Traffic Monsters of NCR

Article reproduced with permission from Wing Commander JK Kaushik.

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.

“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….”

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.

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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.

Unsung Women of Substance

One discovers them by chance…

It wasn’t eavesdropping; the words simply fell on my ears, and I couldn’t help respond. What followed was a precious insight into the behaviour of two conscientious service providers.

The story goes thus:

Yesterday (Tuesday, April 7, 2026), I was in the path lab of Kailash Hospital for a blood test. Since on numerous occasions in the past, I have fainted at the sight of blood, I deliberately looked the other way as the nursing assistant prepared to prick my vein and draw a sample. It was a deliberate effort to divert my attention away from the needle. That’s when I noticed these two young women talking. One of them, Manisha, was a member of the support staff in the lab. The other one, Lalita, was at the desk handling patients’ documents.

It was a rare lull in the otherwise overcrowded lab.

“I was very angry at that patient who left a while ago,” said Manisha.

“I know,” nodded Lalita with understanding.

Curious, I turned to them after my test. “How can you be angry at a patient? As service providers—especially in healthcare—you’re expected to remain calm and caring,” I said.

“But Sir,” Manisha responded politely, “that man spat paan in the bin meant for medical waste. It is unhygienic and simply not done. There are spittoons outside.”

“That’s pathetic behaviour,” I quickly jumped the fence on to her side. “If that was the case, he deserved a slap, not just your anger,” I added with superficial agitation.

On a serious note, I added, “You should have reported the matter to the authorities.”

“Sir,” now it was Lalita’s turn, “Everyone who visits us, is already stressed with an ailment or the other. They carry their own worries. Reacting harshly or escalating matters would only add to their distress. We don’t take offence when none is intended.”

Lalita left me speechless. I hadn’t expected such maturity from someone dealing routinely with difficult situations. I admired the sense of duty of the two women.

“Keep up that spirit,” I said as I left. “Your attitude will take you far.”

How I wish Dr Mahesh Sharma (CEO of Kailash Hospital) reads this piece and gives these women of substance a well-deserved pat on the back.

Postscript:

I happened to be at the lab again yesterday (Tuesday, April 14, 2026). I saw the two ladies; busy as bees. I thought that after my pleasant interaction the other day, they’d recognise me. No, I was mistaken. They couldn’t place me. So, to start a conversation I addressed Manisha, “You are Manisha. Aren’t you?”

“How do you know my name,” said Manisha quizzically.

“Don’t you remember,” I said, “I spoke to you that day about…”

“Ohhh yes, Sir. Of course, of course” she smiled, “I remember now…”

I showed them this post on my blog and said, “I wish, Dr Mahesh Sharma sees it. He’ll be pleased.”

I thought, the two would be flattered by something being written about them and their CEO coming to know about their dedication to duty. But Lalita surprised me yet again with her response. “Sir, it matters less whether Dr Mahesh Sharma reads this and pats us. More important and greatly satisfying for us is that you are pleased with our work and have cared to write about your experience. That, indeed is a big reward!”

My feeling of appreciation and respect for the two climbed many more notches.

If only there were more such people around!

Women of Substance

सैर कर दुनिया की ग़ाफ़िल, ज़िन्दगानी फिर कहाँ? ज़िन्दगानी ग़र रही, तो नौजवानी फिर कहाँ?

This couplet in Urdu––please do not mind the spellings––nudges one to travel around the world while one is (still) alive, for life would mean less (nothing) in old age.

Although I do not go out of my way visiting places, I try to live up to the spirit expressed by the poet and try to make the best of the opportunities that come my way. And, I love to travel by rail rather than by air. Time spent travelling in the train is fun. Sometimes it is more memorable (and enjoyable) than arrival at the destination. The same is true about life too––the struggle and toil that one goes through in life, is as enjoyable, if not more than the achievement of the goal. A journey is a period of time, it is dynamic. The achievement of goal is, but a stationary point. Talking of train journeys––two of my best friends are the people I met during one such memorable journey more than a quarter of a century ago. Arun! Prashant! Are you listening?

I always carry a book when I travel. But lately, the opportunities to flip pages have become rare. There are enough books to read in the faces of people around you. Thanks to the media (social media, included) people are so opinionated and so articulate these days that it is difficult to concentrate and read a line because of the cacophony that surrounds you. When an issue is debated, it becomes difficult to stay neutral. People nudge and tip you to one side of the fence even if you don’t have the knowledge, let alone an opinion, on a subject.

In those regards, my last train journey from Nizamuddin to Ujjain to visit my nonagenarian mother was no less memorable; I carried back a life’s lesson from it. My co-passengers were three men and four women––a balanced crowd, devoid of gender bias. The ages of the men are not all that important; the women were ‘going to be’ senior citizens in a year or two. This revelation came when the conductor made a round and it was revealed that they had availed the concession, which is due to senior citizens (women aged 58 years or more).

The men sat silently; the women were chirpy––talking and cracking jokes. They were less mindful of the people around. Nonetheless in polite meaningless conversation, it emerged that they were a part of a larger ‘women only’ group (nearly a dozen or more travelling by the same train) visiting Ujjain and the nearby places of tourist interest. Their visit to the holy city had nothing to do with their religious beliefs. They were just going sightseeing.

More about them…

That rare species of genuinely happy humans had got together and embarked on this excursion; they had been visiting places similarly for several years now. They had been abroad in the yesteryears. They said that they were through with their commitments in the sense most Indians look at life. Their children were married and well settled in life with respectable jobs. The husbands? Well, they too were happy doing what they were doing.

They appeared to be working ladies in Government jobs travelling on Leave Travel Concession (LTC). A little more familiarity led to a revelation. They were all working for MTNL/ BSNL. They were travelling at their own expense, not on LTC. They had not received their pay cheques for some months and to add to their woes, there was a move to lower their retirement age. There were some glitches with the Voluntary Retirement Scheme (VRS) too.

Surprisingly, there was no trace of grief that one would normally associate with people in such a state––no pay for months and uncertain future. Their only ray of hope was––the union leaders being true to themselves and finding an amicable solution. If the union leaders fell for any personal allurement by the management/ government, all of them would face doom.

“Why were they, the MTNL/ BSNL, a one time Nav Ratna Company, in such dire straits?” queried a curious listener.

“Sir, for years we (MTNL/BSNL) have been getting a raw deal, a stepmotherly treatment. Successive governments have tried to clip our wings. We were not allowed to partcipate (actually ‘forbidden’) when 4G spectrum was auctioned. Now even though we give unlimited data, other private companies are preferred because although they offer very little data, they provide much higher speeds (4G). We have enviable assets, which are rotting. If the government has decided to favour the private players over us, so be it. They can go ahead and sell our assets and give us our pay.” With passion they continued to talk in turns. “Now that we do not have 4G we’ll not be eligible to go in for 5G although our R&D people are already working with some world leaders on 7G technology.”

One of the ladies showed a video clip on her mobile in which someone was trying passionately to elucidate how MTNL/BSNL were unscrupulously marginalised.

Their arguments were Greek and Latin to us. And honestly, we didn’t care. We were satisfied with our Jio and Airtel connectivity. Without going into the depth of what those ladies were saying, we tended to believe that MTNL/BSNL were paying for their poor performance. Period!

Did they care what we thought about MTNL/ BSNL or about them? Or, what was in store for them? Not the least.

Those exuberant women were joined by many others of their ilk when they disembarked at Ujjain Junction. None would have believed that they were going through a crisis of their lifetime with no end in sight. “We want to live life today and now,” said one of them. “Tomorrow when we retire, we’ll go and settle down in different parts of the country and might not get an opportunity to be together ever again.”

Never seen women of such substance, such grit. God was perhaps reading my lips when I picked up my bags to proceed homeward: “Oh God! Give them their due, and more.” I had prayed.

A week later, lost in the din of the UN Climate Summit and Howdy Modi, there are two news items.

One, a threat from a foreign vendor: “Won’t invest more if denied 5G permission, says Huawei.” Is it going to be another nail in the coffin of BSNL/MTNL?

Two, a relief to the deserving: “BSNL pays August salaries to staff: CMD.”

Beyond Work & Golf

Sapan Das.

My meeting with him was incidental. It (just) happened.

When I was posted to Tezpur in the December of 2000, I had to leave behind my family in Delhi to avoid disruption in our son’s studies. He was in the XI standard then, and had to appear in the board exams in the following year.

In the Exotic East it was rather difficult for a forced bachelor (that is the term commonly used in the Air Force for an Air Warrior separated temporarily from his family) to spend the time after work hours. I had taken to serious golfing to put my spare time to good use but then, there were days when weather stymied that effort.

It was one of those days when, although it was not raining, the golf course was flooded and I had little to do. So I started my scooter and headed aimlessly towards the sleepy town of Tezpur. I stopped en route to visit Sapan Das. I thought I’d buy one of those wooden rhinos sold at his complex. Normally I would have requested one of my colleagues to buy one for me.

Hidden from view, a little off the road among the trees was his set up. A better word would be ‘Ashram’––‘Ashram’, because he used to sculpt his masterpieces in that serene environment. He had mastered the art of carving a rhino in wood. It would not be an exaggeration to say that he could carve a rhino with his eyes closed. All his creations were identical to the minutest detail––only the size varied.

Everyone posted in the region used to buy one for self and more for gifting. It was almost a ritual, and I had gone there to fulfil it.

In his hamlet among the trees, there was a low platform, half the size of a volleyball court, covered with a thatched roof. He sat there on the floor engrossed in chiselling a piece of wood. He greeted me with a smile and pointed at a cane chair opposite him.

“Dada, I have come to buy a rhino,” I said, as I sat down.

“Sure Sir, please choose one from those kept on the shelves,” he pointed at a rack. It amazed me that he was looking at me while his deft fingers worked unceasingly on his next masterpiece. Awestruck, I postponed the selection of a piece and sat down again in the chair and started observing the master.

I sat mesmerised for the greater part of an hour.

The spell broke when Sapan Das took a break. Otherwise a quiet person, he opened up when I made small talk over a cup of tea. He had won several national and international awards for his work. He had also been training youth in the area. A large number of them were learning the art from him. I sat for another hour looking at him work. I bought a rhino and returned to the Air Force Station only to come back to Sapan’s abode the next day.

Golf, my passion, had taken a back seat.

My second day at his premises: he was amused at me watching him work so intently. Soon it became a routine. I would visit him whenever time permitted and just watched him work. It used to be a soothing experience; next best to a round of Yoga.

Then, one day, I asked him, “Dada, why do you carve only rhinos? Why not any other thing?”

“Because it represents our region; it symbolises Assam. Besides, it sells and generates funds for me to train these children.”

“For a change, why don’t you carve something else?”

“What else?” He was quizzical.

“I’ll get something for you.”

The next day, I brought a clay dog for him to copy. For him, it was a refreshing change. He got down happily to carving a replica. While he did so, I took a piece of wood with his permission and tried my hand at woodcarving with my Swiss Knife. This amused Sapan Das to no end. He encouraged me by giving me a chisel and a larger piece of wood to carry to my room and work on it in my own time.

A few days later, when I went to collect the wooden dog, I surprised Sapan Das with my work––a statue of Ganesha. He was mighty happy with my maiden effort. He appreciated my work and wax-polished it for me.

I continued visiting Sapan for the rest of my stay in Tezpur.

Observing me learning woodcarving, one of my men too got interested. He was talented and picked up the art really fast. I was delighted when he carved a miniature replica of Sapan’s iconic rhino, and presented it to me. Still later, he carved a large, 18-inch statue of Ganesha––an absolutely professional work by an amateur.

Sapan Das is one of the most unforgettable characters I have met in my life. Time spent at his abode, was time well spent. There I learnt that there was life beyond work and golf.

For Banwarilal, Life Goes on Regardless

A lot of water has gone past the bridge since I met Banwarilal last. Today, I met him after more than eight months. I saw him sitting at the place where I used to drop him whenever I happened to give him a lift in the past. I pulled up by his side to say, “Hi!”

“Hello Banwarilal, how are you doing? Tired today? Relaxing here before you resume your walk home?”

“I am doing fine, Sir. Not really tired but barely able to walk,” he said with a diminishing smile.

“What happened?”

“Life has been difficult since we met last. A vehicle ran over my foot, crushing it almost. I was bedridden for several months. In the meanwhile I lost my job. Now, I am working for a contractor––more work, and less pay. Earlier I used to get Rs 9000/-, now it is a mere 7,500/-.”

“I feel sorry for you. I hope your son is doing well enough to take care of the family?”

“He has also suffered much setback. He can barely support himself and his wife. Our lives are in a mess.” He massaged his foot as he spoke to me. A chill ran down my spine when I saw the scar marks on his foot.

I had no doubt that he had gone through hell.

“Uhmm,” I encouraged him to continue, hoping that it would make him feel lighter.

“Now, I have only one desire––to be able to repay a loan of Rs 40,000/- before I die. If I don’t pay it,” he looked at the sky and continued, “I’ll have to settle the score up there.”

I stood speechless for a period that felt like an eternity. He had refused monetary help last time I had offered him cash. Would he accept it this time on?

I re-mustered my thoughts and offered to give him some money to repay part of his debt. I thought his hardship might have changed his outlook to such unconditional assistance.

Smile returned to his face, “Thank you Sir, for that generous offer, but I don’t want to be in debt of a kind person like you. God willing, I shall be able to settle all my debts before I knock at His door.”

I didn’t want to leave it at that so I continued talking with him for some more time, clicked a picture (something that will inspire me in the times to come). He told me that he takes a break everyday at that spot between 5:00 pm and 5:30 pm before resuming his walk back home.

I bade him goodbye, hoping to meet him again. Soon.

On my agenda now, is to work up an offer that he cannot decline when we meet next. I owe it to him for teaching me some of the good things in life.

Chivalry in the Times of #MeToo

It was in Kanpur, some time in the early 1990s. Two of my men approached me to preside over and settle their dispute. Warrant Officer Mishra alleged, “Warrant Officer Tiwari (both names changed) is jealous of me because my son has graduated as a commissioned officer of the Indian Air Force.”

“So what?” I wondered.

I didn’t have to wait long for an answer. “Sir, he says that officers are characterless people. During their mess parties they go around hugging each other’s wives and even dance with them. It offends me because (now) my son is an officer.” Mishra added.

A little scratching of the surface was enough to reveal what was in Tiwari’s mind. Years ago, when Tiwari was a corporal, he used to be deputed to install and operate the PA and the music systems for formal parties in the Officers’ Mess. Because he came from a modest rural background, where women stayed indoors and performed household chores, he found the behaviour of the officers and the ladies inappropriate.

It wasn’t his fault.

It being a stricture against the officer-community, I felt ineligible to preside over the dispute. I brushed aside the case saying, “I expect you warrant officers to be mature. Now, get going and mind your personal businesses.” I felt educating Tiwari at that point in time could be counter-productive. Such an action would not guarantee success in moulding his concretised perception.

All through my service since that day, I have consciously devoted time and effort to educating my men on gender issues.

The #MeToo movement and the issues of gender equality that have inundated the media (social media included) have served as a recall of the Mishra-Tiwari dispute for me. Here is a peep into officer-lady relations in the armed forces.

Chivalry IMG_1695 An officer, and a gentleman, stands up to greet a lady on her arrival. He does not address her by her first name unless she approves of it. A gentle hug or a peck on the cheek is purely a personal matter between two individuals. The ladies––young and very young, girls and even children) have a sixth sense. They know when a touch is inappropriate––they can distinguish well between a friendly gesture and a predatory move. This sixth sense is not unique to the ladies in the Armed Forces. That sense is universal. Besides, a lady is not obliged to display uniform level of familiarity with everyone she meets. The officers respect the freedom of the ladies to draw lines selectively for different people depending on their level of comfort. Chivalry 44

Don’t go by the optics. There’s a lot more to how men must carry themselves in the presence of ladies than mere opening the door, leading the way and talking softly in a their presence. Chivalrous is one word that summarises an officer’s behaviour in the presence of a lady. It is not the fear of punishment, which is severe for offences against women but the upbringing in the Armed Forces that spells the difference.

If the prevailing noise and din in the country confuses the youth, perhaps flipping the pages of the Customs and Traditions of the Armed Forces or meeting a gentleman and an officer will help.

Out of the Blue into the Tree!!

“Out of the blue, into the tree,” is the Hindi equivalent of: “Out of the frying pan, into the fire.” That is exactly what happened to me (the Hindi one) when I parachuted through the clear blue Goa sky on a fine January day in 1986.

It was a skydiving demonstration as a part of the Silver Jubilee Celebrations of the Liberation of Goa. I was in charge and leading a team of skydivers. The forecast winds were way beyond the performance characteristics of the parachute we were using, and the capabilities of the jumpers, to counter. Prudence demanded that I called off the demonstration jump. But then, the thought that organisers and the spectators would be disappointed impelled me to give it a try.

To our good luck, the winds died down absolutely by the time our helicopter came overhead to commence the drop. Flight Lieutenant Thapar from the ground control transmitted the position of the streamer (a piece of cloth that has the descent characteristics of a parachute) that I had dropped to judge the actual winds. The position of the streamer also confirmed gentle winds. It was safe to jump.

It was a clear blue sky and fine weather for a parachute jump but my mind was still clouded by the forecast of very strong winds. So, I decided to err on the positive side. I signalled thumbs up to the jumpers (to jump out) much upwind of the sports ground––where we were to land in front of the spectators––hoping that the winds would help them drift and make it to the target on the ground.

It was a mistake. Jumpers could barely make it to the sports ground––a few landed in the front of the spectators others landed scattered outside the ground. I was the farthest from the landing area. Tall trees welcomed me as I approached mother earth. Despite my best efforts to avoid them, I landed in a big one. My fall through the tree broke several branches before the suspension lines of my parachute got stuck and I was jolted to a stop. It was an uneasy feeling dangling ten feet above the ground.

In the time I took to take stock of the situation, several thoughts flashed past my mind. The worst recall was that of the vivid account of a radio operator who had bailed out of a disabled aircraft over the thick forests of Burma during the Second World War. In a similar situation i.e., hanging from a tree, he was attacked by giant red ants. He tried to cut free of his parachute harness by shooting at its webbing with his service weapon. He shot himself with the last bullet when he failed to come out of the situation and the nuisance of the ants became unbearable. His skeleton was found hanging upside down in the parachute harness when the search and rescue team found him several moths later.

It was a silly recall. I was in a much better situation, less than half a kilometre from the ground. People would soon come looking for me. In any case, I did not wait for them. I followed the standard drill: I whipped open my reserve parachute and lowered it to the ground; carefully unfastened my parachute harness and slithered down to safety. Recovering the parachute was an arduous task.

That parachute jump in Goa is one of my most memorable ones for all the wrong reasons.

Other Parachuting Stories

Tipping the Fear of the Unknown… the very first jump

Jumping… definitely not to conclusion… what if the parachute fails to open.

Mission First… will do everything for a jump.

Stoic Valour… when a jumper trailed behind a flying aircraft.

Clinking Goblets, Morsels of Love and Life

Like all who get married, Chhaya and I looked forward to a happy life ever after. Respect for each other, love, care… were fine––they were packaged neatly in the blessings, wishes and advice showered upon us. Discreetly though, some scared us with sacrifices (read compromises) people have to make for marriages to work. And of course, the added responsibilities and the little quarrels so typical to the people who dare tie the knot.

It was a tad scary.

We struck an understanding to understand each other and consign our differences, if Goblets ever they cropped up, to the nearest waste bin at the first opportunity. We devised a pleasant way of weeding out undesirable moments before they could take roots. On rarest-of-the-rare days when we had higher-than-usual-decibel conversation, we clinked our crystal goblets and flushed down evil thoughts with a sip of fresh water. That ensured a clean slate and no baggage to carry on life’s journey.

Perpetually building on mutual respect, love and care is an even better way to avoid sorry situations. We don’t know how and when it commenced––at every meal together, we started offering the first bite to each other. We have now been doing it for over three decades. The unspoken words: “I love you” are embedded in the gesture.

It happened so gradually that we didn’t realise when the habit of offering the first morsel to each other elbowed away the need of clinking goblets for good.

Question of a Sabbatical

The date and the year are of less consequence; it was a hot April afternoon. I saw the three of them walking on the footpath in Subroto Park and offered them a lift. They got into the car hesitantly.

“Thank you Sir. I am Ravindra Sharma, he is my brother Navin and he is my son, Ajay (names changed),” one of them broke the ice as they settled in the car.

“I am Group Captain Ashok Chordia,” I introduced myself and asked, “Where do you want to go?”

“We have to board a train from Nizamuddin railway Station. It will be kind of you, if you could leave us at the nearest bus stop on your way,” he urged.

“The Station is on my way. I’ll leave you there.”

“So nice of you, sir.”

Then there was prolonged silence. The three sat quietly, perhaps not knowing what to talk about. I have experienced this type of a mix of reticent and introverted behaviour on the part of simple people in the presence of strangers. In the presence of service officers, the behaviour seems to be more pronounced.

It was going to be a fairly long (15 kms) drive along the Inner Ring Road and was going to take in excess of 30 minutes. Silence with four people sitting in the car would be menacing.

“You don’t seem to belong to Delhi?” I initiated a polite meaningless conversation.

“Sir, we belong to Kota. We were here for a counselling session for Ajay.”

“How was it? What does your son intend doing?”

“Just so. I am disappointed with his board exams result,” said the father with concern.

“What’s the matter?”

Books “Sir, he has scored 94 per cent marks. He just doesn’t read. If he studies properly, he can get more marks. He wants to do engineering. Why don’t you advise him, please?”

My jaw dropped. “Here is a father dissatisfied with his son scoring enviable marks, and he wants me to guide him? What advice do I render to a kid who in my assessment is brilliant,” I wondered.

I did not want to disappoint the father so I continued talking. In a while I realised that the boy was very intelligent and could understand concepts rather fast. Therefore he used to take less time as compared to others to complete his assignments. Repetition used to bore him and that’s where his ideas conflicted with his father.

With much thought I came out with a piece of advice to him, “If you read more books of each subject you will have a deeper understanding of the concepts. Solving question papers and numerical problems from different books will give you a strong base. Lastly, if you still have time, devote it to improving your communication skills––an effort that will stand you in good stead, what ever you do later in life.” All three were listening to me intently.

“Sir, I’ll do as you have suggested,” assured Ajay.

“That’s good. You are capable of better performance and must try to exploit your ability to grasp things fast to broaden your knowledge base and communication skills.”

The father was happy with the interaction. At the railway station, I took him aside and advised him to give a freer hand to the boy to manage his studies. I told him that meddling with his approach to academics might be counter-productive.

The chapter was over, I thought.

Not really!

A month later, I received a call from Ravindra, “Sir, you have cast a magic spell on my son. He is a transformed person now. I want to thank you for making a difference.”

“I am happy to hear that. I hope he continues to work that way. Convey my good wishes to him.” We exchanged some niceties before disconnecting.

It was not over yet.

A few months later, I received another call from Ravindra, which put me in a very difficult situation. “Sir, I am in dire need of your advice. Ajay wants to take a sabbatical and prepare for IIT entrance examination. If he doesn’t get through, a year will be wasted. What shall we do?”

In a few seconds which seemed to last an eternity, I gave a thought to Ravindra’s request for advice. I realised that he had called me with great hope. I found it difficult to turn down his request. But then, what advice could I give him?

I collected my thoughts and organised them in the few seconds in which we exchanged less important information. Then I started, “Ravindra, our lifespan is 75 to 80 years if we lead a decent life. One year in a lifespan of 75-80 years is a small fraction; it is insignificant. If you allow, Ajay to have his way, he will put in his heart and soul in the preparation and, in all probability, he’ll get through. It will be great if that happens. If he doesn’t get through, the hard work that he puts in through the year will not go a waste. The knowledge that he will gain, will stand him in good stead in whichever college he joins subsequently. Besides, if he doesn’t make it to the IIT, he will come to know of his limitations. One last thing… if you let him take a sabbatical wholeheartedly and support him in his endeavour, without bothering about the end result, he will love and respect you more than he does now. I feel he deserves your willing support.” Ravindra thanked me profoundly for sharing my thoughts.

For the next few months, I waited eagerly to hear from him. There was silence.

Much later, when I had forgotten everything, Ravindra called me again. It was a courtesy call. “How do you do, Sir!? All’s well here. Ajay is doing very well. He’ll be an engineer soon. He joins me in conveying regards to you for all the valuable advice you gave us.”

“That’s heartening. What about the sabbatical? Did he take it? Did he get through to IIT?” I was curious to know.

“Sir, I gave him a free hand; told him to go ahead and take a sabbatical and prepare for IIT. But then he decided against it. He got admission in a college of his choice and a course of his liking. I’ll keep you posted of his progress.”

Ravindra has been calling me occasionally to share his little joys.