Month: Jun 2026

Divorced… Almost! Not once, twice!

“Till death do us part.”

Word-of-mouth publicity and a few flattering comments on Amazon are doing good to promote the sales of Chhaya’s book—UNSCRIPTED: A Dateless Diary. The concluding line of one of the reviews has popularised the book among the soon-to-be-married and the just-married people. Young women are gifting the book to their partners in the hope of some transformation. That one line, which whets curiosity, is: “Last but not least, it (the book) tells you what a husband should be like.”

Needless to say, Chhaya was very kind to me through the pages of her book. After reading that comment a match-making bureau requested me to guide their clients. Now, that’s a lie meant to humour my own self. The fact is that some youngsters did seek ‘the secret’ of a peaceful married life and I made a hash of it. It was like, a blind person trying to lead other blind people.

Oh God, forgive such naïve people for they know not that the role model who they wish to follow has been close to being divorced. Not once, twice!

Read on, if you must.

The first instance when our married life neared termination was within less than a year of our blissful togetherness. Exceptional chef that Chhaya is, she had already found her way to my heart through my tongue. She loved seeing me feast on her preparations with the joy of a child. I specially relished the different kinds of cakes she baked.

One day, she prepared a pineapple cake for me. Ah, a pineapple cake!

It had a lovable deep golden-brown crust. I got my share of the spongy thing, and ate it too. I don’t recall if I had eaten one like it before. The leftover part of it was kept for tea over the next few days.

I blundered the very next evening. In Chhaya’s presence, I ate a piece of the cake with mango pickle. I thought she would approve of my inherited Marwari palate, and appreciate my spirit of experimenting with food.

I was mistaken.

Chhaya looked at me as though I had committed culinary sacrilege. She was H-U-R-T. A divorce between us was averted on the condition that I’d never again ask her to bake a cake for me. With a heavy heart I agreed; it was indeed a small price to pay for my monumental misdemeanour. Notwithstanding the unwritten agreement, the kind-hearted person she is, Chhaya continued baking cakes for me. On my part, I have never again tried experimenting with my taste buds in her presence.

I concede that, in that instance, it was my fault. Entirely my fault. I still carry the guilt for hurting my soulmate by that ‘cake & pickle’ episode. But the second time when the boat rocked dangerously, I was definitely a victim of circumstances. The real culprit was Javed Miandad who drew a wedge between us.

How can I forget that date—April 18, 1986? The two of us were watching the Austral-Asia Cup final between India and Pakistan being played at Sharjah. A cricketer herself, she was engrossed in the match, ‘dil se.’ For me, it was just a sporting event. While I wanted India to win, deep down I knew that Pakistan winning the match was a possibility. Period.

As the game progressed, I realised that she was deeply emotional about the outcome. Since I did not want her to miss watching even a ball, I took it upon myself to fetch the occasional coffee and snacks. It didn’t occur to me then, that besides coffee and snacks, she was sending me on trivial errands repeatedly—to fetch water, a cushion, more snacks, and even for chores like closing the bedroom door ‘properly’. I could barely observe a pattern or comprehend her behaviour.

Together, we can…

Only in the final over did she disclose a theory of her own, which I found amusing. According to her, every time I left the room to do something, Pakistan suffered a setback—missed a boundary, or lost a wicket. She was convinced that my presence in the drawing room in front of the TV set was somehow favouring Pakistan. And then, at that critical point when Pakistan needed four runs off the last ball to win, she pleaded, “Shona (she calls me lovingly by that name), if you go out of the room, India will surely win.”

“Anything for the country, and for you, darling,” I laughed, and stepped out, closing the door behind me. I took a walk on the lawn for what I thought was a reasonable time, and then, returned. As luck would have it, just as I re-entered our drawing room, Javed Miandad smashed Chetan Sharma’s delivery for a six.

India suffered one of its most heartbreaking defeats that day.

“You couldn’t wait outside just for five minutes for the sake of the country!” Teary-eyed Chhaya blamed me for India’s debacle. My advocate father-in-law sided with me and saved the situation for me in that instance. To this day, close finish of sporting events involving India, leave me uneasy.

For the reason I stated earlier in this piece, it would be improper on my part to sermonise young people on the age-old institution of marriage. Perhaps every marriage survives on love, laughter, and the willingness to forgive the occasional foolishness. Ours has endured because of Chhaya’s tolerance of many of my habits, including snoring and, accepting me the way I am.

Comments

Mrs Sanghmitra Nanavaty:

Good morning!
This has been most hilarious! Little did I know about your capability of stepping on her wrong side at such precarious stages!! Boy, cake + pickle is unacceptable, 🤦‍♀️Chhaya has been truly kind….
Anyway you both are definitely an example to follow (never mind what’s behind curtains 😜) and the younger generation will continue to consider you a role model. Chhaya is lucky and so are you, having HER in your life. God bless. Stay the way you are.❤️

Close Encounter of the Lucerne Kind

Article reproduced with permission from Wing Commander JK Kaushik (IAF Veteran).

The lead story in the newspapers and the TV channels over the last few days has been the US-Iran Summit at Lucerne in Switzerland. This took me back a couple of years when we had an encounter of a different kind in the very city that hosted the Summit recently.

Our son Aditya has lived in Zurich, Switzerland since 2020. The Covid pandemic restrictions disrupted travel and the plans for a family reunion. When travel restrictions were gradually removed, we decided to visit him. There’s a lovely view of Lake Zurich and the snow-covered peaks of the Alps from Aditya’s apartment. After soaking in the unadulterated beauty for a few days, we began exploring the rest of Switzerland. Aditya or Angelika (our daughter-in-law) accompanied us on these trips depending on their work schedules. When both were busy, Kalpana and I ventured out on our own.

…the Lucerne Summit Meet

One of the first excursions we undertook was to Lucerne—a short train ride from Zurich. On reaching Lucerne station we took a short bus ride to go Mount Pilatus. We absorbed the natural beauty of the Swiss alps on the gondola ride to the top of Mount Pilatus. The strong cold wind that greeted us at the top froze us to the bones. But, the view from the top was a treat to the soul. We enjoyed it for some time and, after a hot cup of coffee at the summit restaurant, prepared to return to Lucerne. This time we chose to take the special cogwheel railway down. Incidentally, the cogwheel railway from Mount Pilatus is the steepest such train in the world. The cogwheel railway ride down the slopes of Pilatus was a rare experience. Once we reached the base, we took a boat across Lake Lucerne to return to Lucerne.

The excursion to Mt Pilatus had taken much less time than we had anticipated. We had a few more hours at our disposal. The guidebooks suggested that we visit the Kapellbrücke (Chapel Bridge). This is an old wooden bridge, 170 m long, constructed in 1300 AD. There is a stone water tower at one end which, as the glossy handouts noted, had served as a lookout tower, a water storage tower and also as a prison. The bridge was partially burnt in 1993, but has since been painstakingly restored.

the LIONS

Google Maps guided us through the short walk from Lake Lucerne ferry terminal to the Chapel Bridge. We found that the area around was practically deserted as the Bridge is meant only for the pedestrians. After the ‘mandatory’ photo at the entrance, Kalpana and I started strolling slowly to the other end. We noticed a couple of benches on the bridge and decided to sit down for a few minutes. As we were approaching the benches I noticed another couple of almost our age walking ahead of us slowly and occupying the first bench. I remarked to Kalpana that they appeared to be Indian tourists like us. We went past them and settled on the next bench.

Kalpana started taking out the water bottle and some refreshments from her handbag. “They look very familiar,” she mused gesturing at the couple. I dismissed her remark as pure imagination. But, when she insisted that I take a look, I lifted my eyes from the screen of my mobile phone, which I had been scrolling as a matter of habit.

And, lo and behold, it was Diwakant, my NDA Course-mate and Squadron-mate and his wife. We had last met about 6 years ago at the course get-together at the IMA.

… and the’LIONS’ meet at Lucerne

“Hi Diwa!” I got up and called out to him.

He looked up a bit surprised as to who could be calling him by his name so far away from India. In seconds we were in a bear hug—laughing at the rare coincidence of two course mates from same squadron being at a tourist spot in Switzerland at the same time. After much backslapping Diwa told us that they were on a short trip to France and Switzerland from Ireland where his son was working. Once the initial euphoria subsided we completed our walk along the Chapel Bridge and the Old town across the river.

Lucerne has a Lion Monument. Since two Lions from Lima squadron had met by chance it was almost obligatory for us to visit the Lion Monument. After the visit to the Lion Monument and some souvenir shopping it was time for good byes. We had to head back to Zurich; Diwa was staying the night at Lucerne before taking the flight back to Ireland the next day. The world is wondering if the US-Iran Lucerne Summit will lead to some tangible outcomes. Let them keep meeting and fencing till cows come home. But the chance meeting of NDA Course-mates—and two LIONS in that—is a feeling to be cherished for a lifetime. This chance rendezvous was much more rewarding than any Lucerne Summit.

Traffic Monsters of NCR

Article reproduced with permission from Wing Commander JK Kaushik (IAF Veteran).

Anyone who drives a car or two wheelers knows the sorry state of our traffic. A study of the CCTV footage of the peak-hour traffic by the department of road transportation concluded that there were over 1300 traffic violations in a half hour period in a small stretch of less than 500m. And guess, who were the biggest violators—not the bus drivers, not the autos, but the educated car owners. Hard to digest and believe? One evening when I was seeing off some relatives at the Noida Bus terminus, I overheard two drivers discussing the traffic on Dehradun Highway. It happened to be a Sunday evening. “Today there will be chaos on the roads because all the educated lot will be coming back after the weekend. They have absolutely no sense and try to squeeze in from anywhere.”

The traffic in the NCR is not regulated by any rules. “Might is right,” seems to be the only norm. The next principle of driving is, “I go ahead and everything else be dammed.” Lane driving, overtaking from the right, right of way and maintaining distance are rules and principles that are extinct like the dinosaurs. Most of the car drivers are oblivious of these principles. About the bus drivers, autos and trucks… well, the less said the better. Of course, there is one other class—the tractor drivers. Traffic rules? What are those? Are they applicable to farmers/tractors? And then we have the gentlemen and ladies from the traffic police whose job it is to enforce the rules. Except for a few exceptional policemen from Delhi police the rest of the traffic police in the NCR is as ignorant about traffic rules as the tractor drivers.

Let’s understand the basic traffic rules as understood by the NCR drivers. First, to turn right at a traffic signal, you can be in any lane. It is your birth right to turn from any lane and if in the process the other drivers get held up, it is not your problem. The policemen are equally ignorant about the rules governing this. Next, while negotiating roundabouts, there is no such thing as right of way. One can go to the extreme end and then cut across traffic coming in from the inside. Don’t believe me? Check out any of the roundabouts in New Delhi area or the one near the Golf Course Metro station during the morning and evening rush hours. Overtaking from the left is something that everyone does. There is of course one basic rule, driving on the left of the road. This is violated so often that traffic police have put up a board as soon as you enter Noida from the N24 side near Sector 62. People of all classes happily drive on the wrong side of the road for a few hundred meters putting themselves and others to grave risk. I fail to understand why these people can’t follow the rules and execute a U-turn from the authorised spot and come and turn towards their destination. A few hundred meters will not increase their fuel costs too much! While the car drivers are bad, the two-wheeler riders are horrible.

Another important characteristic of this region is the scant respect and regard for other drivers/ traffic. All one has to do is try driving past any of the schools in the morning or when the school is closing or whenever there is a PTA meeting. Every parent assumes that it is their birthright to park their vehicles as close to the school gate as possible in any haphazard manner whatsoever. So what, if in the bargain other motorists are put to inconvenience. Who cares? Not the traffic police for sure. I am yet to see traffic police disciplining these errant parents around any of the schools be it DPS, Bal Bharti, Khaitan, or any of the countless others. We can also see the same behaviour when people decide to have an ice cream or a snack, and park their vehicles on the road blocking the traffic in the process.

The two wheelers are a different breed all together. They dodge in and out of traffic with scant regard to the traffic, speed limits or rules. There seems to be some unwritten rule stating that a two-wheeler can weave in front of a fast-moving car at any speed and it is up to the car driver to slow or stop his vehicle. A biker also need not signal or indicate in any manner when he decides to turn.

A class apart is the drivers who drive around with their music systems at full blast and their windows open. I often wonder about the impact of such loud music on the hearing of the driver and the occupants of the car. Another irritating habit that is fast developing into a pain is the use of the ambulance siren by all and sundry. Call centre taxis and SUVs have the siren installed and switch it on when they wish to overtake. The use of sirens by unauthorised vehicles is illegal, but our policemen simply don’t seem to care.

One day, in Chennai a few years ago, I saw a car coming from the opposite direction weaving in and out of traffic and breaking all possible rules. In Chennai, such rash driving is really rare. In a lighter vein, I told my wife that that driver of that car was driving like a Delhiwala. And sure enough, as the car passed us, I saw the Delhi number plates. So, friends, Delhi drivers stand out wherever they may be. In stark contrast to this are drivers abroad. In Malaysia or Singapore or Thailand—people follow rules and respect the others sharing the road. Of course, strict enforcement by the law enforcing agencies helps.

It may be a good idea to make the implementation of the rules stricter at all times and not just when the police carry out some special drives. Policemen should instil a sense of fear and respect in the mind of the driver. As a final word it is very easy to say that someone else should do something about the traffic while the majority of us continue to violate rules. Let each one of us resolve to first educate ourselves and our families about traffic rules and to follow them. If each one of us follows traffic rules as a matter of habit, I am sure the NCR will improve making life safer and happier for all.

A Sinner, or a Saint?

Do I need to correct everyone I perceive to be ‘wrong’?

On rare days, the area around Nizamuddin Railway Station, on the Sarai Kale Khan side, is in chaos. On normal days, it is in utter chaos. To my luck it was a normal day on that June morning when I had alighted from the Bhopal Rajdhani at 6:00 am. I skilfully wove my way through fly-infested little heaps of litter, and patches of dirty water caused by leaky pipes, and manoeuvred around people sleeping on the platform to exit the station. Getting atop the foot-over bridge and walking through a tidal wave of humanity had been an exercise in itself. Outside the station I was greeted by the mixed smell of overcooked spicy food emanating from the dingy hotels on the roadside. Competing with the signature odours of omelette and aloo parantha was the stench from the overflowing drains. A wretched dog, and two crows were feasting on the leftover food offered by a kind-hearted passenger.

Having lost my iPhone a few days ago, I was undergoing a forced digital detox. The apps on the phone I was using for the time being, were functioning at less-than-optimal efficiency. For that reason, my four attempts to engage a cab had failed. In the meantime, I had declined several auto rickshaw drivers to take me to NOIDA. Not that I was averse to travelling by a three-wheeler. It is just that I had three suitcases and an air-bag, which I presumed wouldn’t fit into an auto.

Mahender Singh, an auto driver—the events of the following half hour or so, had obliged me to ask him his name when we parted in NOIDA—read my mind and nudged me to re-evaluate my options. “Sir, don’t worry, I’ll be able to adjust everything into my auto,” he offered.

“Should I continue to stand in the crowded place and keep trying to get a cab; or, I must hop into his auto and get some semblance of relief?” Embedded in that dilemma was my strong urge to be anywhere else, soon. Then, the stench and the noise nudged me to accept his offer. The man could well have been a smart warehouse in-charge, or a logistician, I thought when he stowed my bags meticulously in the little space behind the passenger’s seat.

…king of the road

“Sir, sit tight and keep pushing the back of the seat so that your bags stay in place,” he directed me as he cranked the engine to life. Soon, we were zipping down the crowded road. In a small stretch of about half a kilometre, where pedestrians and vehicles of all kinds were fighting for every inch of space, Mahender’s driving speed was causing me anxiety. The horn of his vehicle was perpetually ‘ON’. He was shoving the nose of his auto into the small gaps wherever he could find them, and was pushing forward. He was behaving like a man possessed. At one point, he entered the wrong lane. My heart missed a beat every time he dodged the traffic coming from the opposite direction. He was occasionally lifting his eyes off the road and staring at the Google Maps on the damaged screen of his mobile phone, which he had tied (literally crucified) on the handle of his auto where the speedometer ought to have been. To him, speed did not matter. In any case, he was driving at max possible throttle setting all the time.

By the time we reached the Outer Ring Road, I had refined the long draft of my sermon to him on adherence to traffic norms. The density of the traffic had reduced, and the average speed of vehicles on the road had gone up considerably. So, I decided to defer the delivery of a piece of my mind to him until we reached NOIDA.

Yet, there was no respite for me. All along the way, he kept changing lanes without giving any indication and overtook vehicles from any ‘convenient’ side. I held firmly on to the metal pipe in front of me and avoided getting thrown out of the auto. On a few occasions, I dared to assist him by stretching my hand out to convey his intention (turning left or right) to the drivers he was sharing the road with. He was looking at me from the corners of his eyes and didn’t mind what I was doing.

“If we, the educated lot, do not correct these erring drivers, who will? On reaching my destination, I’ll pull him up…. But, who am I to correct him? Who all will I correct? There are so many reckless people on the road… the drunken, the rich and the mighty who mow down unsuspecting pedestrians… the under-age privileged ones who kill and are let off by the court after writing an essay on traffic rules….”

Sinner, or Saint

My thoughts were travelling ahead of the noisy auto when, all of a sudden, came a moment of reckoning. An ambulance approached a roundabout which Mahender was negotiating at a high speed. I was certain that he would carry on driving, not giving a pass to the ambulance approaching us from the left. So, I stretched my left hand, indicating to the ambulance driver that Mahender was in no mood to slow down.

To my utter surprise, Mahender slowed down, almost to a halt, and asked me to pull back my hand. “Sir, let the ambulance go,” he said with an air of urgency. Then, he felt the surprise in my reaction and said, “Sir, an ambulance must always be given the right of way. Don’t know how serious the patient inside it might be.” This thought coming from Mahender who had been flouting almost every possible traffic rule since we left Nizamuddin Railway Station, surprised me no end.

I ejected the draft of the moral lecture meant for Mahender, out of my cluttered mind when the auto stopped at my residence. He didn’t deserve a sermon from me. He didn’t let me carry my bags—lifting them himself up a flight of ten steps to the landing in front of my flat. And, before I could realise, he was gone, leaving a breath of fresh air on that summer morning.

Comments

Air Commodore Sanjay Sharma (IAF Veteran)

I was 17 and a half. BSc Prev. Onboard Utkal Express from my small town Kosi Kalan to Raja ki Mandi. ( From home to Sapru Hostel, Agra College). Month of December. A group of four ruffians in their twenties boarded the train without a ticket (an accepted norm on that route) from Mathura. Asked the other passengers to ” Khisko, thoda sa” to make room for them to sit. Started playing cards. I was cursing them silently in my slight frame for being so unruly. There was a beggar in a tattered shirt and an excuse for a pajama. He came dragging himself and started begging. Hardly anybody gave him a paisa until he came close to this gang and suddenly, the most ” Goonda looking” one amongst them took his pullover off and made this beggar wear it.
People broke into applause. I felt small in my own eyes for judging the book by its cover.