Nation's Pride. Check!

Operation Vijay [Kargil-1999]

Kargil. The very mention of it gives one an uneasy feeling. A daunting sense of loss takes over my mind. Loss of countrymen, loss of leaders, loss of resources, but most of all, the absence of peace. I was very young to have known what was going on or to even gauge how terribly twisted ties between two nations were. That war was not only approaching but war is what eventually happened. And the family stood witness to it. All those people I cared about, all those I didn’t know about. All the others who would fight for us, to save us, to protect the country’s integrity. I remember asking an elder what the news flash regarding almost every day, it was getting monotonous to hear similar stories of fear, bombardment and people dying with a lot of bloodshed and gunfire in the background. My persistent query was, ”What for?”.

Elders in the family would simply keep me diverted while once I overheard things regarding an International Border and something about a Line of Control being the cause of the issue. That’s when I started keeping a lookout for the word. LoC. And that was the first instant where I saw my father’s job in a very different light. Inquisitiveness peaked as days passed by, and I realized that patriotism was more than an emotion. It drove thousands of men to sacrifice their lives, there was more to preserving the Kargil district, there was an underlying essence of belonging, a sense of pride for a nation.

Operation Parakram [2001-2002]

The entire bitter winter I used to miss my father, for even though I was naïve I knew the winter was cruel that year and my father wasn't as comforted as I was and that had me concerned. I wasn't very well aware of as to where he was. I just had a vague idea to keep me from being scared out of my wits. Our house wasn't exactly the kind of place one could home. I seldom do remember having a happy memory of the place. On festivals, all of the other estranged families would come over to my place and the ladies would discuss their woes while we were left to play. But play with what? I was tired of living a midst wooden boxes stacked up neatly where my bed should’ve been.  Cropping health issues because of the dampened walls and pollen festivity weren't any mood lifters. I remember school very well though, I loved going to school. I was the Class Head then, I liked to head the morning assembly and sing the National Anthem, with my hands by my side, palm bundled into a fist and back erect. I knew why I liked the routine, waking up early then reporting for a pseudo-responsible position, carefully carrying out every command of being in that position; being dressed properly without a flaw (I loved polishing my shoes every morning, tying the knot of my school tie, setting my pleats to my uniform in perfect alignment and henceforth) in a futile attempt to ape my father. For whatever little time he used to be at home I made it a point to get ready on time and see him complete the uniform, the combat green with brass badges and shoes. I remember prodding him for answers to the many questions I had regarding the different set of uniforms, the shoes and went with each of them, the implication of the number of stars on his shoulder-panel, the different metal badges, medals etc. The best part of his days at home was that sometimes I used to get a ride in one of the Gypsy, and my day used to be made as the guards used to salute in the direction of our passing vehicle. I tried my best to mirror the salute.

Days were slow and harsh, devoid of much news. And the one that came was vague, unknowingly distant. There were no phone calls for weeks together and the newspaper was our only source to what went on at the borders. The night the unnerving news of a probable war with Pakistan was extremely troublesome.  Everyone was talking about a “War”. I was still having trouble interpreting the word while the adults around me were making conversation about it. Hushed, hurried, and dramatic exclamations between the constant murmuring. I remember opening my Dictionary to look up the exact meaning of the word and as I read I found more than one cause of worry. There were the words ‘armed’, ‘conflict’, ‘prolonged’, ‘violence’, ‘disruption’.  Overwhelming. The impact of the little 3-alphabet long word was overwhelming. And disturbing. It meant loss, over different levels.

It again brought to me wonder how so many people were ready to let go of everything for the chaos and mayhem that was taking place. Away from their families, and warmer emotions of care and love. Away from home. That night I couldn't hold myself back, and tried to reason with my mother. I poured all my questions under the umbrella of a ‘Why?’ and to all that she simply told me that before belonging to anything (even Home) we belong to this country, the land of our roots and that’s why thousands are ready to save our land from any means sabotage or slavery. That night she explained Independence to me, story of many sacrifices and of one simple glory, one simpler motive- To safeguard the pride of the Nation.

[It’s a dwindling concept almost 10 years from the day I understood the need for it. It is almost as disturbing as the elements of War because maybe somewhere this situation is just a lesser form of the same. I can’t even begin to count or try sharing statistical data to reinforce the cause of worry; all I know is that if one can’t belong to their own Nation and fight for the lag in its integrity then well India can never be free. ]