A house full of Army memories

THE years spent as an Army wife were marked by care, affection, camaraderie and lifelong friendships across the country. It was a blissful experience to be associated with various units and valiant soldiers. The freshness of it all remains undiminished.

During our frequent postings, we learnt the art of packing and unpacking. There were checklists to cater to an emergency and immediate needs on arrival at the next station, to be comfortable even in a humble basha. Lack of furniture was made up for by wooden boxes, while mattresses came in handy for sitting on the floor.

As the lady of the house, it was my responsibility to ensure a welcoming environment not only for the family but all those who came to our home. As poet Katerina Richmond said, “There is a place where smiles are real, you can be silly and free, where you can love and you can feel where you can be happy.” Amidst all this, the kitchen took centre stage — delicacies were prepared to satiate the hunger of bachelor officers in particular.

Early one morning, as I brewed tea, the glint from a shining brass samovar from Leh caught my eye. Next to it were the brass utensils gifted by my mother-in-law, our antique collection and family heritage we preserved. A flood of memories came back. I recalled that when I first entered the kitchen, my trainer chef was my lovable father; his friendly and jovial nature had earned the name of Pasha (from Prakash Gill) by friends and family. A cook par excellence, his mutton curry, chicken and Nutri Nuggets tasting like mutton were out of this world. The first admirers of my culinary skills were my father and two siblings; cooking became a hobby.

Emotions overwhelmed me as I spotted a cutlery set gifted to me by my brother who left us suddenly a few years ago. Some of the first crystal glasses we bought have survived the rough and tumble of travel and drinking bouts. A crystal bowl presented by Maj Gen Trevor Morlin — my husband was his aide-de-camp — carried a request, “Break it by all means, but never serve gulab jamun or Rooh Afza in it”. We laughed at his wit. The bowl still remains uncontaminated by these two items.

The tea boiling over the rim brought me out of my trance. It reminded me of a young bachelor officer, who in our absence decided to make a cup of tea and chose the non-stick saucepan! After brewing, he observed the black base and thought he had burnt the saucepan. On return, I observed my newly acquired saucepan that was now ruined. He smiled and tried to help me, and I just lumped it.

With two cups, I reached the terrace to sit with my hubby on the settee of the two boxes still retained by us for old times’ sake, and recalled those days of laughter and joy, of love that felt so true, of moments that we shared with those whom we bid a fond adieu!