked to analyse the exercise. One of the ships (my ex ship Ganga) sent a report from sea of not just detecting (on radar) Viraat, but actually sighting (imagine sighting with naked eyes) Viraat at close quarters. The CO asked his ship’s company to come up on the upper decks and they not just saw Viraat but some of them took pictures too!

We married the tracks in MWC and found that Viraat was 180 Nautical Miles away at that time. And yet, even in the debrief, Ganga CO insisted that they ‘saw’ Viraat!

This is just one example of ‘illusions‘ we see at sea.

You can’t blame an Awkward Sentry who didn’t come to know that the ship had sailed off in my earlier post Awkward Sentry.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is high-time that we start learning about the silent service, the Indian Navy, the fifth largest Navy in the world that is about to decommission the oldest active warship in the world: INS Viraat.

CHEST PAIN!

When I was a Lieutenant (another common-sounding rank with the Army and hence eligible to be called ‘Lieutenant (I.N.)’ by them (Please read ‘Captain (I.N.), Is It A Rank?’), I once reported with Chest Pain after playing a game of squash racquets. I was in an establishment called INS Agrani (Navy’s Leadership School for Petty Officers), in Coimbatore. I reported to the No. 6 Air Force Hospital there (as I go along, you will see how mine was a totally tri-service experience). I had assumed, with my ignorance-is-bliss-attitude that chest pain was like any other pain; eg, pain in the throat, leg, hip, arm and head. Little did I know that docs, friends and relatives go into a tizzy as soon as you utter the words chest pain. Before you can say anything else, Medical Specialists and Cardiologists take positions around you like fielders in the slips in a cricket match; telling you how you should reduce stress levels, how to put a pillow under your head and how to take life easy and just as it comes.

After I survived the first onslaught by the concerned docs, I was sent on sick leave to my home station Shimla in a medical category so low that one had to be on one’s knees to find the ruddy category.

Anyway, Shimla’s Military Hospital, at that time, didn’t have a qualified cardiologist (apparently people in hill stations have very sturdy hearts) and at the end of my leave I was asked to report to Army Hospital, Delhi Cantt for my re-categorization.

This was the biggest eye-opener experience for me. The Medical Ward was full of officers who had reported with Chest Pain. I learnt that all of them were getting their houses made in NOIDA and reporting with Chest Pain ensured free boarding and lodging in Delhi. The docs in the Army Hospital were following a don’t-trouble-us-and-we-shall-do-likewise policy. Officer-patients at night would tell grateful tales (for me horrid tales in my condition) of how they had stayed there for months without being seen by a doctor.

Chest pain ensuring free boarding and lodging

I made a lot of noise and Colonel D (I better not give the full name), the Cardiologist, agreed to see me on the next day of my reporting to the hospital. In the hospital, I discovered that even Brigadiers and Generals were scared of him and waited patiently outside his clinic cum office for hours altogether. If Colonel D would get annoyed, he could spoil an officer’s otherwise brilliant future by finding something wrong with his ECG or worse, a murmur in his heart.

After being sobered by such tales, I entered his office with trepidation and he asked me to bare the upper part of my body and lie on an examination table behind a screen. One Medical Assistant came and put jelly at various spots on my chest and after that went through the process of attaching the leads of the ECG at the jellied spots. These kept coming off as I breathed in and out; the breathing having become harder with the scare of the procedure and anxiety about the outcome.

Anyway, I maintained my calm with the visions of my Medical Category finally rising to its original lofty height. Just at the time when the MA was going to call Colonel D to have a look at me, some docs entered the room with reams and reams of ECGs.

Colonel D enquired from them if these were the ECGs of a very sick patient Subedar Swaran Singh. Through the slits in the screen I noticed that they all nodded agreement.

Colonel D took the first ECG and said, “I see some improvement from the last one.” At this they gave him more and more ECGs and he nodded encouragingly that the patient’s condition was indeed improving. Finally, when they finished showing him the last one, Col D enquired, “So, how’s the patient now?”

At this, one of them solemnly said, “Sir, the patient died this morning; we are still trying to figure out why.”

My breathing stopped altogether. For once the ECG leads on my chest stood their position and stopped falling off.

Epilogue: I got my category of a healthy young man after undergoing several tests such as TMT and sitting in a Decompression Chamber. I continued having a T-inversion in my ECG all throughout my life and even now. However, I cannot tell you enough how mortified I was that I would have suddenly improved ECG like Swaran Singh, and then conk off without anyone knowing why.

ADIEU PATRICK DESYLVA – MY DOCTOR, FRIEND AND AN ANGEL

Even though I am married to a Catholic, I never considered 13 to be an unlucky number. From now onwards, I have reason to hold it as an unfortunate day. For it is on this day in this month (February) that I lost my doctor, friend and God’s own angel on earth: Patrick DeSylva. He was (it is difficult to think of him in the past tense) special – very special – and it was shocking to get the news on last Monday evening that God wanted Patrick to be nearer to Him than we wanted him.

My Association with Him

They say that people come into your life for a reason. Long back I was convinced that Patrick (Paddy as some of us called him) came into my life to prove to me that whilst I thought God was unkind to me for having given me a life-long disease Psoriasis, He was most kind by giving me an outstandingly reliable doctor, guide and advisor whom, on one plane I could hold affectionately as a friend and on another plane look up to him almost as a saint sent on earth by God to do His work (If you see his picture above with the wax statue of Mahatma Gandhi when he, Patricia and Rohit (wife and son) visited Hongkong in May 2012, it would not be surprising to see more than slight resemblance). Patrick was indeed Mahatma to all his patients. Desylva was his surname; it could have been Nightingale, for, even as a very senior doctor in the Navy’s Hospital in Mumbai, Asvini, he would personally attend to patients’ (both officers and sailors) lesions and other skin afflictions.

I became his patient in 1994 when I was second-in-command on INS Viraat. His clinic was in the old building next to the gate. He was a Surgeon Lieutenant Commander at that time. It was the first time I had seen such large crowds of patients waiting. Later, I was to know that even if there were other dermatologists, people preferred to wait for him to see them. He took cuttings of my nails to rule out fungal growth and asked me to carry out an RA Factor Test to rule out Rheumatism and soon he diagnosed it as Psoriasis with Arthropathy.

As I saw more and more of him, I was to realise that despite the shock of my life-long affliction, God had compensated me by giving me the best doctor ever. His presence, his talking to me and his prescribing medicines and advice to me, all were always reassuring. In nearly two decades of my being with him (though I kept getting transferred all over and he too did the same), there were many instances when, however busy he was, I went to see him just to be reassured and not to obtain any medicines or treatment. He probably knew it but never looked edgy or gave me less importance. And, later when I compared notes, I found that there were hundreds with whom he was into such arrangement.

Amongst many memories of his, I shall take out two, just to tell you what sort of doctor he was. In the year 1995, I got my first attack of Urticaria (Hives). I drove to Asvini, at night, for emergency treatment. He was not even on duty; but, within no time he was there attending to me. It is as if he had left a word that he should be called for any of his patients.

The second incident is even more poignant for me. When Patrick’s own condition deteriorated, which finally led to his demise (it was sometime in 2009-10 that he was diagnosed with Parkinson Disease), I had to start seeing another dermatologist. However, three years ago, when I was admitted to Asvini for severe gastritis, I found him visiting me at my bedside having been brought there on a wheel-chair. Whilst I talked to me, he stared somewhere at a distance. However, at one point there was a flicker of recognition. Little did I know that that would be the last flicker of recognition that I would see in him.

Patrick’s Career

Patrick was born on 17th March 1955. Coincidentally, Patricia (Puttu), his wife also has birthday on the same date. He was a student of St Theresa High School, Bandra from Jun 1960 to Apr 1971. He joined St Xavier’s College in June 1971 for BSc (Chem) (Honours) and graduated in Oct 1975. Soon thereafter, he got selected for Army Medical Corps (AMC) and graduated from AFMC (Armed Forces Medical College, Pune) Grad School in June 1980. He specialised in Dermatology thereafter and that’s how I saw him from 1994 onwards. Patrick was so fond of his AFMC roots that he never forgot to wish his colleagues and friends from there on the AFMC Day on 04 August. And this continued even after his Parkinson Disease (PD) had progressed extensively. He retired as a Surgeon Commodore. I was waiting to see him as a Commodore. But, sadly, PD came along and put a sudden end to his career and life. We all have to bow to God’s will. However, one still fails to understand why God would give Parkinson to someone like him. All of us entertained fervent hopes of Patrick’s full recovery. Here is what a friend, Glen Ferro, wrote to him on FB on 30th Mar 2016: “Hey Paddy. Have been meaning to talk with you and share my written testimony with you. God healed me of CANCER- NHL 3rd stage high grade diagnosed in 2007.
If you sms or WhatsApp or post me your email address I could send you the soft copy. If HE did it for me HE can do it for you. Godbless.” Alas.

Personal and Family Life

Patrick’s is a very closely knit and private family and I have Patricia’s permission to intrude and share a few photographs, when I told her that without this my tribute for him won’t be complete. I must begin by acknowledging that Puttu always stood by him in this entire period of trial that God made them go through. I have seen them occasionally in social gatherings including at our house in Ahilya building, before I retired in Feb 2010. She exhibited enormous courage, love and compassion to renew memories with him by visiting places even when his condition worsened.

Patrick completed his specialisation from AFMC in June 1986. Before that, on the 6th day of May 1986, he and Patricia married in Pune. Rohit was born on 25 Mar 1987 (I am thankful to Rohit for having put up the accompanying lovely picture yesterday). Nikhil, the younger son was born on 24 Nov 1988 in Kochi. Both grew up to be handsome, loving, intelligent and well-mannered children in the likeness of their parents. Indeed, every year, for Christmas, we all looked forward to seeing the family picture, next to the X-Mas tree. Here is one each from the happier days (year 2010, before the PD started having effect on him) and the last one in Dec 2016:

Being a doctor, Patrick would have known how the PD would start affecting him together with dementia and depression. Hence, after he joined the Facebook on 29th Mar 2009 (having been prodded into joining by a friend Rita Villaneuva), many of his posts were full of his scores on online video games such as Burst the Bubbles, Mindjolt, Angry Birds, and Zombie Frenzy, so as to keep his mind active. I took my son Arun to see him once (Arun has been a video gaming champ); Patrick and him happily discussed video games.

On his 60th birthday on 17th March (Puttu has her birthday on the same day. She is four years younger)

We would wish them on their birthdays (same day: 17th March); sometimes Patrick on Patricia’s timeline and vice-versa. Both would very graciously respond to the birthday greetings. It was a treat to receive his message despite the shakiness and slowness of his movements due to PD. How we all prayed for him.

And all the while, slowly but relentlessly the disease progressed though there were occasions and moments when it didn’t look like the disease had any effect on him whatsover. The 12th Dec 12, whilst attending Rohit’s graduation convocation, appeared to be one such day:

All the cheer that this brought in his life was soon wiped away when Patrick lost his father in March 2013; as it is Parkinson Disease has the symptoms of anxiety, dementia and depression. In 2012, the family (mostly because of Puttu’s resolve and dedication) kept a brave face by visiting Hongkong, Macau and Shenzhen (Guangdong) in June of that year. Anyone looking at the pictures can’t believe that he is suffering from a dreadful disease:

The most poignant picture (poignant now that Patrick has left us) is of them visiting Udaipur to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary on 6th May 2016. The picture is representative of Puttu’s, Rohit’s and Nikhil’s desire to see him as happy as possible. Indeed, there is another picture of them going to Goa together to celebrate his 60th birthday.

Patrick that We Would Remember

Whatever be his patient’s circumstances, Patrick always talked to them with a smile that started slowly (almost imperceptibly) around his lips but soon spread to his face and to the faces of his patients. He always brought hope to all of us even though in the end he landed himself in a hopeless condition. Patrick was an epitome of that small minority who hide their own pains in order to bring cheer to others.

We were at Vice Admiral Lowe’s house once (not too many years back) and Patrick took up a guitar and it surprised me (I didn’t know about this attribute of his) to hear him play and sing a lively song. Honestly, he appeared more appealing to me than Elvis. How was I to know that Patrick would leave us early like his singing idol did?

Patrick was deeply religious. What about comparison to Saint Patrick, the Apostle of Ireland? Saint Patrick’s Day is observed on 17th March, which is Parick’s (Paddy’s) birthday and the day when Saint Patrick died. It is difficult for me to get over the interpretation that on the day when one saint died, another was born. Here is a family picture on the Saint Patrick’s Day in 2016, less than a year before Paddy died:

Dear Patrick, knowing you, I won’t be surprised that you would have got to work in heaven too; after all people require to be cared for everywhere and you are always there to provide a helping hand. Since I have enough evidence with me that you would have, I have to tell you that my Psoriasis requires to be attended to again and like all your patients, I wish to be seen only by you.

Please don’t fail (you never did) all of us.

MARRIED TO THE MOB!

Ladies and gents, guys and gals,

Did any of you see this rip-roaring American comedy starring Michelle Pfeiffer and Matthew Modine? Michelle Pfeiffer did the role of her lifetime as Angela de Marco, wife of gangster Frank “The Cucumber” de Marco. Matthew Modine acted as Agent Michael “Mike” Downey, the undercover FBI agent assigned the task of investigating her mafia connections.

So, you have understood the name but must be wondering what has this got to do with my Facebook Group ‘Humour In And Out Of Uniform’ or HIAOOU for short? Well, if you look at the poster, you will read the words: “They’re her family….. whether she likes or not”!

And now you’d start seeing the connection! We have any number of these young, wistful girls who marry armed forces officers because they are impressed by the uniform, smartness and the daring. Star-stuck, they keep dreaming of the time they would be alone with the husbands….however, the mob never leaves the husband. It takes sometime for it to sink with them that the mob is the family.

My wife and I, for example, married in love (some of you must have seen and read some of my posts about us, eg, ‘Lyn And I – Scene By Scene’ and ‘Navy Couples – Made For Each Other (A Valentine’s Day Post’). I cautioned her that during our wedded life, friends may land up home any time; but, I don’t suppose the full impact of it registered with her…….well, until, they actually landed up! As I offered them drinks and told her to come up with some small-eats, she whispered to me, with more than a slight edge: “But, we’ve had our dinner long time ago.” After 35 years of being with the ‘family…..whether she likes or not’, this initial comment of hers appears downright naive to her only, now! She can now hold classes for ‘young, wistful girls marrying armed forces officers‘ with this opener: “Decades before Airtel got this ad, the faujis knew that ‘Har ek friend zaroori hota hai‘. There is nothing like rustling up left-overs for the friends; your husbands and they would demand the best. So, you ought to be prepared at all times.”

Now the other side!

I was posted as a bachelor officer in Navy’s Leadership School for Sailors: INS Agrani in Coimbatore and CRJ was our XO (Second-in-command). A few of us (four to be exact) were bachelors and, in the nights, we raided married officers houses in rotation. None of the ladies needed any classes to understand how to treat us; they were the epitome of hospitality, affection and generosity.

One day, CRJ, in order to (re)establish authority as XO (second-in-command is after all second-in-command!) told us in mock-anger that we created too much ruckus in his house during our last raid. He was, otherwise, the sweetest of the souls and so was Mrs. J. We, the bachelors, had a conference and decided that probably Mrs. J didn’t like our boisterous nature and hence CRJ’s bemoaning. So, we decided, (as in naval slang) ‘with immediate effect‘, to skip CRJ’s house during raids.

Ladies and gents, this continued for two weeks. We raided every other house but CRJ’s. After this period, we were urgently summoned to CRJ’s office. As we entered, he closed the door behind us and then – hold your breath – he broke down completely! He said Mrs. J had been berating him every night with, “The gang has stopped coming to our house only. You must have told them something bad. Shame on you. Have you forgotten your days as a bachelor? Now, do something before we are permanently ostracised.”

And so the cycle continues!
Today you are the ‘Mob’, tomorrow, you are ‘Married’!

RIVER RAFTING DOWN THE GANGES

I had never done this before even though I always wanted to. I have spent 37 years in the Navy; but, that’s like a person joining the air force on the strength of his having travelled on the upper deck of a double-decker bus.

My wife and I were visiting Haridwar and Rishikesh after our Course Get-together at Dehradun. The day before attempting to make true our fantasy we visited the place called Shivpuri (23 Kms from Rishikesh towards Badrinath), the launching ground of most river rafting done in that area except for the really intrepid ones who go much further up the river.

Next day, we decided that we had to undertake a rapid quickly enough so as to get over the fear rather than launch ourselves from this location. So we went a kilometre further up and came to this spot:

We were staying with the army at Raiwala and with their help, it wasn’t difficult to book the rafts at reasonable prices. There are of course a number of rafting operators readily available charging you as little as Rupees 500 per head and about Rupees 3000 for the entire raft. We had a little difficulty because on the morning of our adventure, the operator told me that we (my wife and I) were both on the other side of sixty and regulations permitted him to permit people up to 38 years of age to undertake the rafting. He somberly added that a few years back a qualified rafting guide had lost his life when the raft toppled (capsized) in a rapid. Even the Wikipedia talks about whitewater rafting as extreme sports that may result in fatality.

Lyn (short for Marilyn) and I however convinced the operator that we would be very very careful. With me being from the Navy, our guide soon gained confidence and I negotiated one of the rapids standing up in the raft. I also enjoyed jumping in the river and swimming.

Lyn and I with a person from the army (Parmeswaran) to help us and our guide (Aryan) and his assistant soon formed a reliable team (the primary spirit of the rafting) and trusted one another with our lives. I learnt that the international rafting association, the governing body of rafting anywhere classifies the rapids into six classes with Class 1 being those rapids that require slight manoeuvering, with small rough areas, and not requiring anything more than basic skills to the most dangerous rapids being of Class 6 with risk of serious injury and death being very high. But then, if there is no risk, there is no fun (Please read my: ‘The Lure Of Going On A Limb’ after my rappelling experience). They say only the most tortuous paths lead to the most beautiful destinations and in case of whitewater rafting, it is very true.

There are of course a number of rapids by the time you get to the destination (Ram Jhoola at Rishikesh) and one of the fearful ones is called Roller Coaster. Here is a video made by me of other rafts going through this rapid (whilst you are in the raft and negotiating it, clicking videos is the last thing that you’d want to do. Hence, I don’t have videos of our negotiating these rapids):

Here is the first of the rapids called ‘Camel Top’ that we negotiated (the video is shot by me of another boat doing the same thing):

It is not just the rapids that give you thrill. Every once in a while you come across calmer waters (of course with strong under currents) and then you get to look out and admire the scenery and your other mates in the raft:

In the above pics, you would have noticed a man on the bank, in maroon robes playing on the flute. He was playing the popular arti Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram. My video couldn’t capture the notes but I could capture the atmosphere:

Whilst paddling through the rapids, the technique that we used more often than not was to continue with the momentum as much as possible by rapid paddling called punching. High siding (leaning out as much as possible on the higher side in order to right the raft going through the rapid) was used only once or twice and we didn’t use low siding at all. For a navy-man, who has done these enough at sea in a sailing boat, there was nothing new, however. I must, at this stage, have a word of praise for my partner, my wife, for not just the daring but enjoying the adventure thoroughly:

I was reminded of the time, seven years ago, when we went to Andaman and Nicobar islands and I offered her to do snorkelling with me in Chidhiya Tapu. She was apprehensive of lowering herself into the sea because she doesn’t know swimming. However, after she learnt the technique and saw the beautiful choral underwater, she didn’t want to get out:

Rafting can actually be that kind of fun and more. One doesn’t ever want it to get over. It is like going through the river of life with all its ups and downs, dangerous and risky times, calm and happy occasions and of course the joy of having been there and done that.

Soon we had crossed the last of the rapids called Doble Trouble, the name having derived from the rocks in the middle of the river, dividing the river into two. At this point we started seeing first the Laxman Jhoola and then our destination the Ram Jhoola:

We had had an experience of a lifetime and as we saw the Ram Jhoola and the places around, wanted it to go on and on and never finish:

The notes of the final part of the aarti of the evening before for Gange Maa echoed in our hearts and ears and we felt fortunate that Ganga Mata (Mother Ganga) gave us the opportunity to be with her and witness her kindness, loveliness and enchantment even if for just two and half hours:

Be part of this enchantment and do this adventure at least once in your life. As far as my wife and I are concerned, it has prepared us for bigger and greater adventures.

Zindagi na milegi dobara (You can’t get your life again).

Category: Life is like that