A tale of two Talib Hussains
AFTER year-long basic training at the Internal Security Academy, Mount Abu, Rajasthan, I joined a battalion of the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF) at Zubza, Nagaland, in early 1978. Constable Talib Hussain was to be my orderly — a colonial-era practice wherein a uniformed person is provided to an officer in the armed forces to perform chores such as keeping his uniform ready, taking telephone calls and attending visitors. The Union Government, under pressure from certain quarters, tried to end this system, but somehow the practice continues — with the orderly being called ‘sahayak’ or ‘security aid’.
Talib was of my age and belonged to J&K. During familiarisation training in the unit, I had to move around to various posts and he moved with me. He also accompanied me when I proceeded on long-duration courses across the country. We understood each other and he earned my confidence. He used to tell me that Punjabi and Haryanvi troops often call him ‘Talab’. He was with me during my four-year tenure in 18 CRPF. In those days, a personal phone was a rarity; hence, Talib and I remained cut off, with no communication for years.
Fast-forward to 2012: During my posting as DIG at the sector office in Bantalab (Jammu), a case was put up before me for sanctioning ex gratia relief to the family of head constable Talib Hussain. This financial assistance is provided to the kin of brave personnel who sacrifice their lives in action.
Not surprisingly, I thought of my own Talib. However, on checking the service particulars, it came up that the deceased Talib was younger in age. Thereafter, I developed a strong urge to know the whereabouts of my security aid. Thanks to digitisation of service records, it was possible to find the addresses of CRPF personnel named Talib who hailed from the Jammu region. There were five persons bearing this name. I promptly initiated an exercise to contact them.
One fine day, while I was engrossed in office work, I was informed that an ex-serviceman wanted to meet me. To my surprise, it was the tall and smiling Talib. For a few seconds, both of us were speechless; then, we greeted each other with a hearty laugh. I asked him to sit down on a sofa, and he agreed, albeit hesitatingly.
Over a cup of tea, we exchanged stories to cover the 30-year period during which we were not in touch. Talib informed me that he took premature retirement after 20 years of service and was now running a grocery shop in Poonch town along the Line of Control. He handed over packets of local basmati rice and dried fruit to me before taking his leave with moist eyes.
