It
was a time of war, and the war was happening right at our borders. It was 1962
and a contingent from newly-liberated India's very own Indian Army was sent to the North-West Frontier
Province (NIFA) close to where the action was. My grandfather happened to be
among them.
When
the news of the war broke out, my grandfather, then posted at Rourkee, was
called to the front. He left at once, while his family back home coped,
somehow, with packing up everything in the house and moving in with relatives
at Chennai. My grandfather's contingent was ordered to join the forces in action at an altitude of
20,000 feet above sea-level. Four miles short of the closest mountain pass, the
contingent halted. It wasn’t just cold – it was airless. A lack of oxygen meant
that everything was twice the effort. The men put up their tents and set up
camp. After their efforts, the men, their lungs not yet acclimatized to the
thin mountain air, stayed in bed. For warmth, small charcoal burners with live
coals were strapped to each man’s stomach, with a few layers of clothing
in between to prevent the coals from causing burns.
As
for the enemy, the Chinese troops demonstrated their linguistic skills by
learning up swear-words in Hindi, and shouting them out across the border to the
Indians. The Indians, not to be outdone, yelled curses back. My grandfather
still remembers this, but without much rancour. Hurling abuses at each other
remains one of the regular amusements of troops stationed along the borders of
countries with a history of enmity, and seasoned veterans know better than to
take such pastimes seriously.
As
the Quartermaster, it was my grandfather’s job to make sure that the food made
it into the men’s plates. But first, he had to make sure that the supplies made
it to the mess. They were stationed in the only area where rations were being
air-dropped. And in the high mountains, when food was air-dropped, it was not
unusual for heavy objects to get blown off course and get scattered all over
the mountain-side. The supplies also had a habit of rolling away
inconsiderately so that the men had to search far and wide to retrieve their
rations. My grandfather, who was in charge of making sure that the army
continued to march on its stomach, detailed men whose duty it was to search and
retrieve rations. Giant pumpkins fell from the sky like lethal missiles which
could easily kill an unwary passer-by, should he be hit on the head with one. And
sure, meat was on the menu as well. But meals on hooves fell from the heavens
in the form of a rain of live goats, still bleating as they dropped from the
sky. They then had to be found, taken back to the common kitchen or ‘Langar’ and butchered before anyone
could get their dinner. One of the more welcome forms of precipitation was rum
in plastic bottles. “Please put me in the working-party!” men would plead with
my grandfather, volunteering eagerly to be a part of the group of men helping
the Quartermaster to collect ration from across the countryside, in the hope of
scoring a bottle or two for themselves!
In
the end the Chinese retreated without engaging them in battle (rather to
disappointment of my grandfather who described this with a growl of, ‘we just
had to come back, nothing happened’). So it ended. The men were sent back to
Sikkim (now a north-eastern state in its own right), from where they dispersed
to return home.
That
was how my grandfather played his small yet significant part, feeding the army in
one of the great wars of Independent India.
Life’s greatest moments often come in scary disguises. But people
like my grandfather, who was almost never afraid,
often find wonderful experiences - because they expect to have fun. My grandfather went from being a spirited young
lad starting out from the deepest recesses of Kerala; to rising on his own
merit to become Captain K.K.V. Waran, decorated officer of the Indian Army before
and after independence.
This is a true story, his story, as he saw it and as he told it. It is a story of grit and determination,
yes. But it’s much, much more than that. It shows that when life throws you a
curve-ball, that can be a good thing. It’s the story of a man who was living
proof that when you’re excited instead of dismayed, wonderful things can - and
do - happen.
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