Revisiting those simple days of the 1960s

Col D S Cheema (retd)

Col D S Cheema  (retd)

It is during the formative years that many indelible impressions are created on the canvas of one’s life. Some of these become invaluable life-long partners.  

I recall with wry amusement two incidents deeply etched in my mind. These are from the early sixties when ministers moved with only one policeman holding a .303 rifle with bayonet, when almost everything including foodgrains, sugar, cement, two-wheelers, in fact, everything was in short supply and license-raj babus had a field day. As such, cartoonists like RK Laxman and Pran made their living by sketching Pt Jawaharlal Nehru, the then Prime Minister, holding a begging bowl, while on foreign visits. The gap in every aspect of personal, professional or government functioning between the yesteryears and today is such that I must share the stories with the present generation which is lost in its soporific routine.

When I was posted in a far-flung district of NEFA (North-East Frontier Agency), a young Deputy Commissioner took charge. Being a bachelor, he lived alone not far away from our mess. He was a good man and his integrity surpassed belief. He would often visit the mess for having a drink in a good ambience.  Sometimes, he would also take the liberty of visiting our tents for a gup-shup. Perhaps, it was the isolated location, utter loneliness and hard living conditions which made most of us highly voluble and long-winded whenever there was an opportunity. Once when he asked me if he could do something for me, I simply plucked the idea out of thin air and asked him to get me a driving licence. The DC used the magneto telephone to get all the documents, including the seal in my tent, signed and stamped the relevant form and handed over the licence to me in a few minutes. I used it till the fragile paper lasted and have kept it as a memento from a forgotten friend. I wish the good IAS officer, who must be leading a retired life perhaps somewhere in the eastern part of the country, somehow learns that I owe a debt of gratitude to him.

The second incident also relates to the same era. We had received information that armed forces officers could apply for a plot of land in a new sector (Sector 35) being developed as a defence sector in Chandigarh. Captains were eligible only for 10 marla plots and so I applied. However, I was later informed that there were surplus 1 kanal plots and I could apply for one. As luck would have it, I was allotted one for a price of approximately Rs 8,000 which was to be paid in six equal installments of Rs 1,700 or so. I failed to pay the second installment in time. When I received the first notice of default, I got so panicky that I surrendered the plot in writing and requested refund after deduction of the administrative charges, as per the policy. When a friend made me realise the blunder I had committed, out of sheer desperation, I posted a hand-written letter to Partap Singh Kairon, the then Chief Minister of Punjab. In about three weeks, I received a reply from CM’s office (typed in Punjabi) that my request had been forwarded to DC, Chandigarh, for favourable consideration of re-allotment of the plot. I was asked to meet him at 3 pm on a particular day. Hoping that luck would smile at me once again, I managed to reach the DC’s office on the appointed date and time and was happy to learn that he was expecting me. My file was called and the DC explained to me in detail how during the time that had lapsed, the next in queue applicant had deposited the entire amount through a demand draft and as such the plot was allotted to him and my allotment had been finally cancelled.  I did not get the plot but I still remember how a prompt action was taken by Punjab CM’s office. After pre-mature retirement, the invisible hand of destiny moved me to Panchkula where I have been living since 1994.