An Extraordinary Day in an Ordinary Life

It was a fine summer afternoon and I was at the Delhi airport on my way to my regiment's operational location beyond Jammu, India’s northern most state. It was the year 1999 and terrorists supported by Pakistani regulars had sneaked into the northern reaches of India with the devious aim of taking over a strategic piece of land. India promptly countered Pakistan’s military designs and what ensued was a bloody war fought in, on top and near the mountains of Kargil. The Indians subsequently shoved the enemy back to its barracks but not before taking on a high casualty. This was also the first war in recent times that was fought in parallel by the Indian media which unequivocally supported the Indian soldier thereby making him a hero overnight.

A day before my travel, my adjutant had called up and instructed me to travel in what we call ‘disrupted fatigues’ or in lay man’s term a camouflage combat dress. There was no time for me to change into my battle gear once I reached Jammu as the war was now at its peak and there were good chances of the fighting between the two countries extending to where I was posted. From the airport, I was meant to drive off directly to my regiment location somewhere near the Indo-Pakistan border.

My extended family which was coincidentally visiting us came to drop me at the airport; like good old Indians, they huddled around me, each giving me their little piece of advice, from eating healthy to not drinking too much alcohol to some even suggesting it was time for me to get married. The small crowd of family members gathered around me gave the other passengers the impression that this young soldier was going to the heart of the Kargil war to fight the enemy.

A crowd quickly formed around me and the passengers anyway animated by continuous media reporting about the war walked up to me, some giving me a thumb up sign, others patting me on my back telling me how brave I was and how proud they were of the Indian professional combat soldier.

At 21 years, I was still oblivious to what was happening around me. 

I said my goodbyes and walked into the entrance of the terminal, only to be taken aback by the usually lethargic Delhi Police official (DP used to man entrances to the Delhi airport back then) jump from his chair, pull up his trousers which barely made it to his waist because of his bulging tummy, and salute me in the smartest possible way, “Jai Hind Saab’ he screamed while his other hand tried to search for his beret. Now men in uniform are not meant to salute without their head gear on but everything is excusable for the smartly turned out Delhi Policeman! I returned the salute and turned around to say bye to my mother one last time. The crowd by now had swelled - they all were waving at me. Something was amiss and I wasn't getting it.

Perplexed yet dismissing all that was happening around me, I walked towards the airline counter only to be 'attacked' by a group of porters who insisted on carrying my rucksack. I resisted initially but gave in to their rather persistent request of carrying my luggage, 'free of cost' as they said when I tried to tip them later.

I checked into the aircraft and found myself a seat right at the end of the aircraft; I desperately needed some sleep before I jumped into the heart of action on the border. I was exhausted, also partying the whole night before with friends wasn't helping. The air hostess closed the door and we were ready to take off.

The pilot made his customary welcome speech and in the end announced that we had a special passenger travelling with us and that he was honoured to fly with this special guest. I looked around to spot the guest, I was sure it was a Bollywood star. Funnily I never spotted any.

 The Captain continued with his announcement, “ladies and gentleman we have a young Indian Army officer travelling with us, we wish him and all our other fellow soldiers on the border all the very best”. Now I am a very shy person and anything to do with public accolade makes me red with embarrassment; I shrunk as much as possible into my seat. Some passengers then got up from their seats, turned around and looked at me. Then as if on cue, they all started clapping, some even screaming ‘bharat mata ki jai’ and “jai hind”. I didn’t know where to look or what to say, I simply smiled hoping they would stop right away.

The flight finally took off and after a few pleasantries with other passengers, I slipped back into my slumber. Midway through to Jammu, a man tapped on my shoulder and introduced himself as a retired army officer who was now head of security for the airline. He was travelling on this flight to assess the security situation and was happy to know that a YO (young officer) was traveling in their midst. He was so impressed when I told him I was headed to the border that he lined up all the stewards and stewardess on the aisle and one by one, they all came and shook hands with me. Whilst it felt nice to be acknowledged and respected for the work that I was doing, I did feel a bit too overwhelmed by the sudden shower of recognition, something men in Olive Greens aren't used to.

We landed in Jammu and all passengers insisted that I exit first, even though I was in the last row. As I was deplaning, the head stewardess asked me to wait a minute as she had a special gift for me. I wanted this saga to end but she was insistent. 'Never say no to a pretty damsel' is what my seniors had taught me and so I agreed to wait at the entrance of the aircraft, busy shaking the hand of every passenger the second time over as they disembarked.

After all passengers left the aircraft, the head stewardess, a Christian lady whose name I sadly don't remember, walked up to me and handed me an envelope. She said, “this is a small gift from us, keep it.” I thanked her and walked off into the terminal, picked up my rucksack and left for the border. 

That night in my tent, far from civilization, I opened the envelope and much to my surprise, found a photo of the virgin Mary, next to it was a white sticker on which was written, “this is a miraculous photo of the virgin mother, she will protect you, we love you all”.

Deeply touched by the gesture, I placed the photo next to a small statue of Hanuman, the monkey god that I had kept in my tent. Later that night, my sahayak (helper), a young lad from Rajasthan, saw the photo and asked me if the photo was that of my mother. I smiled at him and said yes.

 We wished each other goodnight and as I closed my eyes, I thought to myself, what an extraordinary day it was in the life of an ordinary man.