I am 407/4 Pratap Lines, Jaipur Cantt
Earlier this week I was applied double coats of distemper,
few furniture were replaced, couple of damp spots in my wall repaired. I can’t
tell you how happy I was. I always felt cold with those damp spots in me and it
also made me look dreadful and ancient.
I knew I will have a new family soon. I stopped speculating
about the kind of people I would have as all these years I had seen a myriad of
them. There were people who considered me as a temporary shelter and there were
others who called me home. There were people who passionately decorated me, and
some who just crazily hammered nails everywhere which made me look puckered
than I was. For some, with heavily framed Egyptian paintings and volumes of
crystal items I looked gorgeous and for others with family photographs and in
an elegantly woven Persian carpet I turned out to be graceful.
But then I could hardly contain the excitement as I heard the
footsteps coming towards me. Here I see them. A young officer with his new
bride! The Capt wrapped his wife in his arms and walked in. Her fingers
intertwined with hers, swinging back and forth. She moved around me with such
childish ecstasy; I would be their first nest after marriage. Next few days saw
a flurry of activities. My windows and doors were draped in new curtains,
(there were huge arguments over the colour of the curtains - well well, there
used to be differences in everything- from placement of the utensil rack, shape
of cushions, bathroom fittings, placing the furniture, size of glasses, pattern
of bed sheets and which dog breed to get!). He wanted the dominant theme of the
house to be white. White bedsheets, white dining table cover, white curtains,
white buckets, white tea set and even he searched for white gas burner. When
she opposed vehemently he just deviated to off white and beige.
Their disagreements unlike their love, was ephemeral. In the
morning when the husband left for office, she was there for a loving send off.
She endeavored her best to cut equal sizes of all vegetables
in salad and even halved the grapes with such affection. With my experience I
could tell that she was a novice in the kitchen. Once she placed a brinjal in the
microwave oven. Later, with teary eyes she plucked out each seed from the oven
as it had burst into innumerable pieces. The young man on the other hand was an
expert cook. He would cook everything with dollops of cheese and butter and
loved his wife more than anything in the world.
She was new to dressing up like a lady in the evening for
Mess Functions or Call Ons. She had a hard time to clean up the batter from her
face, her baking lessons failed , the maiden cake turned out to be hard as a
cricket ball and on top of that she had invited guests at home!
Pall of gloom descended and she thought it to be the end of
the world.
But again like phoenix she rose, with lot of assurance from
her companion and the day ended well with laughter and banter. The guests described
their own hilarious incidents about baking and cooking. The young girl felt
better. Her husband wittily glanced at her.
The young officer would attaimes narrate the ways of the Army
to her. Sometimes she accepted the sermons, but mostly she questioned and
revolted. Why would the mandir parade
be on Sundays? What is the necessity for strict Mess etiquettes and why should Tuesdays
be chhole bhature days and Sundays biriyani days? She questioned about
having so many unnecessary uniforms and shoes, and she for the first time came
to know colour of petrol to be blue and white. To her utter disgust white,
beige and green colours (even clothes other than uniform) dictated his
cupboard. She frowned at the saree fetish ladies. She named Sunday as Sulkingday
because her man went to office in civil dress and her worst enemy was the fauji phone. It belched out in high
decibel whenever possible. And yes, she failed to understand why the call made
on ‘Reporting Time’, should be holier-than-thou and that even a mellowed down
sneeze (from anyone in the house) would be a criminal offence. She even scowled
at the thought and questioned the valid reason behind naming nature’s call as
Jungle parade. But she tied the knot not only with the man but also with his
profession and she already had the Married to Olive Green book, the Bible, for
civilians married into the army. Just one step left - to flip open and read.
For the past few days, I found her quite withdrawn. Attimes
she would recluse in a corner, buried her head in her palms and sobbed quietly.
I wanted to help but I was helpless. One evening, after being cajoled by her
husband she spurted out that she was exhausted and wanted to wriggle out of
‘lady like syndrome act’, she missed being herself. She felt caged in the
Cantonment and wanted a way out. She was an aspiring journalist and her
aspirations were snuffed out early. Without a job she felt less empowered. She
was way too vexed with the people advising her to do B.Ed and teach, or do
gardening or cook new dishes and share the recipes or learn stitching. I was concerned
about her and with ages behind me I wanted to tell her that with time every
crease will be ironed out. It was love at first sight which brought them
together and then the love seemed out of sight. The young man, seemed to be
powerless against such blitzkrieg. He was visibly distressed. The only happy
soul was the four month old mischievous, curious and playful Doberman pup named
Ditto. He was found to be everywhere that he shouldn’t have been. From toilet
paper to shoes to plants, he spared nothing. But these days even Ditto’s antics
failed to lift the girl’s mood. I keep on referring her as ‘girl’ as addressing
her ‘lady’ would entail undue pressure on her and expectations would surmount.
Even for me. Then, why? Let time take the course. What is the hurry to make a ‘lady’?
After many such gloomy evenings one day she looked content. The
man and his wife whooshed out of the door for dinner, they whispered to each
other – and I was keen to know the turn of events. With series of
congratulatory phone calls that followed the next day I could make out that soon
there would be an addition in the family.
Still, when there was no one in the house but myself and
Ditto, she would attimes embrace my brick walls and ask - Will I be a good
mother? Am I being a good wife? Am I being a good army wife? I am unable to
make great desserts and just clueless about rearing a baby. (Her voice would
mellow down and anguish resonated – I would have to give up my career. I cannot
hop to countless and remote locations and hope to make my byline on the front
page of newspaper…) She became thoughtful.
I replied fondly, have faith in yourself and hold on! Did she
hear? I think so, because she seemed pacified everytime after she spoke blankly
to the walls. I felt part of this family.
Certain things ofcourse enraged me. Top of the list was when
Ditto scratched my walls fervidly in order to dig hole. I don’t know why dogs
do that! I despised it and I am sure he felt my indignation because next he did
was leaving a crescent shaped mark of on my walls. Uff ! how I loathed such
damp and pungent smell. More so, I still cannot fathom the correlation between
a soldier and his love for dog.
A beautiful February morning was abuzz with people running
helter skelter. The young man exulted and announced that he was the proud
father of a baby girl. Oh! How desperately I wanted to see her and the new
mother. I saw her later that day. She was adorable. She peered through her brand
new eyes at what must be such a strange world after life in the womb. As she
cuddled in her mother’s arms her curled pink fingers brushed my walls. I felt
she thanked me for protecting her.
With untimely cries, diaper changes, doctor’s appointments,
and baby’s babble –the house, rather I, felt lively as never before. Attimes I
saw the baby’s mother physically exhausted coupled with sleepless nights, self
–doubt, worry and new parenthood seemed a challenge. Everyone, relatives and
acquaintances, advised her how to be a perfect mother and that she should
follow their examples. I hollered to the self-acclaimed perfectionists – with a
new baby a new mother is also born. So let them be! The house was always
throbbing with people but I found her lonesome. I saw sparkle in her eyes when
her neighbor came. A very loving figure in whom this girl took comfort. Perhaps
in her she understood the real meaning of being part of the olive green family.
You are never alone even when you think you are. Even then she would have
queries about the Army life, but then it was only to understand and not revolt.
With a grin I said to myself – Time and Infantry Life are
great teachers, healers and guides.
They organized a dinner to celebrate their new born. This
time, I saw her preparing the list of the invitees, fixing the menu (easy yet with a twist)
something she can manage, ensured she had enough serving plates and this time
the sponge cake came out better than before. She fumbled less, except that she forgot to ask
the guests for a second helping and also it never occurred to her to show the ‘sweetened sauf,’ at the end, but beyond
that she was almost a perfect hostess.
As a soldiers life is always half packed in trunk, I knew it
was about time they move on to a different place, a new house and a new life.
The young officer got posting orders. He was moving to the borders. The
destination of her stay for the next couple of years was unclear. They had to
give away their dog as uncertainty mounted. It was difficult to take care of a
baby and a dog if at all she had to fall back to her hometown. They missed him
a lot. Even I felt dejected.
But one thing was clear. For next couple of years they will
stay apart. In the remaining days they marveled me more. They thanked their
first house and called me a part of their life.
Trunks got a new black coating, hiding the word CAPT. Instead
with fresh white paint, the word MAJ showed prominence. She carefully put the
belongings in designated numbers given to the trunks and meticulously mentioned
every item in a list. (Here, I remembered how on the first day she came,
rummaged her suitcase to take out her favorite pair of jeans!)
The truck got loaded -not only with trunks but also with
memories. The officer with his wife and daughter for the last time came inside.
They went to the rooms, touched me (walls) and bid adieu, with a promise to
visit me sometime in future. I wanted to hold on to that moment and never let
them go. But I am a fauji house and
for me as they say change is the only constant thing!
Many years passed. I had so many families reside in me. But I
always wondered about the young officer and his wife. Is she lady like now? How
about her sponge cakes? Can she manage her life, postings, separation, home,
career-all too well or whines helplessly?
Today I got my answers. It was dusk and a couple walked
towards me. I am quite old now, with new construction towering over me, I could
hardly see them. But the sound of the steps was familiar. Oh! how happy I was
to see them again. The young officer was not so young, with gravitas in his
voice he ushered his wife and the little girl to walk fast. They also had a son
who clutched his mother’s hand firmly. The new born girl is a teenager now. Of
course it is been thirteen long years! Children seemed to know about me, the
place and Ditto! Curiosity gleamed in their eyes. They came inside and
introduced themselves to the lady who opened the door. They were unexpected but
welcomed guests. The mother of two shared about her stay here more than a
decade ago. I listened to every word carefully. I was happy to know that she
writes, takes care of the home, manages all her commitments, keeps up with
erratic postings and even plays the role of both parents when her husband is in
field area. I learnt that she took up teaching briefly and found it equally
satisfying as journalism.
For an army wife, it dosenot take time see life in a
different and new perspective. Just like tallying of the ribbons in their
husbands’ crests, they become dynamic, versatile and remain unruffled even when
facing formidable situations. Ask me, I know all about them.
The officer and his wife frequently looked at my walls, probably
trying to find any memorabilia. She went to the terrace and touched the iron
loop which was firmly drilled in the wall. It was where they attimes tied their
dog when guests came. The loop was probably the only tangible thing, besides
me, left of their time. Politely they took leave. The indomitable spirited girl I knew
paced graciously towards the door. The confounded maverick was more resolute
now. I admired her but somewhere I had started missing the wide-eyed artless
new bride.
Just then, she touched
my walls once more and muffled something. I felt the warmth of her palms and heart. I could not hear what she said. But I
knew she whispered that she will always remember me.
I saw a lady being born but the girl is still alive in her.
The Colonel wrapped her in his arms, looked deeply in her
eyes and walked away with his family.
