When the band finally played

YEARS ago, I was just a regular young man, not yet in uniform, caught in the thick of wedding preparations. Among all the arrangements, one thing I was especially excited about was the police band. Having grown up watching the band members perform at Independence Day parades and other events, I had always admired their discipline, coordinated rhythm and ceremonial grace. I felt that their performance at my wedding would make the occasion truly special.

The band was officially booked well in advance. All other arrangements had been made, and the Shagun ceremony had taken place. Spirits were high — everything was falling into place.

But on the evening after the Shagun, just a day before the wedding, the message came. The police band had been cancelled. There was some VIP visit, and they had been deployed there. The news was sudden and totally unexpected. I was stunned for a moment, but there was no time to dwell on it.

Soon after, I found myself rushing around the city, trying to arrange a private band at the last minute. Calls were made, contacts were activated, and by late evening I managed to fix one. It wasn’t the same, of course. The sound was there, the dhols and trumpets were arranged — but the image I had in my mind of the ceremonial police band with the members in their immaculate uniform, leading the baraat with disciplined beats, remained just that: a memory of something that could have been.

The wedding went off well. It was a joyful day with family and friends. That quiet disappointment of having something you looked forward to slip away stayed with me for years.

Life moved on. I joined the police, served in various districts, and eventually was posted as Commissioner of Police, Amritsar. One day, years later, I was going through routine files in my office when a familiar kind of note landed on my desk. It was a request to cancel the police band (booked by someone for a marriage function) due to urgent deployment related to a large number of VIPs visiting the city for a big religious event.

My hand paused over the file. In that moment, I wasn’t the Commissioner. I was that same young man again — running around trying to arrange a last-minute band.

I immediately told the ADCP in charge of Police Lines to arrange a band from the Punjab Armed Police instead. “Let’s not cancel this for them,” I said.

Within a few hours, the arrangements were made. The wedding went ahead with the band playing in full swing. The family probably never knew how close it came to being cancelled. But for me, it mattered.

It felt like a small, personal redemption. I couldn’t bring the band back for my own wedding — but this time, I could make sure someone else didn’t have to run around like I once did.

And in that moment, the band finally played — not for me, but because of me.