We Have No Time To Stand And Stare

Here's a poem that should help us reflect upon the manner in which we are often tempted lead our lives. How many of us would today have the time (or indeed, the inclination) to stare into the limitless expanse of blue even as the sea merges to the skies? Are we not in a way squandering away the biggest blessing of 'em all - our life and the opportunity it provides to experience pleasures in the simplest of happenings?

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began

A poor life this, if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

William Henry Davies

KoHam (Who Am I?)

"Hum ko apna saaya tak aksar be-zaar mila....
...Gham se ab ghabrana kaisa, gham sau baar mila..."

That's how I feel each time I have a brush with the Armed Forces these days...the most recent being less than 24 hours ago.

The Armed Forces that were my family, the cantonments that were my home, the Army uniforms, Insignias, Corps, Divisions, Formations and Mottos (e.g. Sarve Santu Niramaya; Veerta Hee Maan; Karm Hee Dharm; Sarvada Satark; Teevra Chaukas; Sarvatra Izzat-O-Iqbal and innumerable others), that were an integral part of my identity... they are all slipping away even as I write these words.

With every passing moment, the rift between me (nothing more than a humble "civilian") and the wonderful, cosmopolitan organisation that the Indian Armed Forces and their world is growing into a widening gorge that I fear I shall never be able to leap across.

I am, it appears, doomed to be viewed by those who, till recently were my own, (and from whom I derived my strongest and most important identity), as a suspicious character who seems to know slightly more about the Indian military establishment than they expect of a "civilian".

When members of the Division that my Mother once served in try to be evasive about who they are, how things are at the Div HQ and why the tank transporters are standing in Delhi, it does say a thing or two about their vision of me - a mere "civilian" (who should ideally be) far removed from the world of the Olive Green and the Battle Fatigues...

When an officer leading a military convoy on a National Highway is bewildered, stunned (and probably a tad worried), by the fact that I know not only his rank, but also his corp, his ribbons and his formation sign (and where they are based), he too is conveying the same message that the soldier in Delhi sent out loud and clear - "stay away; you seem to know too much about us and we don't know who you are...;don't know if you're truly someone who's lived his childhood and youth in Cantts or a Pakistani spy posing as an innocent civilian...; you're too damn suspicious - seem to know too much; please stay away - we cannot divulge anything to you...not even whether your statement about the formation sign is correct..."

Of no significance is the fact that my father spent over three decades as an active member of the Army, serving in the AMC in positions as varied as Medical Officer to HoD - Neurology in places as diverse as Sri Ganganagar and Udhampur; it does not matter that my mother had also donned the OG uniform not once but for two terms of Short Service Commission; it matters not that I never thought myself to be a Bihari but an Indian belonging to the Armed Forces fraternity...that was my erroneous reading of my identity they say...

And this, when I never regarded the land of my ancestors as my own - when I was always (and shall always remain to be), more an army lad than a Bihari. Reminds me of what Jawaharlal Nehru once said of himself: "I have become a queer mixture of the East and the West, out of place everywhere, at home nowhere." I find myself in a similar quandary - and while I know not how much it hurt Nehru, it does hurt me beyond what words can convey...

O' how it hurts to be rendered homeless and without a family when entry to the Cantonments that I've grown up in and that hold some of my most priceless memories is restricted to me; when I am not allowed to walk into Command Hospital, Calcutta which I associate with the birth of my beloved brother; when the rank and file of the Armed Forces suddenly seem to have turned their backs on this member who was till recently one of them...

Going ahead, I can only see the rift widening as I follow my path in life and become progressively more "civilian" in the eyes of those who today don the OG Uniform and occupy the bunkers, offices, and hospitals of the Indian Army... May I have the strength to witness this and learn to live with the pains of my (erstwhile?) family forsaking me...