THE VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY

                                                              From Kiss to Kiss

    

 I was invited to accompany Mama, my would be mother- in-law (I also addressed her as Mama, as others in the family did) and Rosy’s younger sister, to Mussoorie who needed consultation with some specialist doctor there.

Our wedding date was yet to be finalised, possibly it was only a few days before our wedding some times in the month of November.  I willingly and with alacrity jumped to the invitation, as Rosy was also to accompany us.

 The ride, in the nearly empty bus to Mussoorie, snuggling close to Jeet, now that we had come a bit closer to each other with frequent meetings, in the approaching cold weather was heavenly. Every time the bus took a sharp turn, on the circuitous hill-road, the force generated by the turn would throw us even closer. It was an entirely new experience for me, sadly the thirty or so Kilometers did not take too long to be covered and reaching the bus-stand, I and Rosy got down along with others, albeit rather reluctantly.

I still have my doubts, if the whole thing was not pre-planned by Mama, a understanding mother, who possibly wanted to provide the two of us, some private time. My suspicions appeared to be justified since, no sooner that we had reached  'Library', the famous land mark of Mussoorie, from where the track led down to the doctor’s clinic, Mama casually suggested that we two go for a stroll around.

 It was off-season in Mussoorie. With the tourists gone back to the plains, most of the shops were shuttered, restaurants and cinemas buttoning down for the coming winters, the town with few permanent residents was nearly deserted.

Currently my reputation was under a serious cloud among the prospective sisters-in law. Although the two of us had had some moments together but had not advanced beyond the

Hand-holding stage, what to say of kissing, as yet, They possibly were under the impression that this was the done thing having caught the elder sister, mooching around a number of times

Much later, I learnt that that Rosy was fed up with her sister's interest in our love life, who in any case was nearly paranoid about this and could not understand this act of omission on our part. Questioning her time and again: Has he kissed you? Did he kiss you? Why has he not kissed you? Considering this as a blot on her, Rosy was also under pressure, which she was finding hard to bear.

I had decided this time to finally removes the stigma and thus climb a few notches up in the eyes of her sisters. I have no doubt that with her sixth sense, Rosy had also got an inkling about my intentions, especially when I suggested and she accepted, that we take a walk down the even more deserted Camels Back road, without comment.

Hand in hand, Rosy quiet, now a passive, though willing co-conspirator, I tense and not too confident of having enough courage to achieve my mission, we ambled for some distance on the deserted track of a road and sat down, close together, on the first bench, we found. Both of us short of words,. a pregnant silence, laced with a bit of expectation sat between the two of us.

 The lack of verbal conversation, with a high voltage current flowing to and fro between Rosy and me did not deter the silent communication, the two of us expecting some thing to happen yet not too sure of it, taking place;.

I was naturally nervous, an inexperienced first timer, apprehensive and no doubt more than a bit confused. Slowly very slowly, sitting by her side, I finally gathered enough courage and some how managed to peck at her left cheek. Nothing happened, the sky did not fall, lightning did not strike; the feeling of nervousness so over powering that it totally masked any other sensation which I might have been experiencing at the moment. It was definitely not a moment of passing ecstasy, as one would have expected. However, I had managed to some how cross the Rubicon. There was no apparent reaction from Rosy, though no doubt an upheaval must have been taking place in her also. As I backed-off, feeling sheepish, I happened to lookup and ahead across the track, there on the hillside were two women who had been watching my amateurish antics and laughing to their hearts content. It did dampen my spirits and added to my confusion to a considerable extent. I do not recall that if we spoke about this non-incident at all, both of us pretending as if nothing had transpired. But some thing irreversible had taken place between the two of us. it was the start of the journey of discovering  each other. 

What had just changed every thing between the two of us, did appear to be so unreal. The desolate town, the deserted track, the pale November afternoon sun, the rays filtering through the dense foliage of the pine trees, trying to fight the chill in the air, the peeping-toms having by now disappeared somewhere, all adding to make it look like an illusion. The to the two of us, a confused lot, wondering if it had  happened or was it just our imagination .

The next step in the turns and twists of the 'Journey of Discovery' just begun was to follow very shortly. We moved to the RV, decided earlier, the Kwality Restaurant where we were to meet for lunch. As we sat, opposite each other, waiting for our order to arrive, avoiding each others eyes, oblivious to the presence of her mother and younger sister sitting at the table, Rosy suddenly caught hold of my right hand and put the middle finger between her teeth and bit the tip hard. The sharp pain and the suddenness of the unexpected assault took me completely by surprise, the instantaneous eye contact with her was a searing lightning bolt which hit me hard. Possibly the pent-up emotions caused by the events of the last hour or so needed a quick release or was it her innocent way of demonstrating her slowly budding love for me? A question that remained

 unanswered. Through a spontaneous gesture, to me it appeared as a final act of accepting me as her companion on the voyage of adventure, discovery and adjustment; a long journey together that lay in the uncertain future.

Strange the journey which began with a perfunctory kiss, that day, early in November of 1958 in Mussoorie also ended with a kiss late at night on 30^th October 2000, nearly 42 years later at Noida. It did end when she left me with her lifeless body in my arms, with our lips glued together, in my desperate but unsuccessful efforts to revive her, by mouth to mouth respiration.

 

                                                                 HUTMENT
 I was coming to Mhow, kind courtesy of Lt Gen Pant, Commandant MCTE, Who had invited me to deliver a talk on ‘Signals in Sino Indian Conflict of 1962 as it effected me.’ and also join the planned get together of SODE 41, as the   Faculty Commander during the tenure of the Course in FCE.

      It was   a home coming for me, unfortunately without a home to come to. Our home, where we had lived during our last stint at MCTE, some time during 19 79-82, a Second World War Hutment on Generals Road existed no more It gave me no joy to see that the dilapidated hutment that we had moved in to and over time with love and effort    nurtured it into the most coveted dwelling of its type on Generals Road.. had been   razed and in its place had sprung two modern characterless looking bungalows, the hutment, with the No T 214, marked in bold letter and figures on the General’s Road  was in an advanced dilapidated state, derelict, about to fall and with all rooms leaking during the monsoons. General’s Road was indeed a very prestigious sounding address as Lt Gen Sundarji the Commandant College of Combat also lived on the same road.

     On the earlier posting to Mhow we had also lived in a hutment the only difference between then and now was the up-gradation from dry to water borne sanitation a giant step in technology from 1963 to 1980.

     The hutment had a number of rooms in the long arm of the ‘T’ with the living room in the top of the ‘T’ with the kitchen and the pantry at its extreme end. Any exercise that I needed was provided by the long walk for a glass of water in the night from the bedroom, through the guest room, the sitting-room and then to the fridge kept in the pantry.

     The rooms had a number of rickety doors and windows with innumerable glass panes, as a matter of fact so many to check and bolt that one or two were always left unsecured in the night or whenever we went out.

     There was also a detached garage, a bit away, which I never used as I could drive my Conifer Green Herald through the rickety gate, crunching the gravel of the driveway straight up the ramp on to the wide veranda.

      What struck us when we went to have a look before taking it over was the majestic and massive Banyan tree dominating the compound. There was also a large Keekar tree in front.

     The,  by now, unkempt and untrained creepers, courtesy some previous occupants, Morning Glory, Floribunda Roses and a few of Bougainvillea climbing up the numerous pillars of the extended veranda right to the tiled roof though a welcome sight, it did bring  out the dilapidated state of the hutment in a greater relief.

     The Lantana hedge, unkempt and with many gaps,  with a few of strands of barbed wire, the one side hanging wooden gate, more to demarcate the line of actual control than any thing else, constituted the total security. About the interior condition of the hutment the less said the better.

     For company we also had a live-in ‘Owl’ who had made his abode in one of the crevices in the outside of the living room wall. Fearless of us he would welcome us with a dour expression, his large round eyes shining bright in the headlights of the car as if reproaching us for returned home so late in the night.

              We set about making a home of the house and improving its looks and the interior with and without the help of the MES. Jeet, fond of flowers, potted plants and a green patch in front, got about organizing the same.  Though discouraged with the daunting task ahead both of us got down to making the structure liveable and carve a home out of it, entailing frequent visits to the MES yard for some decent furniture and telephone calls to the GE (Garrison Engineer), a harassed individual, with one Lt General, two Maj Generals, innumerable Brigadiers and a plethora of Cols in station, struggling some how to cater to their innumerable demands. My requirements were simple and not exhaustive-­­­ just the leaking roof, tiles in the toilet, the cracked sink and WC and a coat of whitewash in the rooms.

      Jeet had a large collection of potted plants at Delhi; Monster, Dracaena, Benjamin, Araucaria and  rubber plant among others which she had got loaded in the EVK along with the car, trunks and the packing cases and brought them along to Mhow. Having a common gardener with the General also helped in the addition of a few more exotic plants from the Flagstaff House. Some plants went inside to put some life in the living room while others added charm to the till now bare and desolate veranda     

     We developed a small lawn, Jeet planted some seedlings which soon bloomed in to multi coloured flowers. Over time the joint efforts paid and soon the derelict became the cynosure of every one in the station.

     The small pond with a tap for storing water for the garden had some Lemon Grass growing the recipe of the exotic tea, a favourite of the casual visitors dropping-in a few bit of the same added to the tea leaves in the pot was no doubt her best kept secret when in Mhow.

     We also fashioned a swing, the ropes hung from one of the branches of the Keeker tree. Dimpy, Minni and Sandy, the adorable children of Lt Col Gurdeep and Juli, his non practicing, doctor wife our next door neighbours, were soon attracted as if by the magnet to the swing and so did the two daughters Anu and Anjana of  Lt Col Ravi Kumar both Directing Staff at College of Combat, living across the road.

      From the posting at Kalimpong I had brought a couple of Chinese lanterns with wooden frames with glass sides. We hung one of these with an electric bulb inside on one of the lower branches of the Keeker tree. The rays of light the lantern, swinging slowly in the mild breeze, filtering through the innumerable needle like Keeker leaves would weave an ever-changing pattern of light and shade a pleasant and soothing sight. Both of us sitting on the easy chairs in the veranda late in the night watching the shifting, pattern listening to the soft strains of music emitting from speakers of the 'Norge' amplifier with one of her  favourite record from her large collections of LP's was relaxing enough after a stressful day in the Faculty. It was magic a different world, as long it lasted.

            As the car drove  on the Generals Road  with me  I  expectantly looking for the dear hutment I was not ready for the shock that awaited me, it was a  sad sight  to see the characterless concrete structure that has replaced our home of  yore., it was indeed a home coming  (to Mhow) with out a home to come to.

COMPASSION

It is early night, late evening and we are merrily cruising on the well lighted, and now with the hectic construction activities around on pause for the night, and less frequented with sparse traffic roads of Noida.

 Noticing a suddenly emerging obstruction ahead, Ranjit floor the brake paddle and the car comes to a grinding halt.

 Ahead    an on coming Santro has also come to a screeching halt as also an  stopped Auto that is now facing across the road in the process.

 The three  vehicles make a virtual triangle in the middle of which, unmindful of the danger, sit  two emaciated  and hungry pups who, possibly  searching  for the mother, away forging for some food,  have dragged  themselves  there .

 The tableau, with ever one in a bit of shock, remains frozen till the reverie is broken by a good Samaritan who jumps out of the car, picks up the two from the cuff of their neck and places  them   at a safe distance  on the side of the road ,when it dissolves and each one speeds up in their own direction.

 Compassion is not dead yet, people still feel for animals if not for human beings, I keep mulling as we speed up towards AVI where we are due for a get together of Noida Signals Forum.

                             THE OLD MAN AND HIS OLDER REMINGTON

 The other day I was at Tees Hazari , Delhi in connection with some legal matter and was required to submit  an application post haste.

Bereft of the support of a Computer /Printer I looked around, searching for some one free and unoccupied   from among  those busy   in the innumerable,   miniscule open cubicals   displaying Court Marriage, Affidavit and such sundry jobs  on small  boards, lining the  narrow road.

The  heavy traffic plying  in both directions, making walking  across  on my wobbly legs a dangerous proposition, still I make  slow haste towards one, who appears to be free and without business, hoping to get the job completed quickly.

 Next to his seat, under the same shed, a Court Marriage was being solemnised. The  young couple, the bride in her finery, possibly, self made-up and dressed, as there was no one accompanying  them,  were  setting up   on a journey,  with hope and love ,  in un-chartered waters and  an uncertain future : what are their aspirations and worries, forgetting my on immediate concern for  a moment , I wonder. I did congratulate her as they rushed past, possibly too involved in her own thoughts, to be aware of the surroundings, thee was no response.

He  happens to be an old man with an even older Remington typewriter, possibly a family heirloom handed down  from generation to generation,  on rickety table, next to it  is   a stack of files, possibly containing templates  of the various  legal documents in demand for typing.  Both are an aberration, in the company of young operators, with computer/printers, around and stand like a sore thumb.

 Distracted briefly, by the happenings nearby, I quickly draft the required matter, in my nearly illegible hand and  not only    have to dictate but, due to his rudimentary knowledge of English, also spell most of the words.

 Despite his age, his typing skills appear to be that of a beginner, with no delete /insert facility and apparently no whitener available, I have to be content with what ever he could and did  produce.

A wise man nonetheless, with the going rate being per typed page, I notice, he has typed in double space, trying to stretch the matter on as many pages as possible.

 The typed page now in my hand I query

“How much”

“Rupees Twenty “he replies.

 With the business settled amicably I leave wondering as to how many such Rs 20 he will earn in the day to subsist upon

            PRE BOOKED AND PRE COOKED

From the 25 C, the isle seat of the GOINDIA Airbus flight from Delhi to Chennai I can see right up to the far end to the flight cabin. In the near vision is 25 DEF and also, with a slight twist of the neck 26 DEF.

 There is a group of Marwaries men, women and children, as learnt later, on a tour of various religious places, noisily trying to settle down in their allotted and also the unoccupied seats

 I, twist the neck and  look back and what do I see: before fully settled the lady in  26 E has already unwrapped a packet of Snacks from her bag  and is busy dipping in  it and  offering  from the same to  those  seated near of the group..

 Even before the plane has started its takeoff run she unties the knots of the cloth bag revelling, a stack of Aloo Puree, GOINDIA is a low fare airline and food is available on payment at exorbitant rates, wise people bring their own food an drinks on board, soon starts the distribution of the Aloo Purees,   served    on plastic plates up and down the isle to the other members of the group.

  I slight hungry, having   missed breakfast due to the early flight, am reminded of   our train journeys as a child, when Mother would bring the Aloo Puree and mango pickle for the journey and even before we had settled in the compartment Father would ask mother   to   serve the goodies, so bidden she would start with giving two purees, a dollop of the potatoes and a slice of pickle to each one of us..

 The setting is  the same, except it is  the   aircraft’s AC  cabin of  the plane flying at

25 000 feet at 800 Kms per hour  instead of the Inter Class, hot or cold, depending on the season,  railway  compartment of East India Railway  chugging along at 25 Miles per hour, with   mother no where to serve the Aloo Purees,  that   I covertly watch in the hands of  others in s nearby seats ,   while waiting  for the trolley  being trundling  up the isle bringing my prebooked  and precooked, tasteless, Paratha Rolls while  savouring, with nostalgia,    the wafting aroma from the Aallo Puree being devovered with  relished around me.

                                                             MHOW

:                               THE HOME COMING WITHOUT A HOME TO

 I was coming to Mhow, kind courtesy of Lt Gen Pant, Commandant MCTE, Who had invited me to deliver a talk on ‘Signals in Sino Indian Conflict of 1962 as it effected me.’ and also join the planned get together of SODE 41, as the   Faculty Commander during the tenure of the Course in FCE.

It was   a home coming for me, unfortunately without a home to come to. Our home, where we had lived during our last stint at MCTE, some time during 19 79-82, a Second World War Hutment on Generals Road existed no more It gave me no joy to see that the dilapidated hutment that we had moved in to and over time with love and effort    nurtured it into the most coveted dwelling of its type on Generals Road.. had been   razed and in its place had sprung two modern characterless looking bungalows.

 It was with a late evening Air India flight from Delhi   that I landed at Indore, with the city lights glowing all around.

 Indore  at  night appeared to be a stranger, my eyes  kept roaming , desperately and fruitlessly searching for some old land marks to anchor on , what I could see was a mass of new  buildings with  glass façades,  illuminated sign boards flanking both sides of the broad well metalled road from the Airport to the City. Strangely, though it was early night, the traffic on the road was rather sparse, possibly every one was glued to the TV watching the on going India Bangladesh ICC 20 20   match.

 The car took a turn   and hit the road to Mhow and then the nightmare began: there was hardly any road left  with  diggings  on both flanks, for flyovers under construction,  on going development  for new colonies, shopping centres   and what have you,  living little space  for the heavy two way traffic  of trucks, passenger busses, cars  and the ubiquitous motor cycles ridden  by daredevil riders, zipping  in and out of the non existing gaps in the chaotic  traffic on the now single lane of a road..

  The torture, from  blaring horns, head lights on full beams  making one blind to the oncoming traffic, lasted for long and ended only  when  the car crossed the toll barrier near Mhow and the   sailing  became  smooth  with the drive  now on   the reasonably good surface road  with  sparse traffic.

 Mhow Cantt at night with brightly lit roads, flood lit  prominent buildings, approach gates, sign boards and even some trees was shinning,: power appeared to be available in plenty .

 It appeared as if    the town   was awaiting   the arrival   of some VIP. However, for the time being it had to be content with me, a non VIPs’ arrival.

Nearing the portals of MCTE,  it was a different world altogether,  what was visible of  MCTE from the car window was shining like a new bride,  even the iconic tree  of HQ Mess appeared   much younger than it’s age.

Passing through and by a plethora of new constructions the car drove into the guestroom complex where I was received by Lt Col Preetal, the SO of FCC. Till now, in my retired life, I had   come across Captains and Majors of the other sex; It was for the first time that I was confronted by a Lt Col of their elk.

 Looking around I could see bright lights all around, what especially caught the eye was a brightly lit complex in near distance that proved to be the sports complex of MCTE.

 I had nagging feeling that I was in a different place and not in the Mhow of yore.  The place had changed drastically in the last ten years, from my last visit to Mhow.

 Mhow  Cantt by day  wore a different look,  still shining  bright with liberal application of Garu Chuna,  replete with massive,  characterless, new construction sadly interspersed with old bungalows with large compounds, in advance stages of disrepair,  with roofs fallen and grass growing through the  now gaping holes.  Surprisely, a few, though equally derelict, still occupied by some adventurer minded, diehards, unmindful. of the possible danger to life and limb.

 A  round   of  the MCTE Campus evoked a mixed feeling: the old buildings  that of  FCE, that I had commanded, the old mess barrack, where we as YO’s  had dined  for six months, the  dreaded  Commandant’s office complex  appeared to have lost their aura now downgraded   with  current   lowly ranked  occupants., the glamour,  power and authority having shifted    to  modern  and swanky abodes leaving history behind.

 The Passing out Parade Demo by the cadets was impressive and drew prolonged applause.  The following High Tea provided me a unique opportunity to interact with the cadets.

 The time spent with the SODE officers and their wives brought flooding memories of   my tenure as Faculty Commander where and when I had made a large number of enduring friendships.

  My presentation to a packed house, based on the question answer session, appeared to have been well received.

 The Dinner in Ashoak Vatika was an unforgettable experience.  the  soft lights dotting  the vast expense of the lawn , the typical  Malwa  evening breeze blowing mildly,  the myriad trees around, festooned with multi colour lights, swaying in the breeze the  old favourites being rendered  by   the   Gazal Singer in the back-ground, combined to make the setting memorable and  the mood go soft, albeit sadly  reminding  me, now alone, of such  Mhow evenings  of distant past spent together, with Jeet, my late wife.

 On a visit to FCE,   so different from that of yore, now located in the renovated/rebuilt Raman Block,   with Brigadier Bhatt   apprising and updating as to where the Corps has arrived technologically and also of venturing in the yet unexplored field of Robotics.  The Corps that brought in Computers has always been forward thinking and pioneers in new fields.

A visit to the ongoing exercise of YO’s  being conducted in the faculty premises convinced me of the new challenges to be faced  by Signallers, both present and future, of managing  the complex networks, providing voice and data, while not forgetting the requirements of logistics and man management.

The Dinner the next evening on the rear lawns of HQ Mess provided a unique opportunity to interact with young officers of different ranks and length of service and    renew friendship with old friends staying in Signals Vihar.

Preceding the dinner  we were witness to a unique function: a quiz on Corps Domestic Matters: organized by the Young Officer  and conducted under  a dynamic Quizmaster from staff, where along with    the  competing teams   the more mature audience also got a chance to participate, some times silently at others vocally.

The unique feature of the evening, apart from the lavish spread, was being serenaded   by a Saxophone player: a welcome change from the Bagpiper of yore.

 To catch the   returning flight from Indore I had to start early, with the morning Sun yet to emerge from the horizon Mhow Cantt, was still shining bright and had some early walkers already on the road. Surprisingly there were also some health conscious, unaccompanied, ladies also out.

Mhow happily was safe for ladies unlike the other not so lucky places in   the Country.

URBANISATION OF THE RURAL INDIA

Where are the villages of yore? Driving on the short stretches of smooth roads, shorter patched of mirror smooth roads and long stretches of road sections under utter disrepair we hit the Chutmal  Pur Mohand section on way to Dehradun and soon come to a grinding halt at the tail end of a massive traffic jam.

Long wait and no progress possible Ranjit turns the car off the road and to a track leading to the village on the side, with high hopes of bypassing the Jam.

Surprised in find missing the villages of Yore: no mud house, replaced with brick ones, cars parked in the courtyards where once the pride of place was generally occupied by the two wheeled carts, the water logged lanes with paved ones, in much better state than the N H we had just left behind and the ubiquitous DTH dishes adoring the rooftops of every house..

We hit into a marriage party: with the local beauties decked in the latest fashion, thanks to the access ads on TV and wonder of wonder even a mobile repair shop, possibly doing good business, with a mobile in each hand.

Prosperity has come to the villages in a big way following progress.

We did manage to by pass the traffic jam by a circuitous but good track. and after an hour's drive hit the Chaos of Dehradun Thanks once again to progress and prosperity.