ऐसा थोड़े ही होता है (it doesn't happen like that)

I am not used to having the TV remote to myself. I had the chance last week. There was no mode of transport, laptop, internet or husband around. Me and the TV became very good friends. I thanked the emotional immediacy it provided by merely being around, without asking for anything from me. Expecially in the night when reasons begin to clamour and every sound is magnified to its demonish magnificence.

On one such night I began watching an eposide of 'Grey's Anatomy'. We never see it when my husband is around. This is something about doctors that I don't understand. They don't want to watch movies or soaps about other doctors. They always look at it realistically and say 'ऐसा थोड़े ही होता है' (it doesn't happen like that).

I watched on regardless. In one of the episode, a pregnant lady (Callie) gets into an accident and is rushed for an operation. As they are wheeling her in, she comes out of her own body and starts singing. One by one other doctors are singing as the operation is going on. All the operatic drama ends when life resumes its rhythm and Callie is back to consciousness (in a Hindi soap this would have qualified for a jubilant relative running out of the recovery room screaming 'उसे होश आ गया है' mimicking a shrill falsetto).

This person coming out of her body and breaking into a song would have made me go 'uuugghhh' at the creative liberties taken. But it didn't. It took me back to the times when I had just regained consciousness after a seven hour long operation.

There a song 'Tumhe aaj maine Jo dekha' from a movie called 'Kuch na Kaho' (I have never seen the fiilm, nor did I have prior association with it ever) kept running in my mind. It was as if I was standing and looking at myself being wheeled out of the OT on the beats of this song. 

Doors being flung open...me swaying from side to side as if I am I am on the lower side berth of a superfast train....a young trainee holding me still in the side position so that the back doesn't touch the bed....a doctor shouting at him for not doing it properly.....'LD Flap LD Flap' he kept uttering in a loop....warm fluid running out of the corner of my mouth even though I could feel no sensation....wires stemming out as body extensions and attached to some beeping screens....lying with eyes closed even after regaining consciousness...the herculean effort that opening those eyes was (eyelids had vaccumed shut for the lack of any eyelash).....knowing that dad is waiting there with bated breath for me to open my eyes....the guilt of not wanting him to be the first person I wanted to see when I open my eyes....the pangs of not finding the person I wanted to see around....being extremely thirsty....dad requesting the night doc...finally being allowed to get a few ice cubes to be placed on my lips....a teenaged boy admitted on the bed next to mine that night....screen being pulled around him...machines brought in....doctors shouting something about 'adrenaline'.....him being declared dead....other doctors leaving....his father crying and asking the duty doctor 'how can he be dead.....he is still breathing'.....the doc saying 'it is just the machine hiss...he is gone....we take him off the macine and he won't be breathing'.....the boy, the father the machine being taken away at some point in the night.....my father peeping in from the door to see if I was being given the ice cubes (he wasn't allowed inside)....that night was probably the longest night I ever had....waiting for morning.....knowing that there definitely will be a morning even though the night seems endless.......the restlessness of the mind in a still body (truly understood the book 'Diving Bell & The Butterfly' that night)

My body or mind didn't feel, hear or experience these things. I was watching all this as a third person right next to myself....all strung together to the tunes of a song I didn't even like.

So next time you feel like saying 'ऐसा थोड़े ही होता है'.....pause....maybe things like that do happen. Imagination is one thing but Art does immitate life. Maybe sometimes ऐसा होता है........

(Note - It has been 6 years but all I had to do was look up the song on youtube and close my eyes. I was sitting on that slab again....seeing all this crisply edited to the beats of 'Tumhe Aaj Maine Jo Dekha')

Disconnected in the times of 3G

What is that sinking feeling called when you feel inferior not for the lack of anything but when you feel that instead of friends meeting after a long time, a few gadgets are getting together and discussing their tech specs?

That is how I felt last evening.

I didn't meet people. I met an ipad, a Dell Streak, a Kindle and a Samsung Galaxy. I stands for a Nokia E63 here.

How are you? How is your wife? How are the children? Tell me about your new job? This is what I would have wanted to ask. Instead, the conversations revolved mostly around what each gadget can or cannot do.

Aren't these machines meant to connect us more?
Why did I feel so disconnected?

Why do I have to justify why I went for a Samsung Netbook instead of a tab when they cost almost the same? How should it matter if one person knows how to convert a .mobi file into a pdf? Why is it so difficult to fathom that I don't want to use pushmail even if my phone supports it? How it cost 100 USD just for the ipad cover etc etc!!! I undersatand one must know about these things and be technologically updated. In fact I am thankful to them for introducing me to things I din't know. But to just go on and on about it....it drained me of any will to talk further.

When I sit with Iru or Anagha, I don't remember me bragging about how the complex video editing softwares work or them bragging about their imacs. We talk about us. Our families. What drives us at work. What pulls us back. Our travels. Movies. Food. Books. So much to share and enrich.

I felt very out of place yesterday. Whatever happened to being happy for the other person just coz you feel happy that your friend has purchased a new gadget and not because how you have a better one?


Maybe things would have been different if I had mentioned that I am planning to buy a 12 core Mac Pro soon. But I was not me yesterday. I was a mere Nokia E 63 without 3G who couldn't even open the GPS map that one of the friends had sent as the pickup location.

How to Play the Bansuri (Indian Flute) - Youtube Videos

 Introduction to Bansuri

How to choose a Flute for yourself

Types of Flutes

The Sur

Exercises & Basic Lessons

Playing in Concert Pattern

All the other Ragas you can get it when you view the channel itself.

Welcome in Uniform - Part II

(Real names have been withheld as these are all people in uniform/service and cannot be named here).

Jamnagar

When you think of a squadron, you imagine it brimming with fighter pilots in aviator shades. They sure are the heroes we have all wanted to grow up to be or marry (thank you Tom Cruise) but there are others who complete the picture. Technical crew, logistics, administrative guys, medical support, education dept. etc. They all make it into a self sufficient unit.

What happens when all those in uniform, of that area, are away on a secret operation? (yes things like these are a reality in everyday lives of people in uniform). Not for a few days or weeks but for 10 or 11 months at a stretch.

Imagine a spouse who doesn't know where her husband is or when will he return? Once you have imagined the plight of one such wife, do imagine hundred such wives. It can drive you crazy to try and answer each and every one of them or help them with their chores. Life has to go on. Kids have to go to school. Bills have to be paid. Everything must run as it was when their husbands were around.

One woman who is usually responsible for managing all this (almost an unwritten understanding) is the Commanding Officer's wife. This is a role which calls for immense amount of patience, tact and judiciousness. 

One such lady got a phone call one day. It was a trunk call from Bihar. Any unknown or unsolicited call is scary in such times. She held onto the receiver hoping all was well.

An old couple came online. They were quick, sharp and lost no time in telling her that a woman will be travelling by this particular train and reaching her at this particular time with her luggage. She was free to accommodate her or then the lady would be left to fend for herself. 

This was something which struck this her like a bolt. Who was coming over, why was she coming over, what did she expect from her?

She didn't have to wait for long. The lady was at her doorstep sooner than expected.

Calling her a grown woman was rude. She was a young girl. Could have been 19 or 20 yrs old.

She stood there with two suitcases and a paper chit with an address which she had finally managed to find and reach. The moment she kept the suitcases down and figured that she had reached the right pl;ace, she burst out crying.

"I have been married for almost 8 months. My husband said he was going away on a mission right after our marriage. He never told me where and when is going to be back. I stayed with my parents the first three months. We still didn't know where he was. He refused to divulge. They sent me to my in-laws. I have been with them for 5 months. He calls once in a while but never tells anything else. I hope he is not going to leave me. Now, I can't stay with them, so we found out about his unit and your address." The uncertainties of her newly married life reflected clearly on her face and travel-tousled clothes.

This was a long story told in a few minutes. The CO's wife sat and heard it all. Her mind was ticking. This young girl whom she knew nothing about was her responsibility now. Washing her hands off was unthinkable.

"Is he here? I hope he hasn't taken another wife. How can he be away for so long and not get any leave?", the girl continued.

"He is fine, don't worry. He is away at work. He is doing such an important job that they are unable to find a replacement who is as good as him. So he is unable to take leave," the lady consoled the girl knowing fully well why he hadn't disclosed anything on unsecured phone lines.

"First you must have something to eat, then we will talk to your husband".

While she freshened up, the lady arranged for a phone call, a temporary accommodation to be allotted and called all the other women who were posted there, to her house.

Sisterhood of the Fauji Wives

The girl calmed down after she spoke with her husband. She could now be explained where and how he was. In the meanwhile all the other women gathered. Everyone had a thing or two for her. Utensils, mattresses, curtains, cooking gas etc. were thus arranged in no time. All the ladies took it upon themselves to teach her a thing or two about the Forces and how the spouses were the backbone of serving personnel who fought at the front without worrying who was going to take care of their families. In two days she had a running house.

And in two months, when her husband came back from the 'Operation', he was amazed to find that his young bride had already been transformed in the Fauji (Military) Wife. 

Welcome in Uniform - Part I

Last night the dinner table was abuzz with stories of how an act of pure heartfelt welcome can leave such a lasting impression on the ones who arrive in a city for the first time. (Real names have been withheld as these are all people in uniform/service and cannot be named here).

Adampur

Two young boys of 21 or 22 had just passed out from the Academy at Hyderabad. Their first posting was at Adampur. For those who don't know, Adampur is in Jalandar district of Punjab. It is also the coldest place in plains in India. 

They had not informed anyone about their arrival requirements. They had only sent a telegram mentioning their arival and joining dates. Trains generally stopped there in the middle of the night. It would be criminal, to ask people they didn't know, to come and receive them in the thick of December winters. Shy and naive, they decided to take it as it comes.

At 2:00 am, the train approached the station. One of them headed to the door to hail a porter, second one stood inside guarding the luggage. The first one ran back and asked the other to have a look out of the window. The train had slowed down. It was dark. The railway platform was absolutely deserted. No lights, no vendors, no porters, no other passengers. Just one odd person sound asleep under the vacant bench. It was isolated and abandoned to the extent that one would imagine no one ever came here.

As the train finally pulled to a stop, they stepped out of their first class coaches.

They were about to head for the out gate when they saw the silhouette of a man walking towards them. 

The boys were clueless.

He walked straight up to them. Shook their hands. Gave them a big warm smile and said, "Welcome to Adampur!"

The boys didn't know how or why was this gentleman here at this unearthly hour. Who was he?

"This is your first posting, right?", the stranger asked in a crisp clear tone.

"Yes Sir", they replied in unison. They could see him clearly now. He was just a few years older but his demeanor commanded respect. 

"Welcome to the Forces," he smiled back.

He had been waiting for them at the railway platform for a long time. He was there against everyone's advice. "You are mad to go and wait there for the train at this time of the night in this freezing weather. Those boys will find their way to the Unit on their own, why are you wasting your time??", everyone had expressed their disapproval. Those were the days of 'no mobile phones'. But he wanted to be here for them because he knew how stinging the bitterness of a cold night at a new place can be.

He led them to the vehicle waiting outside. Long regal strides confirmed that this is how a young Squadron Leader leads the youngest members of his fleet. An example they will remember when it is their time to take charge.

Today, those young boys are old and senior enough to command their own squadrons. Thanks to their first welcome experience, they make sure that everyone (irrespective of the rank) who gets posted to their unit, gets the warmest of welcome. They have been taught pretty well that leading from the front requires leading from the heart!