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Thursday, 25 July 2013
Friday, 5 July 2013
Wednesday, 3 July 2013
Is any one more secular than the Army or the Armed Forces?
Is any one
more secular than the Army or the Armed Forces?
As a serving army officer, I never stop marveling at the gullibility of
our countrymen
to be provoked with alacrity into virulence in the name of religion.
I have never heard the word 'secular' during all my service -- and yet,
the simple things that are done simply in the army make it appear like
an island of sanity in a sea of hatred.
In the army, each officer identifies with the religion of his troops.
In regiments where the soldiers are from more than one religion,
the officers -- and indeed all jawans attend the weekly religious
prayers of all the faiths.
How many times have I trooped out of the battalion mandir and, having
worn my shoes,entered the battalion church next door? A few years ago it all
became simpler -- mandirs,masjids, gurudwars and churches began to share
premises all over the army.
It saved us the walk.
Perhaps it is so because the army genuinely believes in two central
'truths' --
oneness of God and Victory in operations. Both are so sacred we cannot
nitpick and question the basics.
In fact, sometimes the army mixes up the two! On a visit to the holy
cave at Amarnath a few years ago
I saw a plaque mounted on the side of the hill by a battalion that had
once guarded the annual Yatra.
It said, 'Best wishes from -....- battalion. Deployed for Operation
Amarnath.
On another instance, I remember a commanding officer ordered the
battalion maulaviji to conduct the
proceedings of Janamashtmi prayers because the panditji had to proceed
on leave on compassionate grounds.
No eyebrows were raised. It was the most rousing and best-prepared
sermon on Lord Krishna I have ever had the pleasure of listening to.
On the Line of Control, a company of Khemkhani Muslim soldiers replaced
a Dogra battalion.
Over the next few days, the post was shelled heavily by Pakistanis, and
there were a few non-fatal casualties.
One day, the junior commissioned officer of the company, Subedar Sarwar
Khan walked up to the company commander
Major Sharma and said, "Sahib, ever since the Dogras left, the
mandir has been shut.
Why don't you open it once every evening and do aarti? Why are we
displeasing the Gods?"
Major Sharma shamefacedly confessed he did not know all the words of the
aarti.
Subedar Sarwar went away and that night, huddled over the radio set
under a weak lantern light,
painstakingly took down the words of the Aarti from the post of another
battalion!
How many of us know that along the entire border with Pakistan, our
troops abstain from alcohol
and non-vegetarian food on all Thursdays? The reason: It is called the
Peer day -- essentially a day of religious significance for the Muslims.
In 1984, after Operation Bluestar there was anguish in the Sikh
community over the desecration of the holiest of their shrines. Some of this anger
and hurt was visible in the army too.
I remember the first Sikh festival days after the event -- the number of
army personnel of every religious denomination that thronged the regimental gurudwara
of the nearest Sikh battalion was the largest I had seen.
I distinctly remember each officer and soldier who put his forehead to
the ground to pay obeisance appeared to linger just a wee bit longer than usual. Was I
imagining this? I do not think so.
There was that empathy and caring implicit in the quality of the gesture
that appeared to say,
"You are hurt and we all understand."
We were deployed on the Line of Control those days.
Soon after the news of disaffection among a small section of Sikh troops
was broadcast on the BBC,
Pakistani troops deployed opposite the Sikh battalion yelled across to
express their 'solidarity' with the Sikhs.
The Sikh havildar shouted back that the Pakistanis had better not
harbour any wrong notions.
"If you dare move towards this post, we will mow you down."
Finally, a real -- and true -- gem....
Two boys of a Sikh regiment battalion were overheard discussing this a
day before Christmas.
"Why are we having a holiday tomorrow?" asked Sepoy
Singh.
"It is Christmas," replied the wiser Naik Singh.
"But what is Christmas?"
"Christmas," replied Naik Singh, with his eyes half shut in
reverence and hands in a spontaneous prayer-clasp,
"is the guruparb of the Christians."
Military Spouses
MILITARY SPOUSES
Author Unknown
It was just another harried Wednesday afternoon trip to the commissary (that's a military grocery store). My husband was off teaching other young men how to fly. My daughters were going about their daily activities,
knowing I would return to them bearing, among other things, their favorite fruit snacks, frozen pizza, and all the little extras you never write down on a grocery list.
My list, by the way, was in my 16-month old daughter's mouth, and I was lamenting the fact that the next four aisles of needed items would have to wait while I extracted the list from her mouth. And in the middle of all
this, I nearly ran over an old man.
This man clearly had no appreciation for the fact that I had only 45 minutes left to finish the grocery shopping, pick up my four-year old from tumbling class, then get to school where my 12-year old and her carpool friends would be waiting.
I knew men didn't belong in a commissary, and this old guy was no exception. He stood in front of the soap selections, staring blankly, as if he'd never had to choose a bar of soap in his life. I was ready to bark an order at him when I noticed a small tear on his face.
Instantly this grocery aisle roadblock transformed into a human. "Can I help you find something?" I asked. He hesitated, then told me he was looking for soap.
"Any one in particular?" I queried.
"Well, I'm trying to find my wife's brand of soap."
I reached for my cell phone so he could call his wife, and as I pulled it out he said, "She died a year ago, and I just want to smell her again."
Chills ran down my spine. I don't think the 22,000-pound mother-of-all-bombs could have had the same impact. As tears welled up in my eyes, my half-eaten grocery list didn't seem so important. Neither did fruit snacks or frozen pizza.
I spent the remainder of my time in the commissary that day, listening to a man tell the story of how important his wife was to him; how she took care of their children while he served our country. A retired, decorated World War II pilot, who flew missions to protect Americans, still needed the protection of a woman who served him at home.
My life was forever changed that day. Every time my husband works too late or leaves before the crack of dawn, I try to remember the sense of importance I felt that day in the commissary.
Sometimes the monotony of laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping, and family taxi driving leaves military wives feeling empty; the kind of emptiness that is rarely fulfilled when our husbands come home, then don't want to or can't talk about work.
We need to be reminded at times of the important role we fill for our family and our country. Military wives aren't any better than other wives, but we are different.
Other spouses get married and look forward to building equity and putting down roots. Military spouses get married and know they'll spend years in temporary housing, so the roots have to be short for frequent transplanting.
Other spouses say goodbye to their spouse for a business trip and know they won't see them for a week. Military spouses say goodbye to their deploying spouses and know they won't seem them for months, or a year, or even never.
Other spouses get used to saying "hello" to friends they see all the time. Military spouses get used to saying "goodbye" to friends they've made in the past couple of years.
Other spouses worry about being late to Mom's house for Thanksgiving dinner. Military spouses worry about getting back from Japan in time for Dad's funeral.
I will say, without hesitation, that military spouses pay just as high a price for freedom as do their active-duty husbands and wives.
Author Unknown
It was just another harried Wednesday afternoon trip to the commissary (that's a military grocery store). My husband was off teaching other young men how to fly. My daughters were going about their daily activities,
knowing I would return to them bearing, among other things, their favorite fruit snacks, frozen pizza, and all the little extras you never write down on a grocery list.
My list, by the way, was in my 16-month old daughter's mouth, and I was lamenting the fact that the next four aisles of needed items would have to wait while I extracted the list from her mouth. And in the middle of all
this, I nearly ran over an old man.
This man clearly had no appreciation for the fact that I had only 45 minutes left to finish the grocery shopping, pick up my four-year old from tumbling class, then get to school where my 12-year old and her carpool friends would be waiting.
I knew men didn't belong in a commissary, and this old guy was no exception. He stood in front of the soap selections, staring blankly, as if he'd never had to choose a bar of soap in his life. I was ready to bark an order at him when I noticed a small tear on his face.
Instantly this grocery aisle roadblock transformed into a human. "Can I help you find something?" I asked. He hesitated, then told me he was looking for soap.
"Any one in particular?" I queried.
"Well, I'm trying to find my wife's brand of soap."
I reached for my cell phone so he could call his wife, and as I pulled it out he said, "She died a year ago, and I just want to smell her again."
Chills ran down my spine. I don't think the 22,000-pound mother-of-all-bombs could have had the same impact. As tears welled up in my eyes, my half-eaten grocery list didn't seem so important. Neither did fruit snacks or frozen pizza.
I spent the remainder of my time in the commissary that day, listening to a man tell the story of how important his wife was to him; how she took care of their children while he served our country. A retired, decorated World War II pilot, who flew missions to protect Americans, still needed the protection of a woman who served him at home.
My life was forever changed that day. Every time my husband works too late or leaves before the crack of dawn, I try to remember the sense of importance I felt that day in the commissary.
Sometimes the monotony of laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping, and family taxi driving leaves military wives feeling empty; the kind of emptiness that is rarely fulfilled when our husbands come home, then don't want to or can't talk about work.
We need to be reminded at times of the important role we fill for our family and our country. Military wives aren't any better than other wives, but we are different.
Other spouses get married and look forward to building equity and putting down roots. Military spouses get married and know they'll spend years in temporary housing, so the roots have to be short for frequent transplanting.
Other spouses say goodbye to their spouse for a business trip and know they won't see them for a week. Military spouses say goodbye to their deploying spouses and know they won't seem them for months, or a year, or even never.
Other spouses get used to saying "hello" to friends they see all the time. Military spouses get used to saying "goodbye" to friends they've made in the past couple of years.
Other spouses worry about being late to Mom's house for Thanksgiving dinner. Military spouses worry about getting back from Japan in time for Dad's funeral.
I will say, without hesitation, that military spouses pay just as high a price for freedom as do their active-duty husbands and wives.
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