My New Book 'The one way street'

[bls31]

I have just finished the first draft of my Second Book titled 'The One Way Street'

I am posting the Preamble, If I find some response I may post, some times later, the Preface and ultimately th Epilogue
Brig Lakshman Singh
BLS31






[FONT=&quot]PREFACE[/FONT]



[FONT=&quot]Long back,some times in 1953, then just out of university, I chanced to draw Nirad C.Choudhry’s ‘The Autobiography of An Unknown Indian’, from the library in Nainital, an immensely readable book, a classic that was read by most if not every one. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I dare not claim that I was inspired to write, ‘The Story of My Life’, now sixty years later, by reading Choudhry’s book. I, on the other hand have written this to excoriate from inside me that what was all this time was struggling to, some how, exit.The only common factor between the two of us, Choudhry and me, he unknown then, and I, now. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]It has been an exercise, resulting in a catharsis. Now with me at peace, I understand myself better, more importantly, the impact and importance of my love for my late beloved wife, whom I addressed as Jeet and every one else as Rosy, as it was then and is,even now, in shaping my life, as it is today.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I will be too happy, if those who chance to pick up the book and enjoy reading 'The One Way Street' or my ‘Life and Times’, a bit of a recent history too , apart from being a love story, that of an ordinary and unknown, to most, individual; some one ,more likely like the person next door. [/FONT]

 

[neels]

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.

 

[ritu]

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

 

[bls31]

Book

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.

♣

[FONT=&quot]The Pain of loving[/FONT][FONT=&quot]; 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 [/FONT]

 

[bls31]

bOOK

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]

Book

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]

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]

Dear BLS,

Looking forward for the book to be out !

Please do post some more excerpts.

 

[bls31]

book

If you insist
[FONT=&quot]……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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]One of the group was a [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Bengal[/FONT][FONT=&quot] 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. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] 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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]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. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]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’. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]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’. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]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.[/FONT]


[FONT=&quot] 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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]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. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]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.[/FONT]



BLS

 

[raj_rathee]

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]

BOOk

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]

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]

Book

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

And a bit more

[FONT=&quot]….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. [/FONT]

♣


[FONT=&quot] 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 [/FONT][FONT=&quot]East Pakistan[/FONT][FONT=&quot]. The CO had gone down to see off the Brigade Signal Company commanded by Lt Datta. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] …… 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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] 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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] ….., 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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] 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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] 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.[/FONT]

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

[FONT=&quot] 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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] The questions eventually took a turn towards what was on the mind of all of us…..[/FONT]

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

[FONT=&quot] `One Ship' [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The information about our loss did not do much to lift our spirits.[/FONT]

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



BLS

 

[ritu]

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

 

[bls31]

Book

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]

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]

book

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]

[FONT=&quot]

[/FONT]





[FONT=&quot] ….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. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] 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 [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Lhasa[/FONT][FONT=&quot] was ready.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] I would regularly write to Jeet at [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Dehra Dun[/FONT][FONT=&quot], a letter a day, about my loneliness and also to fill the same,….[/FONT]

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..

[FONT=&quot] ….some times making the plans for the promised annual leave in September/ October.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] 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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] 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 [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]prepared from Yak milk and it tasted and smelled like nothing on the earth at least to me… [/FONT]
♣

[FONT=&quot] 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, [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Lucknow[/FONT][FONT=&quot] or [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Delhi[/FONT][FONT=&quot]. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] 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. [/FONT]


[FONT=&quot] 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.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] 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 [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Bombay[/FONT][FONT=&quot].[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] 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…..[/FONT]


[FONT=&quot] Thanks to the Chinese, it was on this day that they decided to play a prank , [/FONT]

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



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

 

[bls31]

My new Book

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]

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!