Fauji by ‘proxy’ & loving it

SS Grewal 

THOUGH a farm scientist by profession, from my bearing and disposition, many take me to be a police or an army officer. Because of the respect extended to me, I often do not disclose my background. This ‘camouflage’ has proved quite useful in my life. 

Once, two of us were waiting for a train at the Pune station. We asked for tea from a vendor. We were busy cracking jokes and did not notice the empty cups being taken away by a helper of another vendor by mistake. When our vendor insisted on the cups or payment for the loss, I went to the station master whose room was behind our bench. He immediately came out and said: ‘Sir, I have high regard for Army officers. I will set these idiots right.’ He called all seven vendors and asked them to count their cups in his presence. While this was happening, our train arrived. He saluted us and apologised for the mess. 

My first posting was at Ropar, a newly created district. Most new officers would go for a stroll in the evening to the canal headworks. I also went for a stroll one evening with my newly wedded wife. The sentry at the bridge gave me an impressive salute. ‘Badi tor hai tuhadi, lok salutan marde ne!’ she exclaimed. I could understand that he mistook me as a police officer. 

Once, I had to take a Metro from Gurugram to New Delhi. Youngsters, with scant regard for elders and seniors, were rushing toward the station. As the train arrived, they rushed madly to occupy the seats. I wanted to save my ribs and slowly entered the coach. All seats were taken and I decided to bear the discomfort. An elderly but a smart, well-dressed gentleman gave me a pleasant smile and asked a boy sitting next to him to get up and ‘let Sardarji sit’. I thanked him and he opened up: ‘I am a regular traveller on this train. Whenever I find a fellow Army officer standing, I help to secure a seat.’ What emerged from our short discourse is worth sharing.

‘Where are you headed to?’ ‘Sir, I am going to Chandigarh; will board Shatabdi from Delhi,’ I replied. ‘Oh, Chandigarh is beautiful, I love it. As a Colonel, I spent six wonderful years there. I retired as a Brigadier in 1997 and settled in Gurugram.’ ‘Wonderful, Sir, how old are you?’ ‘Just crossed 90.’ ‘But you hardly look 75! Can you share the secret?’

‘My children are settled in the US and I least bother about them. My wife and I are leading a carefree life. We own a beautiful house, there’s enough money. Gardening, dog care, newspaper and walks keep me engaged. At 11, I leave for the Race Course and head to the officers’ club. I play games, have fun with friends, take a light lunch with beer. At 5 pm, I take the train back. At home, it is two pegs of whisky, dinner and a sound sleep. Age doesn’t matter. Enjoy life,’ he stated.

He took my leave at the station. He reminded me of Sam Manekshaw — lean and straight, a ruddy complexion, bright eyes, an Army cap, smart attire and sneakers. His message, of course, was worth a million dollars.