The Last Post

6th July, 2020

Hi Dad,

When I look back all these twenty eight odd years, some memories never seem to fade. You walking me to the bus stop that was far away from our house and then reading the newspaper as we waited for the school bus to arrive. As I grew up, I was embarrassed that you would still not give up this routine but always loved to see you outside the school gate when the last period got over and we would be rushing to get a seat in the bus. You would always buy me an orange ice stick and I would proudly lick it, showing off to the other boys. Then those dreaded parent teacher meetings where you quietly listened to almost all the teachers telling how bad my marks were and how much I needed to work hard to ensure promotion to the next class. Despite all these taunts and complaints, you never raised your hand at me. My repeatedly bad scores  would have made any other mortal give up on me, but you had an undying faith that one day I will prove the world wrong and make you feel proud. Was it your blind love for me that drove you to have such baseless faith or was it something you saw that others missed? How much trouble I would give you when ,after a long hard day at work, you returned home and I would ask for a new notebook or a geometry box that I had lost in school. You would immediately go to the shop and buy a new one for me without ever complaining.

You knew many a thing but overlooked them. You knew I was flicking coins from your pocket, you knew I would often fib about my illness just to skip going to school, you knew I would forge your signature on the school diary pages….I could go on Dad. How much I would trouble you over buying the bicycle or the football shoes….spoilt so many of your Saturdays. You wanted me to take up science but I knew I would never be able to get past those subjects. My class teacher called me a donkey for having given strange options of subjects for senior secondary- first being your wish of doing pure science which had PCBM and second was humanities which I wanted. There was no way the school was going to make a fool of itself by even thinking that in some distant day this idiot would turn into a doctor and so I ended up doing history and civics. Then you wanted to see me clear the civil services and made me join the Rau’s Classes but I had made up my mind and finally ended up joining the armed forces, much against your wishes. Yet you never ever said anything harsh to me. You would often tell Ma and other relatives, “ One day my son will make me proud”.

Dearest Ma,

You often complained that I write the inland letters to both of you but, on the cover, address it to Dad and not to you.  So today I have addressed this letter to both of you.

The food in the mess is good but no one can even come close to your mughlai paranthas, meat palak, fish curry and the yummy mishti you would make. My school friends would finish off the tiffin much before the intervals, on most days, and let me eat their sandwiches. On my birthdays god knows from where you would find time to cook so many things for my friends who were invited including the cake initially done over a kadhai with sand and later in the round oven. The trend continued even when I grew up and my friends would come in large number to our house for Bijoya, after the immersion of Ma Durga. You always loved to go to Pujas and get together in the neighbourhood and you never liked to miss marriages of friends and family. I remember how all your life you would get the things from the CSD canteen at cheaper prices for us and bottles of XXX rum for others.

I often wondered where you found so much strength to do so much work. Almost all your working life, we never had any servants and Baba would hardly do anything other than make the early morning tea while you would do all the cleaning, cooking, washing, get us ready for school with breakfast, tiffin and even keep food in the fridge for the afternoons when we returned home. And after a hard day’s work you would get back to the same back breaking routine. Now, let me tell you a secret Ma. I never felt any pain when you would slap me, something you did often, for doing the wrong things. The reason is that your palm was soft and fluffy and the slaps lacked any sting even though you were putting force behind them. Yes, the one time you used the belt that hurt. But I deserved it for Baba was too soft on me and I always needed your scolding and beating to instill some fear in me. Don’t worry Ma, what I am today, is because of all the beating and eating and love that you showered on me. Never forget to have your medicines and insulin shots for you are the person who keeps our house in order and together.

My Loving Chikki,

I was there with Baba when you were born and always found you a cute little baby. Ma told me that I have even washed your nappies in Delhi’s winter in cold water. Every night I would kiss you on your chubby cheeks and then go to my side of the bed to sleep. Whenever I went out for my school trips, I made sure I saved a little money and bought you a small gift. On one such occasion, I got you a beautiful bead necklace and you took it in your little hands and pulled the sting so hard that it broke and beads were seen flying all over the room. Ma had to collect all of them and she put them together again. I have seen your wooden box that you keep secretly behind your clothes shelf. The beads are still there and so are the small sequined purse and a picture of us together riding a pony at Manali with you in front and me sitting behind, holding you tight, lest my little sister fell down and hurt herself.

I often wonder how, as children of the same parents and having being brought up in almost similar environment, we were so different from each other. I was the playful kind while you were the studious type and our report cards were so different. I was loud, outspoken and had an army of friends while you were the quiet type and a lonely bird. You loved chocolates and cakes while I loved the Indian sweets more, you preferred continental food when we went out while I stuck to my desi variety. I think you never had any boyfriends because most of the boys would be mortally afraid of me and knew what would be their fate when I would come to know about them….you must be cursing me all your life for this my Chikki Chukki. Maybe, because of my over protectiveness you never thought it important to tie a Rakhi on my wrist knowing fully well that I would anyway do it so why the public display of affection. Do you know that I would buy the Rakhi every year myself and Ma would tie it for me? You always brought joy to the house from the time you opened your eyes. Your presence itself had a positive and calming effect on all and then your exam results were such a big thing. Ma had to always ask me to bring a basket of sweets even before you came home with your report card knowing fully well that you would have scored well and the mithai had to be distributed to all neighbours and friends as an annual ritual. Now that  you are a doctor, I know your patients will be in best of hands and shall bless you My Little Sis.

Dear Ma, Baba, Chikki.

I know you must be wondering what this letter is all about. Last night, our battalion got the orders to move to the forward post at Siachen where the situation looks grim. While the spirit is high and the there is great enthusiasm among the soldiers, there is an undercurrent of strange silence and unease. So some of us decided to pen a last letter for our loved ones and keep it in the pockets of our uniform as we face the enemy of the nation. If we survive, the letter will stay with us unread. If otherwise, the letter will reach the recipients along with our uniforms and remains wrapped in the flag we would have gone down proudly fighting for. Only one will reach- the letter or us.

The other day, one of my school mates, with whom I used to exchange stamps, shared one of a war memorials of World War 1, which I am sending along with this letter to add to my stamp collection. It seems strange and coincidental that he would send this at this hour. Maybe, next when you visit any of these sites, you will etch my name there forever. If not then I shall be up there as a cloud watching you all…sometimes white and bright, and at times, dark and gloomy, but I will always be there.

It is easy for me to say don’t cry, but I know it will happen. All I can say is that some of us have to face the bullets to make sure others in the country stay safe, sleep well and keep the flag flying high. Lately, I have been humming a song written by Manoj Muntashir which befits us soldiers in uniform…

Aye meri zameen mehboob meri
Meri nass nass mein tera ishq bahe
Pheeka na pade kabhi rang tera
Jismon se nikalke khoon kahe
Teri mitti mein mill jawaan
Gul banke mein khill jawaan
Itni si hai dil ki aarzoo

And finally, Dad, the day to make you proud of your son is here, so straighten your shoulders and put your chin up.

Will miss you all, as always. Love you all.

Sanjib

Captain Sanjib Chaudhury
32nd Battalion
56 APO

SS