My New Book 'The one way street' [Archive]

bls31

June 2nd, 2007, 08:45 PM

uncle ji,Please do write some content from ur book.a brief summary.I wont be able to get ur book here in ameica.
regard
ritu

Thank for the response ,it is encouraging me to Post the 'Preamble' of the book which in way is the frame-work of the book . It is rather long , suggestions are welcome as to what can be deleted BLS

PART ONE

Why I wrote, what I call ‘The One Way Sreet’, ‘The Passage’ the titles kept on changing from ‘My Life Her Times’, ‘The Story of My Life’, and ‘Love, Pain and Guilt’, each pertinent, as the story kept on taking shape?

Life is a one way street with no ‘U’ turns possible, albit with road blocks, twists and turns, moving relentessly towards one final destination,

This is the story of my Life, a part of it before Rosy, a lot with her and an unending trial without her.

The answer to the question’Why I wrote…’ is simple and staright forward, first she motivated me into writing ‘Letters From the Border’, in the process, making a bit of a writer of me and later an intense desire to put on paper what Jeet was and what she meant to me, also to relive the best period of my life and to do some thing creative and to retain my sanity.

♣

It was in Jun 55 that I got involved with my, first and only, mistress, the Army. Mistresses are more demanding and possessive than wives, so I was told; it was with all the pomp and ceremony, with marching columns, Brass band in attendance, VIP's presiding, relations, friends, colleagues, and a multitude of others. I was on top of the world, having just braved the long and arduous ceremony, still decked in finery.

Little did I know that my, new love, had other plans for me. Demanding total submission, whimsical and unpredictable by nature, expecting and getting 24-hour attention, her control over me was total, deep, pervasive and complete.

My life was styled and controlled by her norms. I was reminded time and again that I had to follow the customs inherited from her forefathers. I did not even have choice of what I ate and when I ate, the timings were fixed even the menu was decided a week in advance.

Periodically, I would be taken out in the wilderness, delebrately deprived of basic comforts, to asses how well I had been conditioned, physically and mentally. She at times even tested me to check if I was brave enough to face a bullet to keep her honour. However, I was still infatuated by her and the style, glamour and prestige accruing for having tied the knot with her.

I was in euphoria once again; the two of us living in our own world, alas the paradise lasted, only, till the leave of absence, a wedding gift, having run its course, came to an end. Army those days firmly believed in the adage ‘Separation makes the Love Bond Stronger’ and promptly posted me to a field station, far away from her.

She adamant on accompanying me, I was in a serious dilemma, short of words and bereft of any logic to convince her, as to why she, a citizen, free to travel anywhere in the country, could not go with me to where I was going. I did not have any option but to report back to the Second, abandoning the bride of few days, leaving her perplexed and heartbroken and in her own words abandoned.

Alas, one day, exactly after 30 years of devoted servitude, Army, the mistress, perpetually young, decided that I had become too old for her and pensioned me off.

I was now free to spend more time with Jeet, a belated effort, to compensate for having neglected her all this time. The damage however had already been done, the pain suffered, hurt felt and tensions borne during the earlier life, had their cumulative effect, nature too decided to join in, and one day the sky fell on us, her ‘Biopsy’ result came-out positive. Thus started our long fight, lasting for more than 8 years with the most dreaded enemy one can have, Cancer, she bravely and I patiently. Many battles were won and many lost by both of us over the period. We came even closer to each other, the love bond becoming stronger, she worried of my future without her and I fearful of loosing the battle, holding her hand tight to prevent it slipping away.

♣

Her illness was our second and longer Honeymoon, at least in terms of the time and space, now, of being together. To me she, even with her now frail body was still as attractive as earlier, may be more, especially with the fear of loosing her looming large all the time. The Army’s adage; separation makes the Love Bond Stronger, once again proved right, now that we are so far away from each other the bond is the strongest.

We lost the battle but retained the fighting spirit, because of the love, concern and empathy for each other.
♣

And one day she also left me for her heavenly abode, 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?

Abandoned by one and discarded by the other, I, now left alone, divide my lonely hours in longingly looking at the Photo hanging on the wall and with nostalgia at the uniform in the cupboard.

♣

The Pain of loving; I loved her not because I needed her; I needed her because I loved her. I harbour the Guilt of having deserted her, more that once, when she needed me most, to answer the call from Army. Of the two Rosy the wife and Army the mistress, Rosy was caring, loving and demanding, the other just demanding, the later also taking precedence during the service career. The Guilt also, of living life, now, without her; guilt also of living with the Pain now being bearable, even if only if for short a spans. The ashes of passing time do now partially cover the ambers of pain, but only partially. Life is precious and has to be lived, though it results in Guilt of looking at every new day of life, without her, with anticipation. I am not dwelling on the past, the past to me is like a favourite book which I can flick open from any where at random and start reliving

bls31

June 2nd, 2007, 09:00 PM

uncle ji,Please do write some content from ur book.a brief summary.I wont be able to get ur book here in ameica.
regard
ritu

Part TWO

♣

So different from a small town like Dehradun with bungalows, neighbours and friends moving in and out without announcing, involved both in your celebrations and mourning , living in this three bed room flat, now too large for my requirements, in this multi-storey building in Noida,

occupied by face-less people, busy with their own affairs, impersonal; with no time for others, now alone in the crowed, but the memories some of the immediate and others from distance past are good enough a company. I am alone, especially now that Rollo, the dog, my sole company has also left, strange it may seem, but not lonely.

I am single not by choice or design but by divine intervention. Now I have all the space to myself, freedom of action or inaction, with no one to ask questions. For company, I have to seek or give a party and for sleep, an empty bed by my side, every night, a reminder of what it meant not to be a single.

♣

With her death warrant in hand, she was well aware that she had to leave me some times soon and more worried about my survival, without her, in this impersonal world, then her own predicament of leaving me behind, to fend for myself, with no one to care and look after me in this impersonal world, she set about planning for my rehabilitation, as a mission, deliberately and in right earnest.

How can I forget the long and tedious flight to New York, undertaken to hand over her worry about me to Chotto, our daughter, the new curtains she had hung, recently, in the house, the carpet, in the living room for which she made me drive to Panipat at a time when she could hardly walk, the set of mattresses, she purchased, during our last car drive together, from Lajgpat Nagar, her small and big efforts made despite her failing health, jars full of pickles, spices filled bottles, still adoring the shelves in the kitchen.

I remember the frustration of our drives to the various restaurants, where I took her every evening, hoping she would eat some thing at least, the order only to be pecked-at and brought packed to be consigned to the rear of fridge, to next day’s meal for Rollo.

Many things remind me of her, her portrate,taken a few days after we got married, her water-colours, among other talents she was an excellent painter, hanging on the wall, the golf club while passing by, she an avid golfer, to where, I would drive her everyday, when she was in better health and still playing, her golf-set, now forelone and standing in one corner, and even the sports stadium, across the road, where we would go for the evening walk.

I, now alone, look with envy at couples walking together, some, with hand in hand, as we used to.
♣

I happened to meet Major Dalbir at a party some time back,who claims to have extra-sensory powers, he held both my hands, enveloped within his palms, and went into a short trance.

'She is still with you, you should let her go.’ He exclaimed in a serius tone.

I agree with what he said, yes she is with me, in the house, in the car, especially in the NE118

If there is such a there is such a thing as presence divorced from reality, it is here, where I can feel her presence. I can feel her when I put my left hand on the passenger seat, the same familiar current moves up through my fingers. She would never let me go anywhere alone, not that she lacked confidence in my driving; her worry was that I would get lost, en- route, while taking a turn at the ubiquitous roundabouts of Delhi roads. Possibly it was an excuse to be with me as much as possible. She was no doubt, possessive of me, but was that the reason for this obsession? What ever it was, with unshakable faith in me, it was not insecurity.

But I do not agree that I should let her go, if she is here and with me, she is with her own free will, I am not holding her, but I am happy that she is with me, keeping me company, possibly busy with doing some thing in the next room or has she gone down for some shopping without telling me, or as Chotta, my son, says, to Dehradun, her favourite destination, just for a few days?

Why should I let her go alone, we will go together, to where-ever one goes, when one goes finally. If one does go, some where, at all.

♣

We lived together for 42 years; I re-live it again and again in flash-backs, occurring randomly and out of sequence, some times of the first meeting but mostly of the last moments with Rosy.

What is being together? Can one feel the presence of some whom one has still to meet? Can one be there all the time even when physically away? Can some-body be dead yet still abiding all the time? Does being together have to be physical? I don’t know the answer to all these questions, but what I know, however for certain, is that she has remained with me all the time, as I have experienced her presence in all the three stages of my life; befor, with and even after her long gone.

The long journey, yet so short as it appears now, began with, the first time face to face with Rosy, the manifestation of the image carried by me in my heart all this time, the heart skipping a beat, with the shock of the first glimpse, to start pumping once again, albeit, this time, racing at an uncontrolled rate. It ends, suddenly, this time it was her heart that not only skipped a beat but also, after fluttering uncontrolled for a short time stopped completely and permanently.

She took her last steps supported by me, still as desirable as when I had met her for the first time, bubbling with the energy and vigour of youth, now a frail body, yet full of guts, determination, will-power and spirit till the last. Rosy, one moment, there in my protective arms, suddenly, the next was no more.

♣

We were lovers, companions and friends, moving from one stage to another as time advanced, but we were in love all the time, being in love and being friends at the same time was the highest level of togetherness that one could reach.

I loved the way she tied her hair, the way she dressed the way she smelled, the way she laughed but most of the way she smiled and strangely the way she spoke Punjabi, making the harsh language sound so mellifiuous.

To me, it was not important that I loved her but that she has chosen me, to love, ever manifest in looks and deeds although reluctantly and infrequently expressed in as many words.

‘I don’t know what love is, but I can’t live without you even for a short time’, summed it all, as she confessed, a wane smile om her lips, in her then faint voice, a day previous to the night of 30th October 2000, when the cruel hand of death snatched her away from me
♣

It is a simple story about two simple and ordinary persons, Rosy and I, especially Rosy and our simple love for each other.

The book is not sad in its content as may appear from preamble
There is lot of humour and fun, both in the book and my past life BLS

bls31

June 2nd, 2007, 09:06 PM

Dear Sir,

Congrats on finishin the first draft and Best Wishes for the publication of the same soon. I liked the title of ur book " The One Way Street" very much, it sounds intersting. I too look fwd to write a book(or may be more :)) some day. For now looking fwd to ur book, n surely wud like to read the excerpts from the book here.
I wud also like to comment on the picture of ur late wife, which i saw in the photo gallery, I must say...She was an elegant n very pretty lady.

Regards n Best Wishes.

Firstly Thanks for the comments on my late wives picture, yes she was not only beautiful but also a beautiful person.

About writing a book please go ahead , don't wait, One has to start sooner than later, but it is a commitment once you take it have stick to. it takes time and effort but the joy and pleasure of looking at the completed work can only be felt to be enjoyed BLS

Let me see if I can but some more amusing excerpts from the book some times BLS

ritu

June 2nd, 2007, 10:59 PM

thanks uncle ji for sharing the excerpts from ur book.
pyar anant aseem hota hai suna tha par jindagi me pahli baaar sach me dekha hai.umar ke is padav par saathi ke jaane ke bad ke khalipan ko aapne jis bhavna ke saath ateet ki yaado ke taane baane ke sath apni rachna me buna hai ose pad kar man bhav vibhor ho uttha.
regards
ritu

poonia

June 3rd, 2007, 12:38 AM

Dear BLS,

Looking forward for the book to be out !

Please do post some more excerpts.

bls31

June 3rd, 2007, 08:02 AM

If you insist
……There were hords of girls moving about in the college campus. A new and disturbing experience, especiall with four of them in my BSc class, having had till now studied in all male classes.

One of the group was a Bengal beauty, with pretty face and a mane of luxurious growth of hair, fully conscious her assets and her effect on the class. The whole class was in love with her some more vocal and explicit in displaying their feelings. I in awe of her and nervous, if ever happened to be near her, would consciously maintain a good distance, searching for safety in space.

One day, sadly, she broke the joint hearts of the class and got married to a young Captain, over- night transforming from Miss Choudhry to Mrs Bose.

We crossed each other, only once more, nearly ten years later, in Mhow in MP where most of the Army officers go either to be a trainee or teach.

The passing encounter was at the Club, RSI as it was then called, she, now the wife of a senior Major and I, a young Lieutenant, accompanied by my stunningly beautiful wife, my ‘Love at First Sight’.

There was a brief eye contact and a flicker of recognition passed between the two of us. Sadly, my class mate of yore had lost her pride, the luxurious main of past, was now a withered rope of life-less braided hair. I could feel, from the fleeting change in her expression that possibly she was aware of her lost aura.

That day I realised that time can be so cruel especially to perpetrators of ‘Love at Far Site’. Though there was more, still to come on issue of ‘The Love at Far Site’.

Advancing to MSc Physics, once again a barren landscape, with no girls in the class, we had to content ourselves by just wistfully looking at them, from a distance, moving in impregnable clusters. Some of them, more bold and forward, returned the favour by peering through the chinks in the ‘Chick’, hanging on the door of the Girl’s room, fortuitously, located facing our class, a few eyes searching for someone in particular, others just looking out at us, the chanced fleeting eye contacts keeping us riveted at one place.

Come the Annual Exhibition of the Physics department, Satish and I, each detailed to man the stalls, found to his delight and my constraint and added confusion, saddled with partners, from the BSc Class, both girls.

The short contact of few hours in his case developed into a full-fledged romance over the years. Promises were made, some were kept others fell by the wayside, courtesy, ambitions and different personal priorities. One took the path to higher science, the other diverted to a career in Army. However, the old fires continued to burn in both, the flames coming to surface of and on at chance meetings, till she lost herself, sadly, to Cancer.

I, being less bold and adventurous also perhaps more practical than romantic, post exhibition the contact continued with just fleeting meetings, of crossing each other, some times by chance at others contrived, in the corridors or the dark and musty galleries of the Physics department. Occasionally a few words exchanged, all accompanied with, I confess, heightened pulse rate and increased heartbeat.

The last time I saw her was, on the final day in the university, when she asked for and gave her my notes and the Practical Note Book. I left with a heavy heart, mixed feelings and a Goodbye, never to see her again.

BLS

raj_rathee

June 3rd, 2007, 10:34 PM

Brig. Chacha:

Thanks for sharing your work. One can only admire the energy and dedication
it takes to write a book. Look forward to learning more about your efforts.

One comment I did have is that I found you use "," (commas) quite
liberally. It made the flow difficult in many places.

One specific example:
"Advancing to MSc Physics, once again a barren landscape, with no girls in the class, we had to content ourselves by just wistfully looking at them, from a distance, moving in impregnable clusters. Some of them, more bold and forward, returned the favour by peering through the chinks in the ‘Chick’, hanging on the door of the Girl’s room, fortuitously, located facing our class, a few eyes searching for someone in particular, others just looking out at us, the chanced fleeting eye contacts keeping us riveted at one place."

The above chunk is very difficult to read because of too many pauses ("commas"). Also in general the
sentence structures can be simplified to make reading flow smoother.

bls31

June 3rd, 2007, 10:53 PM

[quote=raj_rathee;138137]Brig. Chacha:

Thanks for sharing your work. One can only admire the energy and dedication
it takes to write a book. Look forward to learning more about your efforts.

One comment I did have is that I found you use "," (commas) quite
liberally. It made the flow difficult in many places.

One specific example:
"Advancing to MSc Physics, once again a barren landscape, with no girls in the class, we had to content ourselves by just wistfully looking at them, from a distance, moving in impregnable clusters. Some of them, more bold and forward, returned the favour by peering through the chinks in the ‘Chick’, hanging on the door of the Girl’s room, fortuitously, located facing our class, a few eyes searching for someone in particular, others just looking out at us, the chanced fleeting eye contacts keeping us riveted at one place."

I sincerely appreciate ,will remove as many ,s as possible ,however I am glad you had time not only to go through but also comment.I hope you did like the Love at Far Site Best lakshman
BLS

raj_rathee

June 4th, 2007, 09:49 AM

I sincerely appreciate ,will remove as many ,s as possible ,however I am glad you had time not only to go through but also comment.I hope you did like the Love at Far Site Best lakshman
BLS

Yes of course, Brig. Chacha...when its about pretty women...always!
;)

bls31

June 5th, 2007, 08:55 AM

Yes of course, Brig. Chacha...when its about pretty women...always!
;)

And a bit more

….Lungthu, the Chinese just a stone throw away with the battle raging down below, with its rarefied air, deficient of oxygen, its intense cold, the bleak landscape, its mountain sides denuded of the trees, by years of illegal falling by the troops stationed there, for cooking and heating, all combined to create an atmosphere totally alien, to us dwellers of the planes.

♣

That night we were lingering late, after the dinner, in the mess, reluctant to retire to our respective bleak abodes. 123 Brigade was also being launched in the operations in East Pakistan. The CO had gone down to see off the Brigade Signal Company commanded by Lt Datta.

…… It was extremely cold outside the mess, winter of early January at that height, but with the hissing `Bukhari' radiating heat, it was reasonably comfortable inside. We were trying to keep our morale up somehow or other, I was rather subdued, in addition to the current problem, earlier I had learnt through a letter from my father of my mother's demise a few days back. The question of leaving the regiment, on leave, at that critical juncture just did not arise.

Somehow the talk veered towards the supernatural, with this another facet of Inder Bhatia’s talents were revealed, when he claimed that he could call the dead and speak to them.

….., Inder’s offer was promptly accepted. Under Banker’s instructions a white paper was quickly placed on the card table the Alphabets and the Numerals (0 to 9) were quickly written on the circumference of the circle drawn on the paper, a glass tumbler, with a minimum of four pairs of fingers pressing lightly on it was placed on the paper.

The pin-drop silence, the hissing of the patromex making it even more pervading, the dead of the night, the expectation of experiencing some thing totally alien, all eyes concentrated on the tumbler, resulted in goose-pimples and the hair standing on the arms at least with me.

Suddenly we got a jolt, the tumbler jumped and started moving. With Inder in control and shooting questions the tumbler started jumping from letter to letter and figure to figure with one of us noting down the words and sentences.

`Who are you? Asked Inder
`……’ the tumbler moved a few paces and wrote a `local' name
`Which is you village?
`Nathang'
`When did you leave this world?’
`…silence…'
`Should we inform your family about you?
`No' the tumbler quickly moved two places.

The air in the mess was becoming thicker the place more eerie, with heart beating faster and faster. A sort of fear pervaded at least in me, though it were not my hands on the tumbler still I was part of the scene.

The questions eventually took a turn towards what was on the mind of all of us…..

`What losses has Pakistan suffered?'
`Two Ships' was the quick answer'.
`What about the Indian losses?' Inder asked tentatively, we waited once again with baited breadth.

`One Ship'

The information about our loss did not do much to lift our spirits.

At that instance we had no inkling of the fact that we had lost `Khukri in Arabian Sea near Karachi nor the fact that Pakistan had lost the destroyer `Ghazi’ and the minesweeper `Muhafiz' both patrolling outside Karachi harbour, by Indian Naval missile attack on Karachi harbour. All this got confirmed through AIR news on the mess radio the next morning.

BLS

ritu

June 5th, 2007, 11:41 PM

what happened after that uncle ji.did spirit tell anything else.

bls31

June 6th, 2007, 09:09 AM

what happened after that uncle ji.did spirit tell anything else.

It had predicted that I would be promoted from Maj to Lt Col and soon I got a letter confirming it.

I had edited the story removing the episode of a lost Sten Gun from the location , the cause of main worry for all of us.It was also recovered as predicted. BLS

shashiverma

June 6th, 2007, 10:03 AM

Dear BLS,

After going through all these mails about the book "The one way street", all i can say is I enjoyed reading it and i am really excited to be a part of this journey. Looking forward for the published version. Wishing you all the very best.

bls31

June 6th, 2007, 12:59 PM

while writing the book and even with the Proof Copy in my hand, I always wondered as to who would be interested in reading about the personal life of an unknown, but I am getting encouraged by feedbacks like yours, It may take some time to publish the book,in the mean time I can post some thing of interest as and if indicated by You, Regards BL

bls31

June 9th, 2007, 08:34 PM

file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/LAKSHM%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msohtml1/01/clip_image002.jpg

….Towang, which stands for a grazing ground, was a small cluster of villages located at a height of 10,000 feet, spread on the slopes of the Towang massif below the monastery. The villagers cultivated millet and maize. They grazed their animals on the grass growing in plenty in the rich pastures spread on the gentle slopes.
Life in Towang was boringly routine. We were like prisoners, albeit prisoners of peace. Cut of from the world, confined to the very small word of the Brigade HQ. Chinese were not supposed to be in a position to take any offensive action against us till the railway line to Lhasa was ready.
I would regularly write to Jeet at Dehra Dun, a letter a day, about my loneliness and also to fill the same,….

23rd May 1962
…..I have a simple programme. I get up, at about seven have breakfas, then office, and lunch at about two. Once again office at three, about five I come back, first thing I write a letter to you, have my tea read, dress for dinner, come back, read-look at your photo look at Chootu’s photo-try to sleep, keep tossing in the bed-then you come to play games of hide and seek with me throughout the night till its morning again..

….some times making the plans for the promised annual leave in September/ October.

Towang had different moods; it could be both heaven and hell, depending on the weather of the day. On a clear day the view of the deep green undulating grass lands, blue hills, winding silver of river Towang Chu deep down in the valley, wisps of cloud floating around in the deep blue sky, an out of the world view, and the bright sun inviting one to bask in the pleasant warmth. Also rain and fog for days together, wet clothes and boots, leeches, bleak surroundings, depressed moods, no mail from home for days together all adding to the gloom. No airdrops resulting in any fresh supplies, eating tin stuff for days on end. What the morning would bring was known only with the morning mug of tea.

The Assistant Political Officer, ….had invited the brigade officers for Lunch on 15thAugust….., I had not even tasted curds since long and there was plenty of it on the table. Greedy me, I took a large helping, after the first bite I just did not know what to do, evil smelling, the curds had been
prepared from Yak milk and it tasted and smelled like nothing on the earth at least to me…
♣

It was 8th of September, a Saturday, a weekend, a legacy left by the British. In bracing cold, Towang at 10,000 feet plus, was basking in bright sunshine. A clear day with the greens of the meadows, the deep blues of the sky, the silver of the river Towang Chu,flowing deep in the valley, the browns and reds of houses of the Towang village. The majesty of the Towang Monastery, visible not far away, was over powering. Not too cold not too hot, it was just pleasant, Towang that day was a tourist’s delight. However, there were no tourists in Towang those days except VIP brass who choppered occasionally to stay for lunch, give sermons, talk in platitudes and fly back again to civilisation in plains of Tezpur, Lucknow or Delhi.

In any case it was too quiet and peaceful to resemble a noisy and bustling tourists resort, with the Brigade HQ equally quiet. There was no officer present in the HQ except Lt Sharma, the Brigade Ordnance Officer, the duty-officer of the day, all others had gone off to attend a Bara khana in one of the battalions.

It was my practice to go for an evening walk in the afternoon. ….. We left via the Signal Centre, as was my practice. It was all quiet-there, nothing on the air or line. I had no inkling at that time that it was the proverbial lull before the storm. ….completely changed. It was getting dark, and gloomy and there was unease in the atmosphere. Some thing was wrong, very wrong.

Wondering as to what had happened to bring about the sudden change, both of us gingerly trooped in to the BM’s room, apprehensive and expecting a rocket for our absence from the HQ, where in every one seemed to have gathered. No one took notice of our entry. Kharbanda, a bit worse for wear due to some extra beer, incoherent with his eyes- bleary, red and watering, but a soldier to core - he was all decked up in full battle gear, with his large-pack ready for move. It transpired that Bingo, the Assam Rifles post, had been surrounded by more than 600 Chinese earlier in the day…... All of us were more worried about him, desperately trying to hold him back, than the Chinese or Bingo. The scene would have definitely appeared a bit comical to an outsider, ideal for a sequence in the war movies being produced in Bombay.

Kharbanda’s small room, the telephone ringing continuously, with incoming and out going calls to Tezpur, where all of us of the Bde HQ had gathered, …..With so many of us crowding around, the air had become charged with combined energy of diverse emotions; excitement, apprehension, uncertainty and even fear of the unknown, all adding to the whole in various proportions depending on the attitude of the particular individual. ….mess staff providing unending supply of mugs of coffee and tea, were just hanging around trying to look involved and useful, not unlike friends and relations holding vigil outside the Operating Theatre, with some near and dear one on the surgeon’s table inside…..

Thanks to the Chinese, it was on this day that they decided to play a prank ,

…… There went my holiday plans flying out of the window, with a disappointed and now also worried Jeet, all packed-up at Dehra Dun and ready to meet me at Siligury Railway Junction.

Another severely edited extract from the book, The picture I will post separatelyfor those interest to see Enjoy BLS

bls31

June 14th, 2007, 08:35 PM

Encouraged by the large no of visits to the thread ' my new book 'I thought that I will post another, edited excerpt, from the book : the purpose of the writings is throw some light on the life of an of the Army officer, and it
would good if others also become aware of the trials and tribulations not of the Service officer but their families also
BLS .

….I was then posted in Mhow as Commander Faculty of Communication &Value Engineering , Military College of Telecommunication, Jeet was still at Delhi with the children, Kalpana in JNU doing her final MA in French and Ranjit in Eleventh at ArmyPublic School. ….…Jeet was not well, both of us were in trauma, she had been advised surgery for a suspected tumor in the abdomen…. I had in desperation called her to Mhow to discuss the future course of action.….Now she was returning back to Delhi, both of us having mutually agreed that she should face the ordeal of the operation, albeit alone, due to the urgency and the fact that I could not be away from work at that moment….We drove from Mhow to Indore, she in the back with another lady, who had taken a lift, with me in the front with the driver. Both of us in silence, buried deep in our own thoughts of my helplessness and her apprehensions. The seating arrangement in the car and the presence of another person precluded any exchange of last minute words of consolation. There was another reason for the deafening silence between the two of us. She was waiting in the room, for me to pick her up, sitting with this uninvited guest, with nothing much in common. She with her own worries, I nowhere in sight, the time for her flight from Indore approaching, was getting tense and justifiably upset with me. I was all this time stuck in the Commandant's office who was interviewing the foreign students of the faculty with me in attendance. The Commandant, though aware of the fact that I was to see-off my wife at Indore, was in an expansive mood, enjoying his interaction with the students from Africa, Iran and Afghanistan, while honing his already considerable diplomatic skills. I was all the time on tenterhooks, covertly looking at my wristwatch, calculating by the minute diminishing gap in the travelling time from Mhow and the Checking-in time at Indore. I desperate for an opportunity to get away and having reached the cutoff stage, ultimately asked to be excused, ….I rushed to the waiting wife to be greeted with frozen looks that made me quickly sink in my ammunition-boots...On my prodding, the skilled driver kept the accelerator pedal pressed to its maximum travel and made the Ambassador fly to Indore, we did make it to the Airport in time for check-in, but only with a whisker. …once at the Airport, realising that time to leave me behind had finally come, I did noticed a thaw in her expression…. Waiting for the Aircraft coming from Bombay to land, both of us distraught, her eyes brimming with tears, I equally emotionally charged with an inner turmoil brewing, yet presenting a brave face to keep her morale up, added to the fact that I was in uniform ,,,the PA system came to life, crackling and in a tinny voice announced the arrival of the flight from Bombay. Soon the Boing 737 landed with the characteristic roar of its twin jet, raced the full length of the tarmac, stopped, with an effort, at the very end of the short runway, took a U turn and slowly taxied to the parking bay, a short distance away from the terminal. Once again the PA came to life, this time announcing the departure of the flight to Delhi and advising the passengers to board. The terminal came alive with the passengers rushing to lineup, carrying the in-cabin baggage in both the hands, all in a hurry to reach Delhi before others.

….with tears streaming down her cheeks, Jeet bid me a silent farewell, no words exchanged, the hand slowly and reluctantly withdrawn from the comfort of my grip and joined the line, to face the daunting prospect of facing the operation alone. Leaving me she slowly walked out of the terminal and trudged towards the plane and to an uncertain future….My eyes followed her each step, desperate but unable to do any thing to mitigate our mutual apprehensions. I was still tied to her with an invisible elastic band which was getting stretched, as she approached the Aircraft, to finally break once she entered the door and disappeared from my view. Possibly she was the last to embark and soon the door shut with a bang breaking my contact with her….As the staff car drove out of the Airport, the plane also took off, flying low overhead with the two turbines whining at full power. I watched, from the window of the car, it's steep climb, the visible effort to break from the shekels of the gravity pulling it towards the ground and become a free bird once again. Soon it took a sharp turn and headed towards Delhi-taking all that mattered to me with it, leaving me forlorn, worried and with an empty feeling in side….

shailendra

June 14th, 2007, 10:09 PM

Dear Brigadier Uncle,

Congratulations on taking another brave step (well, getting involved with your first and only mistress- Indian Army, of course being the other) by deciding to pen down your life and experiences!!!...
ps. Being the son of an Army Colonel (Late Col. Rajendra Singhji of the 4 Jats regiment) and having enjoyed a joyous childhood living in the awesome army campus Cantonments where ever he was posted...I feel part of the culture and am enjoying the excerpts very much.

OK, My two cents:
A book like this always intrigues the reader about the author and even about some of the associated names, incidents and events in there (or simply the ambiance of those times and places).... therefore I would greatly suggest that you should plan to take some time and rife thru all the wonderful Black and white pictures you must have clicked, archived, collected over these years to also add into the final published book [the pictures could show up maybe at intervals in the book- almost like breaks and at all relevant places and/or as collection of 4-5 together in just one or two places]...

Of course this would mean having to look for all the possible relevant ones among your stack of collection!

Believe me; being a mostly graphically oriented person I think the pictures/photographs would greatly energize the reading!

Also, if you ever decide for example to add some black and white line drawing sketch or something that relates to your book, like the ones one usually sees at the beginning of the book... I would be more than happy to sketch/render something like that for you on my free time!...

Best of luck!

bls31

June 14th, 2007, 10:33 PM

I am glad we think alike, the book does have a large no black and white and some colour pictures also, may be a bit too many, some of them you can see them under B in photo gallery. hanks for the interest shown Brig lakshman:) PS
about the line drawings a lady relation of mine, good in drawing has kindly consented to make a few sketches, especially from my early memories of the life in villages, the villages were different then.

ritu

June 16th, 2007, 12:23 AM

uncle ji how did the surgery go.and were u able to go and meet her after the surgery.

bls31

June 16th, 2007, 09:11 AM

Yes I did manage to be in Delhi, She was rolled in to the holding area and injected with the preanesthai drug, as there was a hold up, in the queue the nurse made her get up and walk towards a chair, which resulted in serious complications and the operation was canceled. Later when I called on the surgeon she exclaimed in a nonchalant manner "Col you nearly lost you wife" BLS

bls31

June 18th, 2007, 09:32 PM

I thought I should also post some item from the book which is in the lighter wane Bls

It was summer time; I was in deep sleep under the mosquito- net with the ceiling fan going full-blast, oblivious of the world. Jeet, possibly after a glass of water was slipping back in to sleep when, being a light sleeper, she was disturbed by a pinpoint green tinted beam of light being directed in our bed room by a man, clearly visible to her in the moonlight, through the glass panes, trying to survey the inside.
In shock, she nudged me, 'Some one is out side' she whispered.
Still groggy with sleep, I took to time collect my senses and get the orientation back. A few more seconds were lost in collecting my sleepers, I needed them to negotiate the gravel outside, by the time I could be effective, the intruder, alerted by the commotion inside the room had scooted the short gravel drive, jumped over the closed gate and vanished from view.
I did come out of the room, opening the rickety door, clad in slippers, having found them at last; I opened the even more rickety gate of the compound and stood alone looking left and right, on the now deserted road, with no sign of the thief.
The search for the slippers, rather than run for the thief, allowing enough time for the intruder to escape, was narrated by my wife with relish, to my obvious discomfort, at the numerous social occasions and became a standard joke.
In response to my call to the police station the man on duty informed me that out of the two of them on duty one had gone on patrol and he was manning the telephone. That was all he help available to me that night. Jokes apart, I often wondered as to what would have been the consequences had I managed to grapple with the intruder.
The next day the local police-chief called at our place to investigate the case. While taking a sip from the glass of water, he asked my wife,

'Madam you saw the man looking in'

'Yes, I saw him clearly' she replied.

'Can you please describe him, how did he look like?' the interrogation continued.

And then she dropped the bombshell.

'Yes, he looked just like you', leaving both of us shell-shocked

That was the end of the interrogation as also the investigation. He now, short of words, took his leave and quickly left.

I did have my revenge a few days later for all the jokes and laughter at my cost.

Once again we woke up to the desperate shouts of "Chor, Chor". Already bitten, this time I was fully alert and prepared. I was out of the bed and on the road in a jiffy, looking left and right, trying to fix the direction from which the shouts had come, only to see a man approaching from the direction of the Mhow town.

“Chor kanha Hai’, Where is the thief?' I asked him.

Continuing to quickly walk past, with speaking he pointed towards Pawar's bungalow, next to Gurdeep's hutment, up the road and had vanished from sight by the time I turned back again towards him.

Walking up the road, there was Pawar, sitting on the steps of his house, head held in his hands, in shock and totally incoherent. It was then that it dawned on me that the man on road was one of the thieves himself, who, on the alarm being raised, had split from others and hid behind the clumps of roadside bushes. Seeing me on the road and fearing possible detection, thought it better to bluff his way out and escape in the guise a local going home. In the confusion at the moment, I easily fell for his ploy, little realising as to where he could have been going, that late in the night, on a deserted road which lead to no where.

There was a silver lining, from the incident, though still far from being a hero in the eyes of my wife, at least the jokes directed at me suddenly stopped. If this could happen to Pawar, with a much heavier build than mine, it could happen to any one and that no one was

bls31

June 23rd, 2007, 07:45 PM

It is heartening to see so many views, even posts, however a few more posts, if quickly made would help in improving the draft Thanks BLs

bls31

June 30th, 2007, 10:23 PM

The synopsis of my book pasted under would give an idea of the theme ans scope of thebook

The One Way Street
The reader enters the one way street, along with the author, some times in 1935-36, witnessing the life in Western UP villages as perceived by a child of five and six, then to Delhi of yore and the small towns across the province. He feels, along with him, the cultural shock of the move to Lucknow, from living in small towns till then, also the pleasure and pain of the freewheeling life in the university, is introduced to the new concept of 'Love at Far Site', soon follows the author to the dread Drill Square and the Obstacle Course at IMA, who passes-out as a proud but shaky 2nd lieutenant to face the pains and pangs of growing and moving upwards in the Army of those days. The reader is soon introduced to the author, now a changed into a 'Babbler' on meeting his 'Love at First Sight', feels his pangs of separation and a bit too soon the uncertainties to life and limb, on entering the 'Valley of Death', during the 1962 Sino Indian Conflict. On the author moving to higher ranks, the reader has a chance to look at the intricacies of Command and Staff in field and at Army HQ also the student establishment relationship. He becomes a party with him in watching the author's trauma of remaining a moot witness to his wife's tenacious fight with Cancer, finally to sympathise with his partly unsuccessful efforts, on her untimely demise, to cope with Pain and Guilt of living without her.
The One Way Street is a love story, written with emotion, passion and a heart wide-open unfolding against the backdrop of some the important events in the life of the Nation during that period ,spanning more than sixty years.

bls31

July 5th, 2007, 05:11 PM

Any one interested in some more extracts. Pl do post BLs

dahiyarules

July 5th, 2007, 06:26 PM

I have been to Tawang (Arunachal Pradesh). It is an astoundingly beautiful place. it gets so cold even in the summers, that we used to have extremely dry skin that kept peeling off.

That was way back in 1988. I wish to return there someday.

jitendershooda

July 6th, 2007, 03:43 PM

Any one interested in some more extracts. Pl do post BLs

Laxman ji Namaskar,

You have written it superbly ... words stringed into sentences with so much of feeling involved that while I was reading your extracts ... I wes feeling like it was before my eyes and I am with you at that moment ... you have poured all your feelings in such a way that its just like illustrative ..... and for the part of her departure my eyes gone wet with the feel of it only ... this is the inevitable truth and we all have to accept it ...

Sure sir ... please post few more ... and surely will read this one when published. ... Dont feel that who will read it .... you have done a great job ...

bls31

July 6th, 2007, 08:12 PM

Thanks I am encouraged

Another extract from the book at your bidding 'early Memories' BLS

Deeply embedded in the memory are the summer nights, the Grandmother, a AJ Rowling of her day, with her collection of fairy tails, telling stories to the cousins and me lying next to her, all ears in rapt attention, the ink black sky, as the back drop, with myriad of stars, some shining bright others twinkling, bringing the fairies, demons, Rajas and Rains, the ordinary folks, in the stories, like the Dhobi and the Tail, animals like the fox and jackal, all alive in our child's mind, the imagination running riot. The same stories requested and repeated night after night becoming more and more vivid and fascinating as our imagination grew. Slowly her voice would become faint, my periodic response and acknowledgments to the narration, an essential part of story telling and listening, becoming fainter and fainter, as I slipped back in sleep and into the child's dream world ,with the stories becoming real. Later some one would gently lift me and take me to my mother.

♣

bls31

August 3rd, 2007, 12:40 AM

a few more BLS

The morning trips to the field with the breakfast, salted ‘Roties’, ‘Gur' white-butter and buttermilk for the uncle working in the field, tied neatly in a clean piece of home spun cloth, the aunt carrying it on her head, the pitcher of butter milk in one hand, the other holding my puny hand, balancing gracefully on those narrow dividers of the fields. He on seeing us approaching would stop whatever activity was on, tilling, irrigating or weeding at that time and approach us with half a smile. We would sit on the side of the well under the shade of the tree or in the sun depending the season, I would also got a share, the second breakfast of the day and it tasted so different, the taste still lingering in the mouth.

Being too young, possibly, I was not aware of the joy the two young souls were sharing, the few private moments, privacy in the village being at a premium, possibly the daily trips to the fields by the young bride was a stratagem designed by the knowing elder ladies, who had themselves passed that stage to provide some private moments to the young

ranjitjat

August 3rd, 2007, 01:41 AM

http://www.jatland.com/forums/showthread.php?t=19758WELCOME.
DEAR BRIG. lAXMAN SINGH SAHIB
RAMRAM AND WELCOME.
MANY CONGRATULATIONS FOR YOUR NEW BOOK.LOOK FORWARD TO READ IT SOON.
I HAVE ALSO WRITTEN FEW BOOKS ON JAT HISTORY.
HISTORY OF INDIAN ARMY FRANCE TO KARGIL.
HARYANA SARAVKHAP FREEDOM FIGHTERS& MARTYRS.
WE ALSO STARTED A SMALL WRITERS CLUB IN LONDON.
EX-ARMY OFFICERS AND WRITER LIKE
LT.GEN.KS BAJWA ARE OUR MEMBER.
I AM VERY HAPPY TO INVITE YOU AS OUR FELLOW MEMBER AND GUIDE.
WITH BEST WISHES & KIND REGARDS
DHARMPAL DUDEE

bls31

August 3rd, 2007, 04:50 PM

Dear Sir thanks Brig lakshman

bls31

August 7th, 2007, 10:09 AM

Dear Sir thanks Brig lakshman

Some more BLs

Our first introduction to Regimental duties was an assignment as orderly officer of the day. Pran, the senior most, had the honour of being the first; he borrowed the motor cycle, the only one with the course, from Anand and roared off in the tea -break to the office of Capt Rawat, the Adjutant to collect the form and instructions for the day. He zoomed in and stopped with a flourish in front of the Commandants office. Col ID Verma, the Comdt probably had never heard of a motor cycle roaring in to the HQ compound, the holiest of the holy spot in School of Signals. He did come out in amazement to investigate the strange phenomena. Pran, even though must have given him the smartest ‘Under Officer’ salute, returned down-cast with seven extra duties to his credit.

Our glee for Pran’s discomfort was rather short lived. For missing the games parade a few days later all of us were also rewarded with seven extra duties each, thankfully relieving the permanent staff from this boring duty for the next six months of our stay in the School. In addition we were also ‘Gated’ till further orders, despite this on the very first evening itself we were all sitting in the Dress Circle of the Orpheum for the late night show. Lo and behold, when the lights came on during the interval there was Capt George Paisley, our Group Office with a few others with their girlfriends, sitting in a class lower than where they should have been.

The consequence of our outing was that after dinner nights we were now required to be doing private study in the Low Power Lab under supervision of a permanent staff. First night in the lab, we asked permission of Capt Seth to smoke, promptly came out Cigars in everyone’s hands including Cheema the only Sikh on the course, the smoke screen thrown by our combined effort failed to hide the annoyance on the face of Capt Seth.

[

We were required to call on the permanent staff, as per the army traditions, leaving our calling cards, one for the lady of the house and one for the unmarried daughter in addition to the one we were supposed to leave in any case. Being unsure of ourselves we were avoiding this onerous duty till we were reminded of the same rather forcefully. On the designated calling day, dressed in our best summer suits and with a fist -full of calling cards all 21 of us mounted our cycles and came on the road. Going round and round, circling the bungalows of the Comdt and other permanent staff, in smaller and larger groups crossing and re-crossing each other while exchanging sheepish grins. Not being able to muster courage enough to enter the Comdt’s House, No 2 the Middlesex Road, as also not being sure as to from where to start the calling process, after some more futile cycling we were back in our room; mission unaccomplished.

This was not the end of the story, next day we were once again in the Wing Commanders office, this time with an entreaty to be kind to the staff and not to keep them on tenterhooks.

It so happened that my room located at the extreme end of the barrack where-in we the YO’s were lodged, faced the Church across the road.

The Church that Came to’ Life’ on Sundays

Sundays mornings the spectacle of the, pretty Mhow girls, dressed in their finery streaming in for the Service and later emerging, at times even lingering at the entrance gate acted as a magnet to the course-mates.

With easy chairs pulled up, they would take vantage positions, with me as the unwilling host, Manikam, my bearer, serving Tea and Pakoras to the excited and chattering young fellows.

Was the lingering of the girls, at the gate, deliberate, intentional and naturally irresistible, with so many admirers opposite, is a question I still ponder upon?

bls31

August 16th, 2007, 08:34 AM

jitendershooda

August 16th, 2007, 08:40 PM

Dear Friends

I have once again changed the Title of my book to 'A Journey through Life' from 'A One Way Street', Hope to have a few photo copies made from the CD to circulate to friends for comments before it goes for print BLS

Sir, I dont know much about the writing or books .... but to me the title 'A One Way Street' is more appealing than the new one.

bls31

August 16th, 2007, 08:56 PM

Thanks for the suggestion. I have changed quiet a few I may still take a U turn and go back yo One Way Street. Earlier it was a double barrel title 'One Way Street -A Journey Through Life' where street referred to life . It is a story Covering the period from 1935 from where my memory begins to 2006 that was my 48th wedding anniversary the last of those calibrated alone fro 2000 onwards. There is nothing to writing a book , you can write one , but it takes effort and can be painful too regards brig lakshman:)

bls31

August 16th, 2007, 09:08 PM

Let me put another extract BLS

It was a bitterly cold night of 31 January 1994; I was in deep sleep in our first-floor bed room 1066/37 a duplex in Noida when Jeet prodded me awake. Our Doberman ***** which always slept under our bed was whining and possibly wanted to be taken out which was rather unusual as she was well trained and had regular habits. Groggy from sleep I reluctantly slipped out of the warm bed draped a shawl around my shoulders a woolen Balaclava on my fast balding head and sleep walked down the stares with Dona on the leash to the drawing room without switching on many lights so as not to disturb my son and his wife who had their room on the ground floor. Slowly without making much noise I slid open the main door and came out in the open.

The cold hit me with a vengeance; anyhow I opened the main gate and let Dona do her trick. It was pitch dark out side with stars shining brightly in the sky but I was in no mood to enjoy the silence and the beauty of the night with the single thought of slipping in to the bed as early as possible upper most in my mind. I wasted no time and as soon Dona has finished was in the bedroom this time in double quick time with Dona leading as she also wanted to be away from the outside cold.

I thought Jeet would have slipped back into sleep soon after sending me out. However I was surprised to see her sitting doubled up in the bed speechless holding her stomach with both hands in acute pain. Whatever illusions I had of falling back into sleep vanished instantaneously.

Lately Jeet had been having problems with her stomach for some time and would get relief by taking tablets of Zinctac (rani It was a bitterly cold night of31 January 1994; I was in deep sleep in our first-floor bed room 1066/37 a duplex in Noida when Jeet prodded me awake. Our Doberman ***** which always slept under our bed was whining and possibly wanted to be taken out which was rather unusual as she was well trained and had regular habits. Groggy from sleep I reluctantly slipped out of the warm bed draped a shawl around my shoulders a woollen Balaklava on my fast balding head and sleep walked down the stares with Dona on the leash to the drawing room without switching on many lights so as not to disturb my son and his wife who had their room on the ground floor. Slowly without making much noise I slid open the main door and came out in the open.

The cold hit me with a vengeance; anyhow I opened the main gate and let Dona do her trick. It was pitch dark out side with stars shining brightly in the sky but I was in no mood to enjoy the silence and the beauty of the night with the single thought of slipping in to the bed as early as possible upper most in my mind. I wasted no time and as soon Dona has finished was in the bedroom this time in double quick time with Dona leading as she also wanted to be away from the outside cold.

file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/TEMP/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msohtml1/01/clip_image002.jpg

1066 Sector 37

I thought Jeet would have slipped back into sleep soon after sending me out. However I was surprised to see her sitting doubled up in the bed speechless holding her stomach with both hands in acute pain. Whatever illusions I had of falling back into sleep vanished instantaneously.

Lately Jeet had been having problems with her stomach for some time and would get relief by taking tablets of Zinctac (ranitidine).
( She did have a history of gastric problems which to my knowledge went way back to 60’s in Puna when she had taken a glass of sugarcane juice from a way side vender also when I was in Kalimpong I received a signal from the Dehra Dun Hospital informing me that she had been placed on ‘Seriously Ill’ List ) I quickly made her swallow two of the same-confident that all would be well soon. However she had no relief as a matter of fact the discomfort increased. Jeet always had a low threshold of pain with very little capacity to bear it I could see that she was about to collapse. I walked her to the toilet and back with no letup in her problem. I had some NuxVom 30 in the bedside table (a homeopathic medicine). I forced her to take two doses of the same one after other but nothing seemed to work she was asking me to call a doctor but I knew that no one would come at this time and would take his own time if at all one came. My best bet was to take her to the Armed Forces Clinic as soon as she was in position to take the steps down.

I was getting desperate and at my wits end the clock had been ticking all this time and I could sense the beginning of dawn with lightening of the sky out side. Slowly and mercifully the pain started subsiding possibly due to the effect of the various capsules and pill I had made her swallow or perhaps due to nature’s kindness or the body's own reaction. Now at last on that cold winter morning I could wipe the perspiration from her face and head and see her falling back in a deep sleep of total exhaustion. Slowly my own faculties to think coherently and logically started to return which had been lost due to my inability to do any thing to alleviate the extreme pain and suffering of my wife. I was scared stiff with the fear of the unknown. It was not an auspicious beginning of the New Year 1994.
tidine).
( She did have a history of gastric problems which to my knowledge went way back to 60’s in Poona when she had taken a glass of sugarcane juice from a way side vender also when I was in Kalimpong I received a signal from the Dehra Dun Hospital informing me that she had been placed on ‘Seriously Ill’ List ) I quickly made her swallow two of the same-confident that all would be well soon. However she had no relief as a matter of fact the discomfort increased. Jeet always had a low threshold of pain with very little capacity to bear it I could see that she was about to collapse. I walked her to the toilet and back with no letup in her problem. I had some NuxVom 30 in the bedside table (a homeopathic medicine). I forced her to take two doses of the same one after other but nothing seemed to work she was asking me to call a doctor but I knew that no one would come at this time and would take his own time if at all one came. My best bet was to take her to the Armed Forces Clinic as soon as she was in position to take the steps down.

I was getting desperate and at my wits end the clock had been ticking all this time and I could sense the beginning of dawn with lightening of the sky out side. Slowly and mercifully the pain started subsiding possibly due to the effect of the various capsules and pill I had made her swallow or perhaps due to nature’s kindness or the body's own reaction. Now at last on that cold winter morning I could wipe the perspiration from her face and head and see her falling back in a deep sleep of total exhaustion. Slowly my own faculties to think coherently and logically started to return which had been lost due to my inability to do any thing to alleviate the extreme pain and suffering of my wife. I was scared stiff with the fear of the unknown. It was not an auspicious beginning of the New Year 1994.

BLS

bls31

August 25th, 2007, 07:26 PM

What is the book about BLS

A Journey Trough Life
The reader joins the author in his ‘Journey through Life’ some times in 1935-36, following him through the simple ways of life in Western UP villages as perceived by a child of five and six, then to Delhi of yore and the small towns of the province. He feels, just as the author, the cultural shock of the move to Lucknow in the 50’s and the freewheeling life in the university, is introduced to the new concept of 'Love at Far Site. Next on to Indian Military Academy in the foothills of Shiwaliks with its dread Drill Square and the Obstacle Course, passing-out with the proud but shaky 2nd lieutenant to face the pains of growing up in the post independence Army, a blend of the British traditions and the Indian value system . Soon the reader is introduced with the new 'Babbler', post facing the young officer’s 'Love at First Sight', feels the pangs of separation in married life, resulting from combat service and soon the uncertainties to life and limb, during the 1962 Sino Indian Conflict, on entering the 'Valley of Death'. As the author climbs his career ladder, the reader has a chance to look at the intricacies of Command and Staff at Army HQ and the student – instructor relationship in a service environment, so different from traditional institutions. The reader is saddened watching the author's trauma on being a helpless witness to his wife's tenacious fight with cancer, with his, only, partly successful efforts, to minimise the her pains through the long struggle, culminating in her untimely demise, finally to sympathise with his efforts to cope with Pain and Guilt of living without her.

bls31

September 6th, 2007, 06:10 PM

Another amusing incident from the book BLS

Unexpectedly Rosy and I found the two of us alone in one of the rooms away from the main portion of the house possibly by chance or more probably by design. There was no talk no words exchanged between us taken aback by the unfamiliar situation that I found myself in. I was tongue-tied inexperienced and nervous she expectant but uncomfortable possibly aware of the conspiracy hatched by some one possibly Ruby. The room now full of and crackling with nervous energy. With pregnant silence sitting between the two of us and the separation though not too close yet still close enough to make me nervous and uncomfortable. I found myself totally clueless and inadequate to handle the unfamiliar situation. What was going through in Rosy’s mind can only be a conjectured. Mercifully and to my utter relief the spell soon broke; some discrete coughing or a knock on the door coming to our mutual help. The chance meeting became a non-event. Rosy had once again to face the ignominy of confessing to her sister of the wasted chance and still remaining un-kissed virgin.

bls31

September 10th, 2007, 05:57 PM

It is said that lightening does not strike twice; but it does! BLS

She took her last steps supported by me, still as desirable when I had met her for the first time, then bubbling with the energy and vigour of youth, now a frail body, one moment she was there, supported in my protective arms, suddenly, the next she was gone and no more All through her illness, the hand, holding which was my greatest pleasure, with the current of togetherness flowing to and fro, to comfort her and reassure me that, somehow, I will manage to hold on to it, despite all the other indications, was no more there .

‘I don’t know what love is, but I can’t live without you even for a short time’ she confessed, in her now faint and hardly audible voice the day prior to when the cruel hand of death snatched her from me. Next day she left me and her abode, the emaciated body, withered by the repeated invasions by the surgeon’s knife and infusion of the massive doses of the lethal drugs injected over time, but with her still charm intact.

Some times later I wanted to keep some money aside for any emergent requirement and I picked her favourite black leather purse from the back of the shelf in the Godej steel cupboard. Inside among the nick necks, that I presume women tends to collect in their purse over time, among her personal things was her hair-brush, favourite lipstick and the vile of her emergency pills: ‘Pills’ now no more required as there would be no emergency.

Cleaning the lifeless and dull, bunched mass of her hair, tangled in the bristles of the brush, getting wet, under the water tap, suddenly, came alive. The now living hair from her mane, with the original bounce, sheen and colour all there for me to see; feel and touch rose from past; the famelier thrill of her touch, shooting up my fingers jolted my dulled senses to the new reality. I was thrilled and my joy knew no bounds: a physical part of late Jeet had come back to give me company. Alas it was too good to be true, the pleasure was short lived; my daughter- in- law, Jolly, with a fetish for order and cleanliness, noticing the brush, with the strands of wet hair embedded in the bristles, lying on the shelf, under the mirror in the toilet, unaware of my new found treasure, promptly washed it clean of her last vestige: the brush, now useless for me, soon confined to the dustbin. The feel of her touch, a gift that providence had, unexpectidely, brought for me from past, I lost once again ; twice in one life.

bls31

September 14th, 2007, 02:59 PM

The Cover Page

Kindly see the photo gallery for the title page of the book page

bls31

September 19th, 2007, 11:11 AM

Just a taste of the forbidden fruit,the entrance to eden BLS
RAW

In February 1986 I joined RAW, and there hangs a tale.

Approaching the age of superannuation, all of 54 years, while posted at Army HQ, I was looking around for some suitable postretirement employment. The DGR had kindly arranged an interview for the job of the chief security officer held at the SBI Corporate HQ, Bombay. My visit to the office Lt K Gen Balaram PVSM, the then AG, could only result in a possible security job with Tata’s.

As the DDG responsible for the EW of the Indian Army and member secretary of EW and EMI -EMC inter-service ‘Boards’ under the chairmanship of the Vice Chief, first Lt Gen S.K. Sinha and later Lt Gen Sundearji, security was way down on my job wish-list. Interestingly, as the matters stood at that time, there was no dearth of jobs, with my residential telephone constantly ringing with calls from interested parties and individuals, with tempting offers in which I had little or no interest, in any case I had no desire to move to one of the rooms reserved in Tehar jail for so inclined individuals in possession of sensitive information to paddle.

I had gone PPC calling to the office of Maj Gen Sethi, the then ADG SI, one of the members of the EW Steering Committee. Soon after the exchange of normal pleasantries and the regulation cup of tea, Sethi inquired about my post retirement plans, and if I would consider joining RAW. I had heard of RAW and had a vague idea that it was some hush- hush organization. I had at that time no desire to be within even a mile of such an organization. However, it would have bee highly discourteous to say a ‘No’ to the kind suggestion; after mulling over the suggestion for a bit I responded in affirmative. As desired by him, I sent him my Bio-data with an added confidential paragraph, giving my current job profile and having done my bit, I promptly forgot about it.

I and my wife suddenly noticed a quantum increase in the surveillance on my movements, my visitors and guests. Interestingly when, I had invited Lt Gen Sodhi the retiring So-in-C and other senior officers from the Signal Directorate, to my place in DK Part II for dinner, an individual was noticed, by my orderly, noting down the registration numbers of the visitor’s cars parked outside the residence.

As it was destined , I retired on 31 July 1985 and shunning the tempting offers from the powerful firms, dealing in EW systems , with clout in higher places, to join or work for them, accompanied at times with covert threats, reported to my wife on permanent duty

First time with some money spare in the bank, unmindful of what the future held for me, I was happily enjoying my wife’s spending spree, a music system, change from B&W to a colour TV , upgrading of the old Kalvinator of 1956 vintage to frost-free double door Godraj refrigerator and sundry small and big items , fulfilling her over time bottled up desires.

I had also an offer from the Senior Kothari, a prominent industrialist of Chennai to head one of his production facilities down South. We had met for a lunch engagement with him in Taj Mansingh. New Delhi. After the not too long interaction, in his suite in the hotel, as we were moving down to the restaurant for lunch, I decided to apprise Mr Kothari of some of my shortcomings, that could be considered as negative attributes in the Corporate world ‘Sir,’ I said a bit seriously ‘if you are looking for some one who plays Golf I may be a wrong choice.’ As an added disincentive, I continued, ‘I am also a vegetarian and do not drink.’ Anticipating an adverse reaction, if I was required to look after the PR of the Company also, I was pleasantly surprised by his response. The old man looked please from what I had said, gave me a smile and said, ‘Time has come to bring some discipline in the industry, I am also a vegetarian, don’t drink and do not play Golf.’ That sealed the contract between us and thus started a long and enduring relationship , even when the offer did not materialise in my joining the enterprise.

As luck would have it the final decision in both the case came after some time, but unfortunately for its long term effect the offer from RAW came earlier. The How and Why of the unfortunate part, I will explain slightly later.

All this time, as I learnt later and had sensed earlier, extensive background checks were on about my suitability for the organization, some emissaries also went to Sena Bhavan, Army Headquarters and met Maj Gen S Mohan my past immediate superior His telling comment to the gentleman, as shared with me some time later, said it all as nothing more was left to say. ‘He is good but will he be available for you?

Some time later I got a call from Brig Arjun Verma, AVSM, and former DDG (SI) at Army HQ and now with the Telecom Division of RAW, possibly part of the same exercise, inviting me to his office. On a query as how to locate the place he advised ‘Come to Lodi Road, CGO Complex and look for the building with a large number of antennas sprouting out from the terrace and report to the reception.

There was once again a prolonged lull, till one day some times in the month of October 2005, I got a call to once again report the reception at the outer gate of the RAW building. This time I was processed and delivered at the door of the office of the Additional Director, Shri AK Verma. I reckon, by then a decision had taken to induct me in the organization and this was the final Face to Face. Shri Verma greeted me pleasantly , asked me to take a seat, I do not recall if I was offered a cup of tea or not; after a few general questions thrown at me he came out with the question that is asked even today from me when I am introduced to some one for the first time;. ‘Brigadier, what are you doing these days?’ he casually asked. I think it was my reply that clenched the issue. ‘Sir, I have neglecter my wife all these years while serving the Army; I am looking after her these days.’ My candid reply clenched the issue and I left his office with an assurance of sort that I have been selected for serving in the organization.

For the next four months, it was all quiet on the western front, with the pressure building from various quarters, with offers, to take a decision one way or other. I was in a bit of a quandary; all my queries even those to the level of Shri Joshi the Secretary RAW met the same response; ‘We are processing your case’. With this all round ambiguity I was getting a bit worried; the delay as I learnt later was for the fact that all appointments as the Director level had to be cleared by the ACC, the appoint committee of the cabinet. The Prime Minster, Shri Rajiv Gandhi, the chairman of the ACC, was too involved those days in the urgent affairs of the Party and the Government to have time for the long pending file..

I did gat the call to report from the Cabinet Secretariat to report for briefing and instructions. I think it was 20th October 1956 that I became spook in a spooky organisation with spooky and eerie empty corridors which would give creeps to any casual visitor...

The Month of October appears to have a special association with me and my life: My marriage date was initially fixed for October though later was changed to November to my chagrin, It was on the 20th October that I came under the artillery fire of the Chinese in far of NEFA, it was on 2nd October that I reported to school of Signals as an instructor and it was on 30th October 2000 that I lost my wife, Things good and bad happening to me , in equal measure in October but each changing the course of my life

An Extract from the book A Journey Through Life BLS

bls31

September 27th, 2007, 12:35 AM

Those were the days; students of Lucknow University 1950 -
1952
Extract

Also embarrassment at times; the three of us sitting at the table in the veranda of the department working on our practical notebooks indulging more in fun rather than work with Arjun, our own Jagmohan or Mukesh, singing with abandon and Satish beating the rhythm on the table-top with his fingers and I listening in rapt attention when some group of girls from the junior class would quietly pass by eyes down cast but amused by our antics the seniors perhaps with suppressed smiles .

None of us at that time had the faintest idea that cupid was waiting for us beyond the horizon, with a quiver full of arrows. The arrow aimed at Satish found it’s mark and hit him right in the centre of the heart with a devastating force from which he never recovered. I was a bit fortunate; the next one aimed at me, as the target, went awry and passed by just grazing me slightly and got lost some where. However, the latent pain of that minor injury does manifest at times, bringing back the memories of those days that were so special.

I came to know much later that Arjun had dug a mote around him, for self protection from a girl who was also one of our own fellow class mates; he was already infatuated with a beauty whom he later married, unlike the heartbroken Satish. He was the luckiest of all in that his love was redeemed. BLS

bls31

October 8th, 2007, 09:20 AM

The Remedy

I was a bit worried and apprehensive not for myself but for Ranjit. If the report happened to be malignant remembering my own inner turmoil when I had walked the short distance from the Command Laboratory in Army Hospital to the car park where Jeet with a brave face was anxiously waiting for the reprieve or the death warrant with her malignancy report in my hand.

My fears came true Ranjit entered the room with the envelope containing the report in his hand and the statement `Malignant` on his lips and his feelings clearly bottled-up in side him.

Strangely I felt relived and the guilt I had harboured all this time with Jeet suffering her cancer and me hale and hearty albeit with a turmoil of foreboding in side me with - the guilt of survival a feeling difficult to explain but experienced by surviving soldiers more often than not while returning from the battlefield with friends comrades and colleagues left behind dead or incapacitated and battling for life was slightly less painful Now I was also a battle casualty in the same league as Jeet.

Apart from Ranjit my son and Jeet my late wife the other involved party was the surgeon Dr Arora who was unfazed and upbeat `Nothing to worry` he exclaimed ‘There is enough territory for surgery if required.’ He confidently declared.

Dr Arora, the surgeon, was referring to the 99.9% of my outer ear still available to him to explore leaving me to decide for myself to feel relived or apprehensive about what future held in store for me.

bls31

October 21st, 2007, 04:40 PM

The Wedding anniversary

an extract BLS

This day 21st November 2006 our 48th wedding anniversary takes me back to 21st November 1958 the day when in the early part of the night we got married Jeet and I. Figure two has some especial position in my life we got married for the second time on the morning of 22nd November 1958 this time by the ceremony known as Anand Karaj the Sikh ritual of the wedding a precondition of my in –laws the earlier one was a Vedic ceremony the desire of my family.

There are other two’s in my life I have two birthdays one official and the other biological even two loves one real Jeet the other virtual the Army. Even Jeet celebrated two birthdays 21 and 2 of May being under the Zodiac sign of Gemini.

Now with a bald head reasonably active brain a clear head fairly un-drugged body I don’t drink left smoking ages back a vegetarian and a frugal eater and a rather well preserved 76, as I look at the black and white wedding pictures in the album I see a reasonable handsome young man of 28, dressed in the wedding finery holding the hand of a young girl just 18, both avoiding looking at each other.

What may have been passing in her mind at that I can only make a conjecture of possibly happy with the prospect of tying-up with some one whom she had started loving may be looking forward to an exciting new phase of life? However I am very clear as to what was troubling me from underneath the joy and thrill of finally and officially holding her hand in public the excitement of getting together with Jeet was heavily tempered with the weight of the responsibility that I was taking on by holding the hand of a simple innocent and loving individual who was trusting her life and future in my hands.

The moment of our first fleeting eye contact, yes it was ‘Love at First Sight; her eyes deep innocent trusting and plaintive; mine transparent and guileless. That contact of the moment was possibly responsible to strike a deal of mutual trust between the two of us of an agreement to swim or sink together. It was our decision the role of the two families was to arrange and organise the event.

pnauhwar21

October 21st, 2007, 11:33 PM

Wow..your marriage anniversary is my birthday Sir..21st November :)

I thoroughly enjoy reading your extracts..really shows how much you loved your wife and what a wonderful relation you both had..one naughty question though..did you guys ever fight for something and have u covered that in ur book? would be interesting to read that too.. meethe ke sath namak :) hope you won't mind..

bls31

October 22nd, 2007, 04:43 PM

sandeeprathee

October 23rd, 2007, 07:14 PM

"I am not dwelling on the past, the past to me is like a favourite book which I can flick open from any where at random and start reliving [/quote]"

Halo BLS ji,

recently got through the excerpts of your book, its really a wonderful narration of your life and times you spent in the army and with your loving wife. the feelings are simple yet so strong, i am really impressed.

looking fwd for the book to be released...

Regards,
Sandeep.

bls31

October 23rd, 2007, 07:53 PM

I am glad you liked the excerpts Thanks BLS

ravileo

October 23rd, 2007, 09:38 PM

Respected Sir
I hv just read from

Long back,some times ..................................which I can flick open from any where at random and start reliving

I really appreciate you Sir

Thak you for sharing

bls31

November 7th, 2007, 04:42 PM

as I was proof reading I came to this BLS

In the mean time my father on learning about me and worried about Jeet had written to her a letter, which alluded to and confirmed the spirit back home if one was required,

We were happy to be back safe and sound. The ‘Guilt of Survivor’ was yet to hit us with,though the celebrations a bit too premature; it was too early to be fully aware of the terrible losses of equipment, the no of lives lost friends and colleagues missing or dead; hoping every day for some good news about those still trudging ahead, still unaware of the fate of those herded across to languish in the prisoner of war camps or those mortally wounded lying unattended in the valley, on the riverbank, up the slopes, life slowly draining out without food, water or medical aid in abject misery and unbearable pain with no one to provide succour and no hope

Unawares till then that the Commander Brig Dalvi had been taken a prisoner by the Chinese so also the Lt Col Tewari the CO who come visiting me a day previous and was spending the night with one of the forward Infantry Battalions.

The news of Maj Ram Singh the 2I/C of the regiment whose hospitality I and my wife had enjoyed earlier at Agra had been shot dead along with the valiant pilot of the helicopter was still in future.

Final telly 1, 388 Indian Soldiers were killed 3968 were taken prisoners and 1696 were missing

The enormity of loss of men armament and equipment was yet to sink in not the least the loss of the name and fame of the Indian Army the blot on the Nations face all avoidable a failure of the political leadership and Army’s higher command

bls31

November 25th, 2007, 05:54 PM

'A Journey Through Life'

Only Journey is written and not the Destination

BLS

Samarkadian

November 25th, 2007, 08:20 PM

'A Journey Through Life'

Only Journey is written and not the Destination

BLS

Greetings Brig for penning down this journey which I'm sure you looked(looking) as an innocent child . Life is like a game of golf ;only meant to be played,not to win.Good luck and best wishes.

bls31

December 21st, 2007, 04:46 PM

Another extract from the book BLS

The sit-down dinner at the residence of the Indian High Commissioner, with the Police Commissioner of Islamabad on my left and a senior MEA official on my right was an embarrassing affair: I being a vegetarian and the dishes placed in front of me and removed untouched by the efficient waiters consisted mostly fish ,chicken or Mutton.

In Islamabad, I was under normal surveillance and was escorted, rather un-obtrusively, by the Pakistani team. However, Karachi was different , some thing unsavory had happened back in Delhi, with a Pakistan High Commission staff, resulting in swift reciprocal reaction in Pakistan; any move of mine was tailed both back and front. The car I was traveling in was boxed tightly: front and rear, if the car speeded the escorts also speeded and if it slowed down so did they, always maintaining the same lateral distance with the car. My escorts, possibly familiar with such ‘Cat and Mouse’ games; were excited, widely gesticulating and giving a running commentary on the progress. I on the other had, confined to the car and not used to what was happening both in and outside was getting extremely tense by the minute and was I insisting on terminating the sight seeing trip; Sharma, having fun, who was driving the car on the other hand was bent upon extending the chase for as long as possible .

bls31

January 23rd, 2008, 11:51 AM

The book is now in final the stages of checking before it goes for publishing. BLs

sunitahooda

January 23rd, 2008, 12:14 PM

Sir, I'm more than anxious to read this book. How long do i have to wait to lay my hands on this masterpiece?:)
The book is now in final the stages of checking before it goes for publishing. BLs

bls31

January 23rd, 2008, 06:18 PM

Thanks for the interest. I wonder about the term master piece. editing , printing release does take time . in the interim I have got a couple photocopied in A4 , for spell check and feed back and comments , but it costs about Rs 500 per copy. so you may have to wait. sorry for the deley. REgards Brig lakshman

bls31

January 23rd, 2008, 06:24 PM

A few copies of my earlier book 'Letters from the Border and other Less Told Stories' are available with my distributor. Knowledge world

e mail jagat@del2.vsnl.net.in BLS

bls31

February 12th, 2008, 09:34 PM

Possible the final extract from the book that I would be posting . I am thankful to those who read and especially those who commented Regards Brig lakshman

DELHI- Hospital: Buy One Get Two Free

… A fleeting glance at the gory sight of a blood spluttered body on the table with a couple of green draped and masked, surgeons and OT nurses, 'ghoul' like in appearance straight out of a horror movie

Hospitals are a world of their own; now that I am also admitted in Base Hospital Delhi it is the only world for me till I am here.

Delhiets are always busy, attending marriages, birthdays, funerals and hospitals, dutifully standing vigil in front of the OT (Operating Theatre) serving no purpose in so far as the person on the table inside

Yes it is a matter of prestige-how many came to visit the patient; VIP's welcomed the riff-raff accepted. It is not as to who came but who did not also how many did come, the count is important not the person,

Soon after the mandatory welcome 'Get well soon' remarks or a wish for a quick recovery, condolences and congratulations as the case may be, groups get formed, to discuss what such groups discuss, at the same time casting knowing glances at the late comers.

I am expecting no visitors and thus have solitude and also time to think. Every time I am given a prick I remember her, the more painful the injection, the more the feeling of remorse. With her post operation, chemotherapy that had shrunk her veins; narrowed and hardened difficult to locate, even more difficult to prick. Pain, pain and pain for one who was, painfully scared of the pain, Why she had to suffer all that? A question oft asked by me to myself but never answered. How much pain she, Jeet, my late wife, had to suffer and over time she had become a virtual pincushion.

APRIL 25 - From Room to OT

‘Let's go the Vehicle has come.’ Requests my escort.

I look for the ambulance, which ferries the patients to the OT, there is none. Just a black Ambassador car parked outside. I, it seem am a VIP at least till the OT, where rank, sex and religion loose all significance, where every one is just a body on the table.

A short ride and a shorter walk to the OT Complex I am guided to the room of the Senior Advisor in Anaesthesia, a pleasant and jovial Colonel Ramesh who is in the process of changing from uniform in to OT Greens. I also soon loose my identity, donning the offered green gown, open from the back-currently the latest fashion in ladies wear!

I am left in his office, to wait for my turn for the operation scheduled for 8 AM, in the company of another distraught husband who in desperate need of the holding of his hands, as a matter of fact; we both need to hold each other's hand. He worried about his wife, being operated inside for Cancer; I with thoughts of my late wife and her Cancer and with my own anxiety, being next in the line.

As my number comes up I am walked into the freezing cold OT complex, where I can see a number of stretchers occupied by living 'cadavers' if some thing like that is possible. The OT presents a frightening sight, with huge lights, shining instruments of torture, clearly visible in trays and in cupboards. A fleeting glance at the gory sight of a blood spluttered body on the table with a couple of green draped and masked, surgeons and OT nurses, 'ghoul' like in appearance straight out of a horror movie make me made me increase my pace.

I am guided to the next room and made to lie on a stretcher, there to wait in solitude with just my thoughts for company till the Colonel, in green, appears with a syringe, the largest with the longest needle that I have ever seen; not a very reassuring sight for person in my state of mind. I am told it was to block my area of operation.

Another wait of hour or so, I am asked to walk to the same OT which I had crossed, so quickly, only recently, albeit this time made to lie, strapped, on the narrow operating table. Soon I am 'a wired man'- with transducers attached all over me with my pulse, the hear-beat and other parameters starting to beep on the scope. The IV needle is deftly inserted by the surgeon in one of my left hand vain: I keep talking, more like babbling, till I hear someone say- ‘How are you?’

The time had stood still for me during the operation that was preceded by a period of anxiety with the actual process neither felt nor observed a blessing in disguise.

On of the pleasures of female company-touch, holding hand or the hand being held, a pleasure denied to me since long. After ages some one held the hand, with empathy and compassion for me the patient on bed in pain, while administering the IV injection also a painful affair. However, the feeling of comfort flowing from her fingers to my hand amply compensated for the torture of the injection being administrated.

Pampering: the few pleasures of falling ill- a glass of water offered, a cup of tea handed over in bed , the switching on/of the fan or light, being covered with a sheet when required, also a chance for throwing tantrums, all now deprived to me. Jeet my wife, used to say, ‘you don’t know how to fall sick.’ All this I am now learning as ‘On Job Training’

Strange when my clips were removed in the Minor OT of the hospital, it was on the same table where the post operation stitches of my wife, were removed a couple of years earlier.

I had gone to the hospital for Hernia and came back with Piles and Prostrate, a most uncomfortable and painful condition, possible after effects of anaesthesia, till it lasted. It was a case of ‘Buy One Get Two Free’

BLS

bls31

February 12th, 2008, 09:36 PM

Possible the final extract from the book that I would be posting . I am thankful to those who read and especially those who commented Regards Brig lakshman

DELHI- Hospital: Buy One Get Two Free

… A fleeting glance at the gory sight of a blood spluttered body on the table with a couple of green draped and masked, surgeons and OT nurses, 'ghoul' like in appearance straight out of a horror movie

Hospitals are a world of their own; now that I am also admitted in Base Hospital Delhi it is the only world for me till I am here.

Delhiets are always busy, attending marriages, birthdays, funerals and hospitals, dutifully standing vigil in front of the OT (Operating Theatre) serving no purpose in so far as the person on the table inside

Yes it is a matter of prestige-how many came to visit the patient; VIP's welcomed the riff-raff accepted. It is not as to who came but who did not also how many did come, the count is important not the person,

Soon after the mandatory welcome 'Get well soon' remarks or a wish for a quick recovery, condolences and congratulations as the case may be, groups get formed, to discuss what such groups discuss, at the same time casting knowing glances at the late comers.

I am expecting no visitors and thus have solitude and also time to think. Every time I am given a prick I remember her, the more painful the injection, the more the feeling of remorse. With her post operation, chemotherapy that had shrunk her veins; narrowed and hardened difficult to locate, even more difficult to prick. Pain, pain and pain for one who was, painfully scared of the pain, Why she had to suffer all that? A question oft asked by me to myself but never answered. How much pain she, Jeet, my late wife, had to suffer and over time she had become a virtual pincushion.

APRIL 25 - From Room to OT

‘Let's go the Vehicle has come.’ Requests my escort.

I look for the ambulance, which ferries the patients to the OT, there is none. Just a black Ambassador car parked outside. I, it seem am a VIP at least till the OT, where rank, sex and religion loose all significance, where every one is just a body on the table.

A short ride and a shorter walk to the OT Complex I am guided to the room of the Senior Advisor in Anaesthesia, a pleasant and jovial Colonel Ramesh who is in the process of changing from uniform in to OT Greens. I also soon loose my identity, donning the offered green gown, open from the back-currently the latest fashion in ladies wear!

I am left in his office, to wait for my turn for the operation scheduled for 8 AM, in the company of another distraught husband who in desperate need of the holding of his hands, as a matter of fact; we both need to hold each other's hand. He worried about his wife, being operated inside for Cancer; I with thoughts of my late wife and her Cancer and with my own anxiety, being next in the line.

As my number comes up I am walked into the freezing cold OT complex, where I can see a number of stretchers occupied by living 'cadavers' if some thing like that is possible. The OT presents a frightening sight, with huge lights, shining instruments of torture, clearly visible in trays and in cupboards. A fleeting glance at the gory sight of a blood spluttered body on the table with a couple of green draped and masked, surgeons and OT nurses, 'ghoul' like in appearance straight out of a horror movie make me made me increase my pace.

I am guided to the next room and made to lie on a stretcher, there to wait in solitude with just my thoughts for company till the Colonel, in green, appears with a syringe, the largest with the longest needle that I have ever seen; not a very reassuring sight for person in my state of mind. I am told it was to block my area of operation.

Another wait of hour or so, I am asked to walk to the same OT which I had crossed, so quickly, only recently, albeit this time made to lie, strapped, on the narrow operating table. Soon I am 'a wired man'- with transducers attached all over me with my pulse, the hear-beat and other parameters starting to beep on the scope. The IV needle is deftly inserted by the surgeon in one of my left hand vain: I keep talking, more like babbling, till I hear someone say- ‘How are you?’

The time had stood still for me during the operation that was preceded by a period of anxiety with the actual process neither felt nor observed a blessing in disguise.

On of the pleasures of female company-touch, holding hand or the hand being held, a pleasure denied to me since long. After ages some one held the hand, with empathy and compassion for me the patient on bed in pain, while administering the IV injection also a painful affair. However, the feeling of comfort flowing from her fingers to my hand amply compensated for the torture of the injection being administrated.

Pampering: the few pleasures of falling ill- a glass of water offered, a cup of tea handed over in bed , the switching on/of the fan or light, being covered with a sheet when required, also a chance for throwing tantrums, all now deprived to me. Jeet my wife, used to say, ‘you don’t know how to fall sick.’ All this I am now learning as ‘On Job Training’

Strange when my clips were removed in the Minor OT of the hospital, it was on the same table where the post operation stitches of my wife, were removed a couple of years earlier.

I had gone to the hospital for Hernia and came back with Piles and Prostrate, a most uncomfortable and painful condition, possible after effects of anesthesia, till it lasted. It was a case of ‘Buy One Get Two Free’

BLS

anujgoliya

February 22nd, 2008, 09:48 AM

Hi
Appreciate if you can suggest few motivational books on man managements. Not fiction but once based on real life epsidoes.

Br// Anuj

bls31

February 25th, 2008, 01:27 PM

this is one subject on which there is no dearth of books, and if you browse in any good book shop or library you will be able to pick up one.

I did develop my own style of management over time.

Honesty
sincerity
Loyalty: both to your superiors, and subordinates
Justness in dealings especially with subordinates

More importantly to protect your command (your unit) from external influences , demands and threats that is possible if you have a motivated team, that you can create by personal example. It does take time in a civilian organization. In Services one wears the authority on the shoulder so it is does not take that much time to motivate your team who are very perceptive. I do hope I have not complicated the issue too much Best Brig Lakshman

bls31

April 8th, 2008, 02:06 PM

I added this chapter recently BLS

MHOW Our Own Oracle

A hundred Rupee Note did get exchanged from my hand to his; was it at his request or due to the empathy, his penury and destitution being so transparent and his efforts to dress as he was making it obvious that he had seen better days, that I felt for him ?

I

t was a few days after my appeal for having been passed-over had been rejected by the authorities that be, and I had reconciled to the fact but not Jeet , who, in the meantime, had packed the house and decided to bid farewell to Mhow with or without me, that we were sitting together in the veranda of our beloved hutment, both in silence, possibly contemplating the next step and the future plans, that I noticed an elderly gentlemen dressed in suit and tie standing at the Gate and beckoning me.

From a closer look he appeared to be pretty down at heels, his clothes had certainly seen better days and a bit desperate from his demeanour. ‘I can feel some vibrations’ he sad and pleaded ‘please let me come in I have some thing to tell you.’

His being a stranger and me not being sure as to what he could have to tell me opened the gate of the compound and rather reluctantly let him in.

It transpired that he had a claim to have some ESP (Extra Sensory Powers) at his command, though not a believer in ESP or astrology, possibly remembering my earlier encounter with the Oracle from Nathang, way back in 1970 at Lungthu in Sikkim; I let him have his say.

A hundred Rupee Note did get exchanged from my hand to his; was it at his request or due to the empathy, his penury and destitution being so transparent and his efforts to dress as he was making it obvious that he had seen better days, that I felt for him ?

I now do not recall if he held my hands or looked at the lines in my palm but he soon declared that I would get my next promotion very soon. Though his prediction was pleasant to the ears, I was convinced that it was pure hogwash, especially with the rejection-slip to my appeal safely locked, from the eyes of Jeet, in my briefcase, I responded by telling him that there was no chance of his prophesy coming true. He still insisted, was quite adamant and positive about hid

prediction. .

Fortunately for me he was right and I was wrong in my thinking: to my and every one’s surprise the next Selection Board, strangely based on the same old, my earlier Annual Reports and with no fresh inputs, cleared me for the next rank.. However, the damage had already been done in nullifying the advantage of the two years anti-date which I had due to my technical qualifications. Perhaps it benefited some individual or individuals; yet I have no regrets.

The prophesy by the Oracele of Mhow came 100% true unlike the prediction by the Oracle of Nathang which was only 50 % correct in that Banker did not make it to Lt Col , while in his case the prophecy in respect of then Maj Gen V C Khanna along that made about me also came true. I do not remember as to who had apprised me of this but it is also a fact that at that time It was Maj Gen J Mayadas who was the favourite and centre of all attraction, so obvious when both of them had together visited MCTE for some function, to be the next So-in-C. However, it was Khanna who to every one’s surprise, shock and awe, got promoted to Lt Gen and took over as the next So-in- C, on retirement of Lt Gen R P Sapra, as prophesied by the our own Oracle of Mhow.

So-in C (Signal Officer in Chief of the Indian Army)