Ode to the army man

“Hey you know, yesterday another army man died and another was injured at the border, fighting some insurgents,” I said.

“Ya things keep happening there everyday.”

I was frankly quite shocked at this remark. I never expected such casual attitude towards that man who laid down his life so we could live fearlessly. So we could travel in Metros and crib about all the ‘unnecessary’ security checks. So we could have a fun weekend at the mall with our kids. So another 26/11 would not happen.

I wonder where have we become so insensitive?

My first memory of an army man came from the ’84 riots. My city, Ranchi had been burning for a day now. Literally burning. From our terrace we could see smoke arising from all corners of the small city that Ranchi was then. We could even guess if now it was Bhatia sports shop up in flames or the Punjabi Sweet shop. At the tender age of ten, I did not quite understand the hatred. I could not figure out why our downstairs Sikh neighbours were fraught with worry. A widow, the aunty lived with her two sons in the ground floor house. Not the safest house in our building if any attackers decided to enter our relatively quiet colony.

Just a day ago I had been crying for Indira Gandhi. She had been my hero. I had wanted to be as charismatic as her. My world seemed to be in a chaos.

The rampage went on the entire day and well into the night. Finally army was called in to control the situation. Sec 144 (curfew) was declared all over the city – even in our calm colony that had thankfully been unaffected by the rioting. We came to know what it was like being cooped inside the house day in and day out. Those days we had no TV either!

Army men were posted in most corners of the colony. Our building was on the main crossroads with a small security checkpost. A single army man was dropped off there.

I remember hiding behind our balcony wall and watching him. Green army fatigues, boots, a cap and a machine gun. He looked a bit scary infact. While my brother and I just watched, other kids, boys, started playing with their toy machine guns. Aiming it at the man and going rut tut tut, the fake sound the toys make. Yet the man did not even flinch from his place. His stood there quietly, alone in the sun, always watchful always alert, always the gun on his shoulder within reach.

But something bothered our parents. The man had been there since before we woke up and now it was well into the afternoon. He hadn’t had anything to eat or drink. Out of humanity or respect, my mother put some tea in a flask and sent the tea and some biscuits with me and my brother.

Still somewhat scared I hid behind the bushes and called out, “Uncle”

I tried to give him the goods but he ardently refused and warned us to go back inside. When even at night there was no sign of food for him, we were sent again. This time I felt bolder and insisted a little. His face didn’t look as scary as his uniform. He was like any other uncle. This time I think he accepted the flask, but no biscuits.

Slowly he became a friend to us kids. He even allowed us to play outside, but behind the building.

“But if you see the truck coming, hide yourselves,” he told us benevolently.The curfew lifted in some days and the man was gone. I never saw him again. But that image of him guarding us day and night while we slept peacefully is stuck in my mind. For me he had restored peace in my little world. It turned into a respect that I cherish within my heart everyday. Every army man reminds me of his dedication and strength.

Let us not be so insensitive. Yes, things keep happening and soldiers keep dying at the border – but do we think the same when civilians are killed in terrorist attacks all over the country? No we remember dates 9/11, 26/11, we hold candle marches, we make human chains! For an army man or woman each day is a date. Let us learn to atleast respect that commitment they take just for us to live on our daily lives.

Courtesy;shwetasheel.