the soldier scholar

                                             The soldier scholar

                                                 by Vivek Hande

My father served in the Indian Army for 34 long years. All who served with him regarded him a “soldier down to his boots”. He was an Ammunitions expert and had participated in the military operations in 1962, 1965 and 1971. He joined the Indian Military Academy as a teenager and having virtually spent a life in the Olive Greens, he knew no life other than the Army.

 Well, Dad has always been a very impressive figure; in many ways larger than life. One grew up on his anecdotes for every possible occasion, and it did not matter that very often they were a repeat. Somehow, each time, they did sound different and entertaining. He has always been the life and soul of every party. He has had the amazing ability to make friends. His friends have included the watchman in my school, a watch –repairer and corporate head -honchos. The men who have served under him have been loyal to him long after his retirement.  He was a competent tennis player in his younger days and a pretty bad golfer- but he was willing to try out everything. He has always spoken his mind, and stood his ground on his convictions and has often paid the price for the same. There are many things I have admired him for over the years.  He has always been a soldier and he has always plunged into everything headlong and faced everything head on. 

 I respect and admire the way he has reinvented himself. From a  hard-core soldier to a German language Professor, it has been a long journey.  From the rudimentary seeds of interest in the language, sown in him by way of an official “interpreter ship course”, way back in the late Sixties, he has come a very long way.   After retirement, he decided to pursue the language whole-heartedly.  He took all the courses in the Max Mueller Bhawan at Bangalore, and was by far the senior most student of a class with an average age of thirty!  

  Some might have sniggered behind his back but that did not deter him. He came through with flying colours. His fluency in the language and command over the vocabulary amazed everyone. His memory was razor sharp and he soaked in the language like a sponge. His command of the language drew the admiration of the locals, during a visit he made to Germany.  He was certain; he was born in the wrong country! He teaches German today, six days a week and would take on students on Sundays too, if my mother went along.  Amongst his students have been corporate executives, Germany-bound nurses and air-hostesses, as also Germans and Austrians residing in Bangalore, who have all enjoyed and gained from his teaching skills and proficiency in the language, over the last decade and more.  He is pleased as punch when he gets letters and e-mails addressed as "Professor". 

Salutations to the scholar soldier or is it the soldier scholar? Life does begin at sixty perhaps!!

those were the best days

Those were the best days 

by Vivek Hande

I grew up an Army brat.  I say it with pride and as I grow older , I realize it was a truly privileged existence. It was the finest childhood a parent could offer a growing child . I am what I am today ; I think the way I do ; react in the way I do , in  large measure to my Army , my Cantonment up -bringing..

It was a different way of life . I saw nine schools by the time I passed out of school. Yes, I felt bad leaving school each time , leaving friends and class-mates. But each new station and each new school , brought in a new set of friends , a new range of experiences and a whole lot of new adventures. One joined good schools , bad schools , indifferent schools and one adapted . You always had other Army brats to help you in the journey.  There were classes at times under the open skies-the roof of the school had been blown off in a storm .  At times , there were no classes at all – no teachers could be motivated to serve in those remote far flung areas- so one played football the whole day long and studied at home ! But do believe me , all my co –brats are doing amazingly well today in all walks of life ,all across the world. They are all professionals - executives , physicians ,journalists , fashion designers , Armed Forces personnel  of the highest caliber…

The cleanest air we breathed; the best of grounds we played in. We had access to the finest sporting facilities in the country –tennis , squash , riding , swimming –we  had it all.  We saw the geography and the topography of this great country. It is a different thing that we often had to dig out the Atlas or find out from Dad’s colleagues in the Signals as to where exactly the place we were posted to existed. Learnt terms such as NRS-  Nearest Railway Station- very rarely was one lucky to detrain at the same location. But the reception at the station and the onward journey by road made one feel like a feudal prince. Every Army brat knows the high regard one had for the “Bhaiyya “. One did not know about Sewadar or Sahayak but one certainly knew “Bhaiyya” was family. He was Jeeves , your friend  and guide rolled into one .

One learnt that there was a family beyond the  four walls of your home. . One learnt that when your Dad went on course or exercise or got posted out , there were a whole lot of “Uncles” and “Aunties” who adopted you and made you feel special and cared for and somehow made things easier .  The “Pot-luck” dinners and impromptu “Chaat –parties” and Sunday brunches by the riverside with the entire unit in attendance gave you something special to always look forward to. One learnt that the more you give , the more you get ..

It was not always rosy and beautiful and cheerful. There were mosquitoes, erratic electricity supply , extremes of weather , paucity of supplies and provisions at times . Connectivity was often a problem . Medical facilities were often rudimentary .  Yet , when I think back , I rarely remember that . I remember the sense of belonging ; I remember being part of a huge loving family ; I remember the beautifully laid out roads; the thousands of trees marked with brown and white ; greenery and open spaces; fresh air and the thrill in simple pleasures of life.  If there was good times to be enjoyed, one did so heartily and if there were bad times around the corner , one faced them with stoicism .

I am proud being an Army brat . I would not like to trade it for any other kind of childhood . I am what I am , the way I grew up. Those were the best days…

diamonds are forever

Diamonds are for ever…

By Vivek Hande

I am not much of a pet-lover. I don’t feel comfortable with dogs, cats, parrots, parakeets or any other such creatures.  I did, however, have an encounter of the close kind with a pet and that was a long time ago.  My father, then in service, had a boss who quite liked him and he decided to present us with a pedigreed Dalmatian pup, fresh from the oven, in a manner of speaking.

We took in the little white thing with a little trepidation and uncertainty. It was almost like having a new baby at home. The only catch was that this was our first (and only) tryst with pets and none of us were particularly comfortable with the four legged creature.  Within a week, black diamond shaped spots started appearing on the white coat. It was christened “Diamond” because of its spots.  It was introduced to a strictly vegetarian diet. Efforts were made to get friendly with Diamond.  Diamond grew very fast and  was a voracious eater.  It would devour everything and look with doleful eyes for more. We were not sure whether we landed up overfeeding it .We were singularly unsuccessful in toilet training Diamond.  Consequently, one had the task of clearing up the mess and my brother and I did the honors.

 It was a playful little creature and would jump on us with joy, on our return from school or work.  It would have been nice, but unfortunately, we were all rather terrified by this excitable creature.. My mother made tentative attempts to get friendly with Diamond and was rewarded with a friendly bite on the fingers. That was the end of her efforts to befriend Diamond. After a couple of my Dad’s trousers got torn off by the cheerful fellow, my Dad did his best to protect himself and his clothes and his legs. A whole lot of my shoes went missing. My brother had quite a few of his notebooks happily ripped apart by the young master. He was trying to be friendly and get our attention but we could not reciprocate satisfactorily.  We have a solitary family portrait with Diamond in the center and all of us looking to keep a respectable distance from him. Fear writ on our faces and smiles forced, it was a portrait of abject discomfiture for all concerned, Diamond included.  

I am sure Diamond sensed our discomfort and maybe our aloofness. He started retreating into a shell. His barks sounded less frenetic, his leaps a little forced and his antics a trifle contrived. He seemed a little depressed; we were feeling a little guilty. But there was a total transformation, in the chap, when, my cousin, a confirmed canninophile (if there is such a word), came visiting. They discovered each other and got along like a house on fire. He would follow my cousin all around the place and they seemed to be soul mates. They were quite inseparable and Diamond seemed to have been reborn.  It was quite obvious that Diamond would have a new home where he would be appreciated and enjoyed. Diamond and my cousin lived happily ever after for many years.

Having a pet is not easy.  It has to be a relationship of mutual comfort and affection.  Much perhaps, like marriage.  But for pet lovers, there can be no other way of life. For these diehard pet lovers, Diamonds are forever…

identity crisis

                                                       Identity crisis!!?

                                                       by Vivek Hande

It is a technology driven society today and being net- savvy is more a necessity than a luxury .I am a netizen too and I must confess that  I  often surf the net to seek out interesting e-mail ids. Each e-mail id says so much about the individual and gives a fascinating glimpse into the mind of the owner. Often , an address says more about the person than the mail!

lawyer.kochupillaiparthasarthy.tvs@hotmail.com is quite obviously a serious individual who is rather particular about the way he is addressed and means business. doctorjoinbones@rediffmail.com is an orthopedic colleague; gasbag@hotmail.com is an anesthesiologist and believe it or not, babies-out@gmail.com is a gynecologist friend of mine. A final year medicine resident at my hospital is waiting to go into private practice and makes his intentions clear with moneyraker@vsnl.com .

There is a bunch of sports crazy individuals on the net who carry their sporting affiliations as a badge of honour. One encounters spsdhonitops@gmail.com or vkmanchesterunited-forlife@hotmail.com   and I find prerna-dravid-ismine@msn.com interesting. A rare one –vishwnathananandgps@mac.com !

Some addresses are clearly aspirational. My son gets mail from britneyismine-rp@gmail.com and sharapova-iwant-u@usanet.com. Another of his friends is yogihasferari@msn.com .   Some make their musical preferences clear -    beethoven-u-rock@dna.com and elvis-is-king@gmail.com don’t leave much to imagination. Some addresses make it clear that the couple is much in love ; mp&rita-r-1@vsnl.com and minaraju-janamjanam@gmail.com are good examples of love on the net!

Then there are some e-mail ids which convey a social message as well; save-papersandy@hotmail.com ; saynotosmoking-vijay@indiatimes.com and conservewater-rishi@rediff.com are prime examples. Some convey different kinds of messages-      ihatemen-rina@tna.com; rksays-brinjals-r-yuck@sify.com   Some addresses give an insight into the mental state of the person    -ihatexams@hotmail.com and lifesucks@vsnl.com might need assistance.

It truly is a fascinating study and I am really hooked on to it. I would love a feedback from readers and would love them to share interesting addresses with me on my email id ubetterlikethisarticle@gmail.com !!