Humor and Melancholy

Many times we see the two emotions following each other so closely that one often wonders if they indeed are two sides of the same proverbial coin. How many times it has happened that you haven’t fully relished the humor and are still ticklish on the memories but then suddenly something hits you very hard on the solar plexus sending you reeling down with utter disbelief and shock. How do you deal with such situations?
Start worrying if the fun and frolic that is inviting you now is going to suddenly evaporate, so you always remain unsure whether or not you should enjoy the moment?

Keep your guard on during lighter moments, so that the shock is not too much as and when or if at all it comes?
Or, let go in the moment, throwing all caution to the winds and embrace whatever comes your way to down your hairs – कल हो न हो
Life in the Army dutifully brings you face to face with such moments and never stops surprising you. During the numerous encounters with wonderful people in and out of uniform one has been fortunate enough to witness a vibrant canvas of emotions in all hues and shades. One such painting is here for my readers that was shared by my senior colleague and a seasoned veteran Colonel B R Nair. Thank you, sir, for sharing this;
“Circa 1983; I was an Intelligence branch staff officer with an Army Formation at Lunglei, Mizoram. We had a hill top helipad about 500 meters from our tin shed/basha complex. There was an Air Supply Detachment located on the helipad commanded by a young energetic Second Lieutenant. Second Lieutenant, those days used to be the junior most rank of officers in the Indian Army, that has since been done away with. This Air Supply detachment; a small team carved out of Army Service Corps (ASC) personnel was responsible for arranging the supplies for transporting through helicopters to the far-flung posts that gets isolated during inclement weather. These posts situated at an altitude of seventeen thousand to nineteen thousand feet cannot be provided essential supplies including kerosene oil and rations to keep the soldiers well fed and warm at sub- zero temperature.

The helipad was always buzzing with activities when the air maintenance schedule was in full swing to stock up selected posts before the monsoons struck making roads/ tracks impassable and air sorties dangerous due to fickle weather conditions. Visibility packed up in a matter of minutes presenting those magnificent men in their flying machines (IAF MI-8s) a Hobson’s choice of attempting the planned landing or diverting to Kumbigram in the plains (Silchar).

We young officers, once the Tiger (Commanding Officer) left for his almost daily “inspection” visits to units, had a routine of trickling down to the ‘Mesa’ like helipad, where the ASC Tiger was liberal in dispensing canned pineapple chunks washed down with a variety of delectable fruit juices. The Brigade Major, a Paratrooper from Special Forces, who later rose to become a Lieutenant General, and I often sneaked in some gin concealed in those great coat parkhas to spike the juice into something more “befitting” for senior officers! That helipad was a cultural melting pot for all sorts of folks passing by, including CRPF, Assam Rifles and Seema Suraksha Bal officers. The ASC accorded them hospitality without differentiating on the colour of the uniform or shoulder badges. We were all in that shit hole together and looked out for each other! Lessons of secularism were codified and internalized in such settings- not in the courtrooms or the talk shops in Lutyens Delhi. There were usually two types of wayfarers in that jungle serai. Those who were looking for a 45-minute joy ride to Silchar, to catch trains, going on leave, course etc. instead of the bumpy landslide threatened a road convoy trip that took 2-3 days! The second type, were the ones, who simply had time hanging on their hands and kind IAF pilots took them along on their short dropping sorties to various posts. An aerial view of jungle canopy from the air is alluring to those who have never had to march through them braving leeches, snakes and fast flowing streams.
I’ll come to the melancholy part later. Humour first!

One morning, as we lounged around under a welcome weak wintry sun, a MI 8 landed and was preparing to depart for Kumbigram, duty over for the day. A motley bunch of wayfarers in Olive Greens (OGs) with bags & hold-alls draped over their shoulders, were being formed up into a line in preparation to board. They were the lucky ones, who found their names on the aircraft load manifesto. A more dejected lot hung around the edge of the helipad, hoping for a miracle as their names could not make it to the final list of the manifesto. After refuelling, and loading IAF personnel, the burly IAF load master was ticking off names as he let the listed soldiers onboard. The last pongo with his satchel & holdall was in. The tail jala (in lieu of tail doors when choppers are on dropping sorties) was pulled shut. The puff of black smoke signalled start up. The drooping rotors whirled and straightened up as they picked up revs. Suddenly, from the nose end, a turbaned figure in OGs with trademark hold-all over one shoulder, could be seen dashing, ducking under the rotors and exchanging some gestures with the pilot/ co-pilot. Lunatic? Even as my Brigade major friend readied himself to award punishment in the field for suicidal behaviour, a miracle happened. The high whine of the engines slowed. The sardar OG dashed around to the rear. The jala was unhooked momentarily barely enough for the sardar OG to be pulled in abroad with his luggage. Jala re-hooked, whine increased to a roar and the whirly bird was airborne in a cloud of dust even as we steadied ourselves against the propwash. The hepter disappeared towards Silchar in a few minutes.

Much later, when the same crew was with us a second time, someone reminded the lanky sardar pilot of the earlier incident! He guffawed & replied- yaar what could I do. The guy came beside the cockpit window, and through gestures indicated that he was an ASC driver who often drove in convoys all over Mizoram. Pointing to his shoulder titles he indicated that the pilot was also a driver- how could one driver let down another? In a split second our pilot decided to risk it and take on the un manifested passenger! That’s camaraderie in the forces. Rules are for guidance. Officers decide how to implement them!!

Now the melancholy part. This was tragic. One day, a joy ride bunch that included an Assam Riffle doctor from the nearby Assam Riffle camp, two CRPF officers along with 4-5 crew took off before our eyes to drop a load. The doctor had left his half-finished drink on the table, as he expected to return in a few minutes to finish it. After 15/20 minutes, we all saw the helicopter approach the mesa for landing. Everything seemed routine. Suddenly the skies darkened and in minutes the mesa was shrouded in the damp coils of a passing cloud that decided to settle on the mesa. Fairly common. No one was expecting anything amiss. Till there was a horrible clap of sound that reverberated through the surrounding hills. A huge flash and coiling black smoke from below the mesa told its own tragic story. The helicopter on its finals, could not evade in time before the visibility packed up. It attempted to land & was short of the mesa. We rushed pell mell to the mesa edge and scrambled as close as we could to the burning jumble of metal, fuel, jungle – and bodies! We lost them all. 9 souls in all. It was the saddest mid-morning of my life. The sight of that half-drunk glass of juice haunts me to this day! What ifs of life!!”

Memories of the recent air crash involving fourteen brave hearts including our CDS Gen Bipin Rawat and his wife Ms Madhulika Rawat came rushing as I was reading this anecdote.

A big salute to all those comrades who failed to come home. A huge thanksgiving for permitting me to come back in one piece.