.........contd
The horrific privations of the families of fallen heroes.
My little child's eyes watch as army officers, state government representatives all descend on the villages and homes of these warriors. 'Wow, isn't that army truck looking lovely with flowers?' Such is how children caught in the moment think. They do not have any idea of what lies ahead. They know nothing about white clothes their mothers will be made to wear; maybe cut her hair, as mine had done; or the smiles and joy that had forever been burnt in those flames that I see now, mercilessly licking away at their dad's remains.
I never saw my dad again. We never saw his body. I never saw any of those uniformed people or the sympathetic hordes at our doorstep. Yes, it is now a long-forgotten debacle. Nothing was what it is like today. We live in a replaced generation to whom only Kargil smells of war.
While I am deeply grateful that mothers, wives, sisters and children now are well cared for and looked after, I often find myself wonder what wrong we did. Did my mother make a mistake in marrying a soldier who was being led by the nose by faulty political promises and the policies of Nehru, Krishna Menon and BM Kaul? My father went to battle in cotton shirts and tarpaulin boots. He fought on frozen heights, under clothed, underfed and under provided for. Today, I am glad to see our boys are well-kitted to withstand cold and are adequately looked after. If god forbid, they fall in battle, their families are well provided for. It was not so when I was a child. I do have faint recollections of growing up wearing only 2 dresses and torn shoes, as the government of the word 'widows' for them.
Those were times when men joined the army for 'izzat and namak' and to serve their nation. As a continuing tradition from the Raj, the profession of soldiering had an innate grace, pride and meaning attached to it. It was not a meal ticket. But India was just finding its feet and there were no policies or budgetary provisions for calamities like the Sino-Indian war. That is my reading. Today we have a policy for the 'veer naris', their children and veterans. I feel contended that at least they will not have to beg for their meals, like we did.
I married a soldier and saw the life of a defence services wife from very close quarters. I experienced the chaos and the fear yet again during the '71, '87 and '99 conflicts. I was afraid of sitting on black trunks again on some roadside kerb, in some cantonment, not knowing where to go or how to get the next meal for my kids. I had seen my mother go through all this. One day saw my mother, me and my sister sitting on black trunks in the pouring rain, having been ousted from homes of relatives. A generous man, passing by, took us home and I still remember Mr and Mrs Khanna in my prayers. They were strangers, but perhaps god some plan in his mind. In those days, post the 1962 war, the army was small and there was nothing called a 'field area' or family accommodation, or any accommodation to speak of. One lived in relics of the British Raj. We lived in soldiers' barracks in Mhow and cantonments were not at all well equipped. The three of us were persona non grata to the government of India. If it had not been for the Indian Army, friends of my father and my father's regiment, the Rajput Regiment, who took care of our small material needs, we would not have been better off than, metaphorically speaking, the torn survivors of the Holocaust.
Since my mother was educated, she got a job and brought us up with as much dignity and grace she could manage. Money was scarce. I remember once living in a room of an under-construction building generously offered by the contractor. It had no doors or windows. He gave us door planks to sleep on. We put some bricks , placed the doors on it and slept on it. Mercifully, such is not the case anymore and I am happy for it. The ladies are looked after from day one. Pensions are adequate and children, too, are looked after. This having been said, by no means can lives of our men be given away cheaply.
Yet, why is there war at all? Armchair strategists keep teaching everyone on social platforms as to how to fight the war. There is frenzied rhetoric and media build up on how, where and why the blood of our boys, my godsons, must be spilt. People whip themselves into a frenzyably assisted by the media and misguided missiles of the political and military fraternity. Most of them have either no knowledge of the ground situation because they are politicians and not strategists; the rest are long retired and are way behind times regarding actual ground situations. I ask them, when you were able, in uniform and in power, why did you not do something to repair situation? There are only a handful of people who give their considered opinion, derived from knowledge and good sense.
To people like me, who have seen too much bloodshed and too much pain, we hate the thought of war. I am a patriot and I love my country. I will give my life, too, for my country if the right reasons arise. All I ask is for the protection of the backs of our soldiers. I ask the nation to unite and care for the morale of our soldiers. I ask for material, financial and moral support for our soldiers and families and I ask for the political and military leadership to display a firm spine.....so that families like mine have better stories to tell. Is it asking for too much?
Concluded.
- Neeharika Naidu. (Her husband, Lt Gen Milan Naidu, PVSM, AVSM, YSM retired as the Vice
Chief of the Indian Army. I was a member of the apex body that took decisions on training - the
JTC - in respect of the defence forces, while he was heading it, during the early '90s!).
Tailpiece.
Got up at our usual time, the chores and was ready by a half past 9. Suma came late as there was a death in her family.
Participated in the webinar on "Copyrights Law and Digital Libraries" by Prof Prabuddha Ganguli from Bombay. It was enlightening.
The horrific privations of the families of fallen heroes.
My little child's eyes watch as army officers, state government representatives all descend on the villages and homes of these warriors. 'Wow, isn't that army truck looking lovely with flowers?' Such is how children caught in the moment think. They do not have any idea of what lies ahead. They know nothing about white clothes their mothers will be made to wear; maybe cut her hair, as mine had done; or the smiles and joy that had forever been burnt in those flames that I see now, mercilessly licking away at their dad's remains.
I never saw my dad again. We never saw his body. I never saw any of those uniformed people or the sympathetic hordes at our doorstep. Yes, it is now a long-forgotten debacle. Nothing was what it is like today. We live in a replaced generation to whom only Kargil smells of war.
While I am deeply grateful that mothers, wives, sisters and children now are well cared for and looked after, I often find myself wonder what wrong we did. Did my mother make a mistake in marrying a soldier who was being led by the nose by faulty political promises and the policies of Nehru, Krishna Menon and BM Kaul? My father went to battle in cotton shirts and tarpaulin boots. He fought on frozen heights, under clothed, underfed and under provided for. Today, I am glad to see our boys are well-kitted to withstand cold and are adequately looked after. If god forbid, they fall in battle, their families are well provided for. It was not so when I was a child. I do have faint recollections of growing up wearing only 2 dresses and torn shoes, as the government of the word 'widows' for them.
Those were times when men joined the army for 'izzat and namak' and to serve their nation. As a continuing tradition from the Raj, the profession of soldiering had an innate grace, pride and meaning attached to it. It was not a meal ticket. But India was just finding its feet and there were no policies or budgetary provisions for calamities like the Sino-Indian war. That is my reading. Today we have a policy for the 'veer naris', their children and veterans. I feel contended that at least they will not have to beg for their meals, like we did.
I married a soldier and saw the life of a defence services wife from very close quarters. I experienced the chaos and the fear yet again during the '71, '87 and '99 conflicts. I was afraid of sitting on black trunks again on some roadside kerb, in some cantonment, not knowing where to go or how to get the next meal for my kids. I had seen my mother go through all this. One day saw my mother, me and my sister sitting on black trunks in the pouring rain, having been ousted from homes of relatives. A generous man, passing by, took us home and I still remember Mr and Mrs Khanna in my prayers. They were strangers, but perhaps god some plan in his mind. In those days, post the 1962 war, the army was small and there was nothing called a 'field area' or family accommodation, or any accommodation to speak of. One lived in relics of the British Raj. We lived in soldiers' barracks in Mhow and cantonments were not at all well equipped. The three of us were persona non grata to the government of India. If it had not been for the Indian Army, friends of my father and my father's regiment, the Rajput Regiment, who took care of our small material needs, we would not have been better off than, metaphorically speaking, the torn survivors of the Holocaust.
Since my mother was educated, she got a job and brought us up with as much dignity and grace she could manage. Money was scarce. I remember once living in a room of an under-construction building generously offered by the contractor. It had no doors or windows. He gave us door planks to sleep on. We put some bricks , placed the doors on it and slept on it. Mercifully, such is not the case anymore and I am happy for it. The ladies are looked after from day one. Pensions are adequate and children, too, are looked after. This having been said, by no means can lives of our men be given away cheaply.
Yet, why is there war at all? Armchair strategists keep teaching everyone on social platforms as to how to fight the war. There is frenzied rhetoric and media build up on how, where and why the blood of our boys, my godsons, must be spilt. People whip themselves into a frenzyably assisted by the media and misguided missiles of the political and military fraternity. Most of them have either no knowledge of the ground situation because they are politicians and not strategists; the rest are long retired and are way behind times regarding actual ground situations. I ask them, when you were able, in uniform and in power, why did you not do something to repair situation? There are only a handful of people who give their considered opinion, derived from knowledge and good sense.
To people like me, who have seen too much bloodshed and too much pain, we hate the thought of war. I am a patriot and I love my country. I will give my life, too, for my country if the right reasons arise. All I ask is for the protection of the backs of our soldiers. I ask the nation to unite and care for the morale of our soldiers. I ask for material, financial and moral support for our soldiers and families and I ask for the political and military leadership to display a firm spine.....so that families like mine have better stories to tell. Is it asking for too much?
Concluded.
- Neeharika Naidu. (Her husband, Lt Gen Milan Naidu, PVSM, AVSM, YSM retired as the Vice
Chief of the Indian Army. I was a member of the apex body that took decisions on training - the
JTC - in respect of the defence forces, while he was heading it, during the early '90s!).
Tailpiece.
Got up at our usual time, the chores and was ready by a half past 9. Suma came late as there was a death in her family.
Participated in the webinar on "Copyrights Law and Digital Libraries" by Prof Prabuddha Ganguli from Bombay. It was enlightening.
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