Lockdown, a routine for some

He was visibly happy with a cheerful glow on his face while my countenance exhibited anxiety and apprehensions. His 90-day quarantine was over while mine had just begun for the same duration, if not more. I was taking over the charge of the Observation Post at a remote corner of the Siachen Glacier, some 19,000 ft above sea level, and a two-week walking distance from the nearest human habitation.

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While we were geared up to take on our adversary, it was the life in constricted space that we found challenging, even more than the inclement weather. A dozen of us shared an area slightly bigger than a tennis court, where ‘courage and fortitude’ were the prerequisites for survival. Our habitat was in dugout ice caves, covered with parachutes retrieved from air maintenance drops, where standing erect was a luxury. We lived like rats, taking turns to sleep due to the paucity of space.

Kerosene, the only commodity that didn’t freeze at minus 30 degrees was our lifeline. We used it to cook food, stay warm and light a lamp at night in our humble dwellings. While there was no dearth of tinned stuff, we yearned for fresh food. A monotonous menu reduced our appetite, leading to weight loss. Water was rationed and had to be prepared by melting ice. Bathing was never an option.

Transistor, the only source of entertainment, kept us going, with ‘Forces Request’ on AIR being the most popular programme. Television, cell phone, Internet, etc were terms alien to us then. The sun seldom showed itself and high velocity icy winds chilled the bones, piercing through seven layers of special clothing. When the sun did venture out, the enemy kept us on tenterhooks with snipers.

Today, a quarter century later, one experiences a different type of lockdown. There is a comfortable home to live in and unhampered supply of electricity and water. The prevailing spring weather couldn’t have been better, and my food has both variety and taste. Internet and television keep me connected to the world, reducing psychological isolation. My family is together with my migratory children.

As the lockdown got extended, I could feel the restlessness in my neighbourhood due to enforced quarantine — a word recently added to their vocabulary. Some complain of boredom, in spite of attending to household chores in the absence of any domestic help. Ironically, even the lazy logs are complaining of lack of activity. Curtailment of freedom is telling upon the tempers of many.

‘You are a soldier and trained to handle such situations,’ I am rebuked when I attempt to assuage them. Perhaps they are right. I should not be comparing something that has been a matter of routine for someone and a test of resilience for another. But isn’t it time we all train ourselves to fight with the same courage and fortitude an enemy, though invisible, but potentially much more lethal?