Earliest Memories - Part 11 - Slow and Sudden Impacts of War,

Slow And Sudden Impacts Of War

The war was starting to affect everyone a bit. Shopping hours and places were limited. There were curfews imposed on many streets during days and nights. Many were out of work and many businesses struggled or started to shut down. Many poor struggled to have as many meals or as much food as they would normally have. People did not bathe everyday – shopping for supplies was getting difficult.

 Everyone accepted everyone else looking a bit unkempt, smelly and grimy. These were the slow and gradual impacts.

The sudden impact came about a few days after the previous night bombing raid, when the little boy’s father was away at work, there was a sudden blaring of sirens in the mid-afternoon. Everyone dropped what they were doing and ran for the trenches. The little boy’s mother was by now finding it very difficult to move, her pregnancy was showing large and clear. She barely hobbled into the trench, without falling over. A few grown-ups helped her and the kids.

It was a clear, bright daylight. The start of the anti-aircraft batteries in the distance was sudden and fierce. There were many jets roaring into the skies. They seemed to come from all directions. One could not tell for a while, what was happening, but it seemed to be happening right over them.

 He remembered:  The mother lay on her back and looked up. She held the children tight and prayed calmly. The children, while frightened and shaking hearing the menacing roar of the jets, lay face down. But with jet criss-crossing often and hearing gunfire from close by, they too could not resist sneaking a few glances upwards.  They could clearly see gunfire between jet fighter planes. The guns mounted on the wings  of some sputtered and rounds were even headed in all directions, some even downwards.  They saw a streaking ball of fire and smoke going across low overhead from one end of their street, over them and towards the south-east of them. Shortly there was a suddenly heard a huge thunderous crash somewhere nearby. Obviously something had crashed. Soon fire trucks and ambulances raced down the road and side streets. There was a big clamour as if many people were running. Many yells were heard – “He’s coming down!! Get him! GET HIM!! Come on, let’s go get him!”

Some seemed to recognise their voices of those who were shouting  –  one was certainly Harpreet’s supervisor. A couple of young men from the trench clambered up over the trench without a second thought and ran towards a house block two streets away.

There was a lot of commotion, then police and army vans streaked across the street and  after a good half an hour, suddenly the All-Clear sounded.

Everyone headed back to their homes. The mother had a difficult time getting back up over the trench. Someone put a heavy box and some bricks near the edge to make a couple of steps for her. Others helped her up and came for the children. But both wanted to climb out themselves. The little boy enjoyed climbing out just like the others. It would get his clothes all messy, but he wanted to do it. His mother tiredly smiled and let him. He came out feeling brave and grown up a bit.

When they reached their house, there was a lot of talk of something about Munni and Harpreet in awed and hushed tones.  Munni came home later accompanied by many friends and family and quickly taken to her room. She seemed to have been through something dramatic.

 That night when the father came back home, he already knew what had happened. It was part of the news on the radio that everyone had heard about. The big news was that a Pakistani jet fighter had been shot down and had crashed about a kilometre away into houses in a street. The pilot had ejected and landed nearby, close to Harpreet’s house, in the middle atrium of an old fashioned housing block.  He had had been captured and taken away. He was the one seen coming down in a parachute. That had been the reasons behind what they had heard and seen.

Harpreet and his group had been involved in the capture  of this pilot and somehow Munni too! Apparently Harpreet was injured and lucky to be alive and Munni had done something brave and dangerous. She too was injured.

It was much later that the boy came to know exactly what had happened that day when Harpreet and Munni became legends in their own right.

To Be Continued..

Earliest Memories - Part 10 - Night Raid and Dangerous Beauty

The Night Time Bombing Raid

The family had dinner early that evening and went to bed.  They moved the children’s bed to join up with the parents’ bed and all of them lay down, with the children in the middle. They had gotten used to wearing an extra layer of their most ragged clothes as the outermost layer over a better set underneath. It helped with the cold and helped get back quickly to normal routine, when coming back from the trenches. They could simply take off the outer muddy layer and get to sleep quickly. They needed to wash only one set of really dirty clothes, infrequently and conserve water.

 The children wanted to hear a bedtime story, but the father was very tired and drifted away to sleep as the mother completed the story. She too slept soon after. It turned dark.  Only Harpreet and his civil defence buddies were supposed to be out and about – prowling through the neighbourhood. The army traffic was very light that evening. They too travelled with their headlights off and hooded, faint lights on the rear of most vehicles. It would not be light seen easily from the air. Soon that too stopped.

All wished for a good night’s sleep to rest up after a tiring day. But it was not to be.

Around midnight, the air-raid sirens went off again. It was surprising how quickly the father got up alert, calm and ready. He picked up the little boy on one shoulder, helped up the mother who too woke up slowly, with the other hand. He saw the little girl sit up and get down from the bed. She picked up her mat and blanket and stood for a while confused, seemingly disoriented. The father who had picked up two ready bundles tucked them under his arm, pressed against his sides, held out his hand to the girl. He gently and quickly guided them out, the mother followed them. They left the front door open. A lot of people were pouring out of their houses to head for their shelter or trenches. Some were cursing and grumbling.  Some of the older ones moved slowly while the young and energetic moved ahead quickly to lay down the mats and blankets on the floor and prepare a more comfortable spot for themselves and others.  Some simply walked out with nothing and just went into the trenches. Most had packed drinking water and some food in sealed containers and a shawl or cover, near their doors to pick up on their way out from their homes. The little boy’s family picked up their supplies kept under the stone bench.

Some very old folk did not bother to come out. They did not mind dying within their homes. They were willing to accept the whims of fate.  The 90 year old grandfather in the little boy’s house was one such. They did not care to go to trouble or put others in discomfort for the sake of their own lives, which they believed had been good and long enough.

The father of the little boy sat with his back against the wall of the trench and held the daughter on his lap on one side. He had their supplies bundle next to him on the other side. The mother sat next to him, with the little boy in between, in the classic pose – lying on his stomach, legs stretched, hugging the ground, covering his ears with his palms. This was the recommended pose when on flat ground with no trench or shelter. They had taught the kids to fall to the ground and adopt this pose if they did not make it to the shelters or trenches in time.

 They used to stuff plugs of cotton wool into their ears and asked to cover them with their palms anyway, to spare their ear drums if there was a loud explosion close to them. Many old, naturally deaf folk and those a bit hard of hearing joked that they did not need any cotton wool! Most started to pray and held their folded handkerchiefs with a pencil in its folds nearby. When they heard the sounds of bomber planes approaching, they were supposed to stop praying loudly, put their kerchiefs in their mouth and lightly bite into them. They were expected to continue praying silently in their minds with the kerchief in their mouth. The reason for this was the belief that if one died praying, one would go to heaven.

It was a dark night, no moonlight to be seen or even starlight. There was a light haze of a fog. The chatter of anti-aircraft fire and the rumbling roar of the bombers started up. Suddenly the father observed his son squirming.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

“I want to pee,” said the boy.

“Go over there, at the end of the trench, but do it squatting, don’t stand up!” said the mother.

“Can you hold it in for a little while longer?” asked the father.

“Yes, for a little while.” the boy said.

 “OK, give me a few moments,” said the father.

He shushed those nearby who were speaking or praying loudly. He requested them to keep quiet. They complied readily. He listened intently for a few minutes.

Then, suddenly, he did something strange.  He set down his daughter and stood up. He was a tall man, well over six feet.  The depth of the trench did not even come up to his hip. He stuck out like a sore thumb, though it was dark.  He looked around in various directions, standing up.  He could more clearly hear the gunfire, bombers and clearly tracer rounds being fired at the intruding aircraft. Volleys of anti-aircraft file followed the tracer fire, from many directions.  He continued to listen for a few more moments.

The mother and others were a bit horrified. Some remonstrated.  The father quietly said, “Trust me, I will be fine. We will not get bombed today near here. I believe they are trying to bomb some targets well north and west of here. They did not succeed in the first two passes. They will try a couple more runs and that will be all for tonight. I am going to take my son home to pee now.  I will come back in a few minutes and get my family.” 

“How can you tell all that from what you heard?” someone asked.

“Yes, from what I heard and what I know. But I suggest you folks remain here in the trenches until the all-clear blows. I don’t want to be responsible should anything happen to you folks,” he replied.

“Appa (Father), I too want to go,” the daughter  said quietly.

“I will come too and take her to the toilet,” said the mother.

The father picked up his two children, their belongings and helped up the mother and out of the trench. She followed him with absolute trust and faith in his judgement. He would never put his children in harm’s way unless he was sure of himself. They headed back to their home close by.

Many knew that this was a man who had been through a previous shooting war just a few years ago, spending a fair time at the frontline and had lived. He was trained in making judgements of what was happening in a hot shooting war and acting quickly in small windows of opportunity to move from one safe place to another separated by open ground. His judgements had to have been good for him to have survived that war.

While most people could hear sounds in the distance in certain directions, they could not make much sense of it. The father could apparently make out the directions of the sounds from the bombers and anti-aircraft fire.  He could tell from their location, what their distances and direction of travel was. He also knew the important targets the adversary would try or need to take out first and where those were with respect to their own location. He had an idea of how many aircrafts or bombers the adversary had, at the most, and their logistical limitations. He also knew something about the defences against bombers and the difficulties and paths faced by the attacking bombers in getting back safely back to Pakistan. He had an idea of where the ‘action’ would be that night.

Deceptive ‘Beautiful’ Fireworks

 As they approached their door, the family observed a few people sitting on the edge of their rooftop, directly above their front door and window. 

“Namaste, Uncle!” Harpreet called out from the roof. He and a couple of his mates were sitting watching the ‘fireworks’ show in the distance, while keeping an eye around them. Harpreet had checked on Munni too.

He remembered: After the children had emptied their bladders, the father brought him out and walked up the stairs on the side of the house to the roof. He went close to the edge of the chimney wall, next to Harpreet who was sitting on a water tank nearby. 

The father pointed towards the tracer rounds being fired at the intruding planes in the far distance. Bursts of other invisible anti-aircraft fire followed the tracer. The danger for those firing tracer rounds was that they revealed the direction where they came from. The tracer rounds indicated to other invisible anti-aircraft gunners where to fire for maximum effect. There were fighter planes from both sides in the mix. Some planes chasing each other. All the action seemed to be clustered in a safe distance from them.

“Look over there, the bombers are trying to bomb something in that direction,” said the father.

“It looks like beautiful fireworks, Appa!” said the little boy.

“Yes, it may look beautiful, but this is not a happy occasion or celebration,” replied the father.

“If the bomber or a plane gets shot and burns up, you can see even more bright and white sparkles,” said Harpreet, “pieces of it will then fall down like fireworks. If it falls above us, towards you, don’t you go and pick it up. Run away and hide under something It will be hot and burn you and dangerous. More pieces will be falling all around you. You should not chase after something even if it looks beautiful.”

“Harpreet is right!” said the father.

“What makes the beautiful bright sparkles?” asked the little boy.

“I think it is the magnesium in the metal aircraft body,” said the father.

“Ok, I won’t pick up falling fireworks from planes,” said the little boy, not understanding what Magnesium was. It sounded like it was a beautiful dangerous thing.

“We should go back to sleep now. Goodnight Harpreet!” said the father, taking the little boy back inside and they all slept. They were woken up briefly when the all-clear blew and others outside came back in.

 The parents were all getting a bit tired and exhausted without much sleep. The trenches were starting to get a bit messy, with some people having to throw-up or relieve themselves during the long time spent there. People went around throwing lime powder, covering up messes with fresh soil from heaps nearby. Water supplies were low. Electricity was out for long spells during the day as well.

People did not bathe everyday – shopping for supplies was getting difficult. Everyone accepted everyone else looking a bit unkempt, smelly and grimy. The war was starting to affect everyone a bit.

To Be Continued..


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014

All rights reserved 

Earliest Memories - Part 9 - A Kid’s Curiosity And The Killed Cat

A Kid’s Curiosity And The Killed Cat

 The little boy’s father, who was away at work the night of the first bombing raid, came home in the afternoon. He wanted to check on his family and get some rest, before heading out again the next day. He rode home on his bicycle and had a little sack with some food and goodies clipped on to the rear seat.   He parked the bicycle next to the window in the front by kicking down the stand, removed the sack and headed in the front door.  His children had peeked out from behind the thick blinds through the window and seen him arrive. He heard them scramble to open the door for him.   They rushed to him as he entered the door, to greet him. They looked all scrubbed and clean, both talking at the same time to first tell him about the bombing raid. They did not realise that he had heard the news at work and knew more details than they about the bombing and its effects. He was curious to find out how his family had handled the raid. He handed out some sweet treats to them from the sack. He listened to them, smiling and then asked how their mother was.  

She was lying down in the bedroom. She had been exhausted after the drama, stress and efforts of the early morning raid and clean-up with her progressing pregnancy and the growing belly. She stirred awake as she heard the father come in. She sat up slowly, bracing herself just as they all walked in chattering.

The father unpacked the food he had brought. He too lay down to rest, while the children were told to remain indoors. The news on the radio said there had been heavy firing and clashes between the two armies near the Attari border crossing nearby.  Tanks had been involved. The father pointed in the direction of the war front and he knew that it was just beyond the distance they could see as a horizon from the house. There had been casualties on both sides. There was more coverage of the war news and then a break playing some songs. Everyone in the house dozed off for a while. In a few hours it would be time to eat dinner for the night meal and sleep.

The blackened out windows helped make the house dark enough that the parents could sleep easier during the daylight hours. There was the sound of traffic sirens in the evening indicating that an army convoy was coming by the road. They seemed to go mostly in one direction in the mornings and the opposite direction in the evenings. They usually drove fast and went in a long stream. Unlike the chaotic civilian road traffic that India is famous for, the army seemed to be very different. Everything appeared, orderly, efficient and fast. There were usually motorcycles or jeeps with sirens sounding and big signs at the head and tail end of the convoys.

The little boy woke up and went to the darkened living room.

He remembered: He had a little secret of his own. He knew he had been told not to look out the windows through the curtains. He could understand it when it was dark outside and there were lights on inside. While it was still light outside, he could not understand the need. He was very curious by nature as children are. He had, a few times, in the very early mornings, gotten up to use the toilet, come back quietly and instead of going to bed, had gone to the window facing the front road and peeked out of a small corner, with barely a sliver of opening. He had watched , fascinated, as vehicles of different types, trucks, motorcycles and tankers had passed by carrying men in uniform, helmets carrying large stick like rifles. There had been traffic controllers and directors, some vehicles had crawled carefully, barely avoiding the trenches, some having to be winched out after a wheel  slipped into a trench. Once the little boy’s sister had crept up quietly behind him and he had jumped in fright. He had begged her not to tell their mother. She had agreed, but had wielded some control and power over him since.

That afternoon, the little boy saw his family all sound asleep. He could not sleep. He went to the window and silently pulled a corner of it to stick his eye in the gap. He saw army trucks passing by.  Sometimes he used to hear soldiers singing loudly in chorus, cheerfully as they headed out towards the battlefront. Today he saw returning convoys. They were strangely silent. The boy could see the open rear ends of the large trucks. They had people, presumably soldiers, lying down. There were flashes of white bandages, bright red spots of blood on some and glimpses of odd numbers of hand and legs. It did not look normal or regular. A couple of trucks looked like their backs had exploded. There were people still in them – some lying and some crouching next to them. They looked messy and grimy compared to the usual neatness or army trucks he had seen. They drove by really fast.

The little boy did not understand or could make sense of what was in them. He noted that the trucks passed close to the trenches out front where they had been earlier in the day. He saw a neighbour’s striped cat sitting on a pile of earth, next to the trench. It was mewing and looking across the street as the trucks thundered by. Suddenly the cat tried to make a dash across the street, jumping between one set of wheels that passed by, under the transmission rods. It did not make it across to the other side. The army traffic was relentless as a dozens of vehicles drove by fast. Some were marked with crosses indicating ambulances.

The boy was still watching when he felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder at the same time she pulled the curtain a bit wider so that she too could see out. She quickly pulled the curtain back over the window and pulled her son inside.

“Don’t look out again! Did I not tell you not to?” she said firmly but kindly. She was torn between being cross with him and scolding him and realizing that her son needed some support and comfort as he saw the cruel reality of life and this world today. She also realised that perhaps not everything had registered in his young, innocent mind. She asked him quietly and softy, “What did you see?”

“I heard the cat squeal, I think he is hurt!” the little boy said.

“Oh, yes, the silly cat,” she said, “he should not be out there at this time.”

She was thankful the little boy had not said anything about the wounded soldiers she had seen.  He had only seen a blurry mess and not realized what it was about.  It was only when he grew up, that the boy, an older man, realized what he had seen and what it had meant.

To Be Continued..


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014
All rights reserved 

The Secrets of War and Conflict

The Secrets Of Wars and Conflict

1) In a war, mostly, the one you fight is not your enemy or real adversary, it might even be your friend, relative or neighbour. The real enemy is one who stands to gain from you two fighting.

2) It is when enemies fight each other directly, that the battle can be honourable, else it is a tragedy and a failure of wisdom.

3) Half the battle against an enemy is won by not fighting our own friends, relatives and neighbours.


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014

All rights reserved 

Earliest Memories - Part 8 - The First Bombing Raid

The First Bombing Raid

Apparently some lines of supplies to the army at the border were being routed through the road in front of the little boy’s house as one among many.

He remembered: The road started to get very busy during the night and early morning hours. Long convoys of army trucks, supplies, troops and all kinds of strange looking vehicles started to pass through. The trenches in front the house were dug and ready. The soil dug out was sometimes packed around or taken away. The space available for vehicles and pedestrians was limited. Every evening the normally busy road would empty out just before the army convoys started to pass through. The little boy’s parents told him not to peep through the windows or curtains when the army vehicles passed. There was very little honking of horns, just the roar of the engines. The little boy’s family’s air-raid spot was changed from the stone bench to the trench just outside their gate. They had rolled mats, cardboard sheets, some blankets and sheets to line the trench floor and sides to keep it dry and warm while they were there. The soil did stick to one side. After the first practice drills in the trenches, the mats, cardboard and sheets were packed under the bench for quick access, if they had the time, else they were to simply rush in. The children were dressed in two layers of clothing and everyone slept in the living room, close to the front door.

One early morning the air-raid sirens went off and everyone sleepily, emerged out of their homes and proceeded to their shelters and trenches. The little boy and his sister, who were supposed to be wake up their mother, slept soundly, they dreamt of sirens in their sleep and could not tell if they were real or not. The mother shook them awake, helped them up and they straggled out, still half-asleep.  The sister and brother remembered half to ‘help’ their mother by holding her hand and leading her! The little boy slipped on the soft edge of the trench and fell down halfway with this roll of mat in one hand, holding on to his sister and mother. They barely had time to roll out their mats and blankets and cover themselves when the sound of anti-aircraft fire sounded. Then soon a roar of planes came from the Pakistan side of the border. They were told not to look up but down and pray hard. The planes sounded higher than the Indian jets that had come a few days ago. The sirens kept sounding and gunfire seemed to echo from a distance and from many directions. There were a few dull thuds and explosive noises. It was all a confusing blur for about an hour. The children huddled in prayer, with a long towel covering their heads. The mother squatted in between, hugging her children on either side, with their heads on her lap. They remained huddled, praying aloud and were cramping by the time the all-clear blew just as daylight broke. A lot of people emerged dirty, muddy, grimy and with dirty, muddy and grimy clothes and sheets from the trenches.  Some carried books in their hands – prayer books! They got back into the houses. The cleaning and cooking began. A lot of groans, moans, coughing and strained breathing was heard from the older folks. A loud cheer and thanks to the Almighty God, went up as people came back out from the shelters.

Harpreet  and his group had been up on the roof of his building looking down over the area for anything unusual. They went about on to the rooftops of most buildings nearby and tried to spot any saboteurs or signals. They could see the tracer anti-aircraft gunfire that was fired from some places to tell other gunners where to aim for the bombers. Harpreet had kept an eye over the trench that he could see in the backyard of the house. While it was dark, he could not see clearly into it, but only in the direction. When daylight came as the all-clear blew, he was heartened and glad to see the blue ‘Chunni’ flutter and move in the distance. He knew she was safe. He thanked the lord above for seeing such a good beginning to this day – “Lord grant that I see that every day that I live!” he besought silently.

The radio soon carried news of the bombing raid and listed the damage. Apparently most of the city was spared any serious damage. A few bombs had landed on fields near the edge of the town and exploded. One had hit an old factory and caused a fire. A couple of bombs had apparently landed in the lake around the Golden Temple and had not exploded at all. Many were quick to attribute divine grace and power to this rather than some mechanical defect due to human failure. For a long time afterwards, it was an urban myth that the bombs were still there in the lake, safe as long as they were not disturbed and hence left there for ever. One bomber had apparently been shot and damaged even as it managed to fly back to safety across the border, its wings still on fire. No bombs had landed anywhere near the little boy’s house or neighbourhood. The bombers had not flown over them.

All in all, the little boy and his sister got a good, scrub with soap and water for their daily bath and a good rough wipe down with the towel to make their skin glow red and almost raw, in getting out all the mud and grime. The water supply in the house for washing, cooking and drinking was running out quickly. The family elders quickly made up a plan to do all the clothes washing for different households together in one place – the clothes washing basin, next to the washing stone (on which the rolled wet clothes were struck to get out the grime) in the backyard. Water was heated in large metal pans and poured into buckets to be used on a whole set of clothes. The mothers and girls of the family made sure that once, washed the clothes belonging to each family was sorted out correctly. Some confusion and mix-up ensued.

Drinking water was stored separately in many containers in all houses and rationed out for each family. Some of the poor and homeless in the streets came begging for some water and food. Every household set aside some little portion for them. It is a sin in the Indian culture to refuse to give someone water if they are thirsty and ask for it. One has to share whatever little one has. This principle has been glorified in folklores, myths and stories over thousands of years, all over India!

He remembered: He and his sister began to have second thoughts about this air-raid thing. They liked all the huddling, creeping, praying, but started to fear the thorough scrubbing bath to be expected afterwards!

To Be Continued..


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014

All rights reserved 

Earliest Memories - Part 7 - Munni Ki Neeli Chunni (Munni's Blue Scarf)

Munni Ki Neeli Chunni

(Munni’s Blue Scarf)

The object of  Harpreet’s  affection was called Munni (little girl) by everyone in her family. It was a nickname she acquired at the age of two, when a friend of her father, from another state, visited them and called her ‘Munni’  before he knew her name. It stuck! Her official name was Varinder Kaur, by which outsiders addressed her. She was the youngest daughter of her parents. She was demure and quiet.  She had an older sister who was a couple of years older. She, like all girls her age, mostly wore the typical Punjabi women’s style ‘salwar’  (traditional trousers) and ‘kameez’  (traditional shirt)with a ‘chunni’  (a long scarf worn around the shoulders and used to cover the head sometimes).  Typically, the three items would have to ‘match’ – they would either be a complimentary colour and fabric or would be made of the same identical fabric. The Chunni would complete the outfit and made to match in colour or in identical fabric. A girl or woman would usually have many sets of Salwar-Kameez and Chunni , from very fancy, elaborately embroidered ones for formal occasions to plain, simple ones for everyday use.

Munni was very friendly and kind to the little boy and his sister.  They were allowed to call her Munni too. She often came to help feed them, clean the dishes or help their mother as her pregnancy advanced. She and her sister sometime took care of the little boy and sister in their rooms as their mother rested or slept. They played games with them. The girls taught them words in Punjabi, learned words in Tamil, practised them and had great laughs and a lot of fun.

Munni knew that Harpreet fancied her, but would not directly talk to him or about him. She was spirited and quite energetic in her house, but strangely turned quiet and shy when outside or in sight of Harpreet, who she had known and played with when they both were very young children. Now that they were almost grown up, they maintained the distance and reserve expected of them socially. He was sometimes heard referring to her as Munni  among his close friends. When he came to the house to help, he would refer to her as Varinder in front of others and grownups.

The family started to notice that Munni seemed to prefer wearing her blue set of Salwar-Kameez and Chunni  often. She had only one outfit of that colour and it seemed to be washed most often.  One day, as she was helping her aunt cook blowing air over the glowing lumps coal in the clay-lined stove through a pipe, a stream of embers streamed out from the stove back at her and landed on her precious blue Salwar and Kameez.  They burned little holes in her dress and she had to rush out and pour water over herself. She was lucky the dress was made of cotton and did not catch fire and burn quickly. But that dress was ruined. For reasons of safety, she usually did not wear the Chunni which tended to trail around her arms when worn over the shoulder. So her blue Chunni, was safe and just as good as ever. It did not ‘match’ with any of her other sets of Salwar-Kameez.

It puzzled many that she would continue to wear the blue Chunni with other dresses. She would take extra care of it and it seemed very dear to her for some secretive reason. 

Her sister would often tease her about her ‘Neeli  (blue)Chunni’. Only she knew the secret.  It was this:

One day Munni and her sister had gone to buy something from the shops and they came across Harpreet. He nodded acknowledgement and stopped in his tracks looking at her walking towards him.  Perhaps because all his attention was focussed on Munni once he spotted her, he had not noticed Munni’s sister in the crowd of people and believing he had a moment ‘alone’  with just  Munni, had ventured to let out some of the feelings of his heart. It was an act of sudden, desperate, spontaneous courage and foolishness.

“The Blue dress is looking very good!” he said out in Punjabi, quietly but clearly, as she passed by next to him, with her eyes fixed straight ahead. She had already seen him at a distance and was prepared to not make eye contact. But upon hearing his comment, her eyes turned to him and flashed lightning (as the expression goes). She was happy he thought she looked good, but livid that he did not realise her sister was right behind and had probably heard the whole thing!

Harpreet was puzzled and suddenly came to his senses when Munni’s sister said, “The Red dress will look even better!” (Girls usually wear a red wedding dress).

Both Harpreet and Munni blushed deep red. Harpreet walked away quickly, stunned. Munni did not speak to her sister for a while, but was thankful that she did not tell anyone else about it. It was a secret between sisters.


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014

All rights reserved 

Earliest Memories - Part 6 - Bicycle, Blackouts, Radio Repairs and Trenches

Bicycle, Blackouts, Radio Repairs and  Trenches

While ‘usual’ life went on in a modified manner, a new factor had crept into everyone’s life and started to assume big proportions. There was a local network developing between neighbours, linked by the civil defence organisers. A lot of trenches were being dug all around town for people to run to and take shelter during bombing raids. There were many dug along the road sides where there were no open drains, in empty plots of land. There was a big long one in front of the house of the little boy.  He saw a lot of diggers, sometimes with machines that were from the army. The road in front of their house seemed to be an important one and there were often convoys of army vehicles passing through. Usually, they came with a warning siren and everyone cleared the road and made way for them. After they passed, everything went back to being as normal as possible.

One evening, he saw his father return from work, not in his usual manner of walking or being dropped off by an official vehicle. He heard a bell tinkle and saw his father ride in on a bicycle up through the front gate, on a ramp that ran down the middle of the steps.

A bicycle was still a family vehicle in those days.  There used to be a men’s bicycle with a high horizontal bar running beneath the seat to the front handle – something the women’s bicycle did not have. There used to be a tiny seat mounted, clipped to this bar on which the oldest kid sat and held on to the centre of the handle bar. The father sat on the driving seat. Right behind him was a ‘carrier’ or flat metal area with a built in clip that could hold a load in place. This could be converted into the second seat by placing a folded cloth over it and the wife usually sat there, side-saddle, holding the youngest kid in her lap. She used to wrap one arm around the kid while holding on tightly to the handle behind the man’s seat to steady and clamp herself. Any fall or accident would be messy and dangerous for all! One often wonders how the Indian population soared despite such constant dangers to life and limb!! There used to be a basket in front of the handle bar in which shopping supplies or luggage could be placed. Some would install a side basket beside the ‘backseat’. So, a bicycle could carry a young nuclear family with two children easily.

The little boy was thrilled at seeing the shiny new bicycle. It had cost a small fortune in those days, but it gave the father additional mobility and freedom to come from and go to work at all hours. It was also great to go shopping with the family and for fun trips to the sights around the city. One popular place was the area near the Golden Temple, the lake around it and shops in the streets around that area.

He remembered:  They often went to the Golden Temple. On the way back they would have ‘Alu Tikki’ (spiced , crisp roasted potato mash cake), ‘Choley’ (boiled, spicy chickpeas), ‘Paani Poori’ (little deep fried round crispy bread stuffed with potato and spicy water). They also had sweet ‘lassi’ (buttermilk) or ‘Kulfi’ (traditional ice cream). They were often full, tired and sleepy from all the walking and eating.  When he was grown up the little boy often wondered how his parents managed to get them home – each parent usually carried one. The little boy was usually bundled up to his mother or carried up on his father’s shoulder or arms. His sister either rode in the front or walked beside. Sometimes the father carried both of them, one on each arm. He seemed a like a big giant to them. The mother usually carried the shopping or walked slowly when not well. Often he remembered being on an outing and being lifted as he got tired. He never remembered how or when they got home. The next thing he remembered was waking up in his house in his bed!!

There was once a power surge and it burned out radio sets in many houses before a total outage for a couple of days. There was a bit of mass panic. People wondered if it was a precursor to an attack from across the border. It turned out to be something domestic and was soon fixed. Power, however was regularly cut in the evenings just as it got dark. People then were quite prepared and always had traditional methods of lighting and cooking fuels – they burned, wood, dried cow dung and coal. Most houses had a compartment near the back door in which coal was dumped upon purchase from vendors passing by in the streets. Coal usually came in brown ‘gunny’ sacks. Candles and kerosene stoves and lights were more common in the wealthier households. Even in places with electricity, it was common for the power to go off for many hours routinely and during peak season. Everyone accepted it as a normal thing. But now the reasons for the power cuts were more sought after and rumours often spread like wildfire and flourished. It was suspected that many enemy agents were going around sabotaging important utilities and facilities.

There was a nightly check by groups of the civil defence to police windows, doors and any visible fires or light from the outside. All windows and doors were to be tightly sealed with either thick black paper or cardboard or thick cloth. The insides of houses and rooms got pretty stuffy, smoky and there were a few instances of house-fires. Harpreet came around every day and night to check on the house of his beloved. He so obviously cared about her. Everyone knew and sometimes poked fun at him, but did let him help them. He helped dig a trench for the family in the backyard in a spot that he could see from his own house, where he lived on the second floor. During air raids, while everyone else was in the trenches, he was out on roof tops, looking for saboteurs and enemy agents, risking his life from them and any bombs if they fell!

He remembered:  The radio in the little boy’s house was affected by the power surge and it stopped working.

Later one evening, the father cushioned and strapped the big radio on to the back seat of the bicycle. He slowly pushed it as the little boy, his sister and mother followed him. The mother carried some food packed in a bag. They were going to meet the friendly, bespectacled ‘friend’ of the father who was the radio technician who would fix the radio for them. It was a surprisingly short trip! They went out the front gate and turned down the street and walked a few yards and there was a little house where the father’s friend lived. They never realised that he lived so close.

 It was a small, narrow house with just two rooms. There seemed to be no windows to this house. They could only see one room. The room appeared small and a large bed occupied most of the space. It had a curtain drawn along one side, close to the wall. It seemed strange until the curtain was drawn back. The second room really was a long closet space recessed into the thick wall. There were no windows on any of the rooms. It has shelves and many large radio sets and some strange looking machines. Many seemed glowing with strange orange and green and red lights. There were strange hums, noises and even some voices emanating from some of the radios. There were huge head mounted earphones next to some. There were some tools, instrument, meters and soldering irons, some boxes and some odd looking electronic components lying around on a work bench. There was even a bench and sliding chair tucked into the space.

“This is where I work!” said father’s friend pointing to the radios,

“And this is where I sleep,” pointing to the bed.

“And where do you cook and eat?” asked the little boy.

“There, behind the bed was a small table and a dark little area. I cannot cook here. I get food delivered,” said he.

The little boy’s mother handed the package of food. The man graciously thanked her.  He poured out coffee from a flask for the father and offered the mother too some. She politely declined.

“Please eat your dinner now. We all just had ours,” said the father, as he set down their radio on one of the shelves.

“Probably, it has blown the fuse or a valve. I will check it out soon,” said the man as he retired to the back of the room. He unpacked it into a plate. He then came and handed some sweet candy to the children and sat down to eat. He ate quickly as he sat next to a wireless set. He suddenly pulled a headphone on as he heard some chatter from the radio. He had an odd device in his hand that he spoke into. He ate and spoke and even tapped on something. It looked like he did not get very much rest or time to attend to other things.

The children sat on the bed itself, as there was not any furniture. Their mother sat on a big, comfortable ‘easy chair’ – which is a typical Indian, long chair with a sling seat.

The man had his food. He then signed off on the radio he was on. He gathered the plates and dishes to wash and went out an unseen, dark corner at the back , the mother and father protested and asked him to give the dishes they had brought the food in. They would wash it back at their own home.  As he sat down and opened up their radio. He saw the children looking intently at him. He smiled.

“Why is none of your radios playing any songs or music or news? Are they all gone bad?” asked the little boy.

The grownups laughed!

“No, these radios are different. They do not play music or news. They are special. I do have one that can play some songs. Would you like to listen to it?” the radio technician asked.

“Yes!! Can you play my favourite song?” asked the boy’s sister.

“Let’s see!” smiled the man. He went to one radio in the top shelf and turned it on. It took a while to warm up and then he tuned it. Soon they could hear their usual musical program.

The man chatted with the father and worked on their radio. The mother sat and rested. The children listened to the radio and watched the man working.

“The power may go out soon, do you have candles?” asked the little boy.

“Yes, I do have candles, but I usually do not lose power to the radios,” he said, smiling mysteriously!

The mother and father nodded knowingly. In a little while, the man thought he had fixed something in their radio. He plugged it in to a power point and flipped a switch. It started to light up and warm up. The magic eye started to work. He turned the volume knob and sure enough, it started to play music!!

They were all thrilled. The man unplugged the radio. He then put back the cover and wrapped up the power cord.  He helped the father pack it back on the bicycle. They all went back home, walking the short distance. As they stepped out, it was all dark, there was a power outage and they could barely make out the trenches. The parents were very careful with the children and the bicycle with the radio.

“How come that Uncle’s house had power, but it is out all over?” asked the little boy’s sister. In typical fashion, any man or male friend of the father is addressed as ‘Uncle’ in India.

“That is because, that Uncle is special and his house is special,” said his father making light of a mystery.

The little boy almost fell into the trench hole as they neared their house. They finally made it back safely after that and their radio was back in its place waiting for the electricity to come back on and play songs!

To Be Continued..


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014
All rights reserved 

Earliest Memories - Part 5 - The First Big Fright

The First Big Fright

In preparation for the war coming to their area, people adopted new routines. Normally, all the children played outside on the street, alley ways, any vacant ground or area, backyards, front yards and inside the houses of their friends. If a parent came out of their house and yelled out their names, someone would hear it if the child were not nearby. By word of mouth the call would be relayed and reach the child wherever they were, often quite far from home.  But now children were forbidden to play out of earshot. Pets were not let out to roam freely either.

As mentioned before, the owners of the house, that the little boy lived in, had a cow and calf ‘ Mangala’, in their backyard. There were always bundles of hay and feed for the cow that was tied to a post as it was milked. It was allowed to wander within the yard, sometimes it went for a walk. The new little calf had been born recently. The little boy heard all the grown-ups stay up one night to welcome the little one into this world. There were always patches of cow dung around the mud-packed, long back yard that was quickly gathered and applied to the mud walls in large circles. It dried in the sun and was used as fuel for the stoves to cook and heat water in winter. The house owners also always had fresh milk every day and even sold some to the family of the little boy. There were long wooden milk churns tied to the pillars on the raised platform around the backyard.  They made fresh tasty butter too. All the kitchens looked out into the yard. At one far end were the toilets, in the old style house. There was a large gate with high bars at one end of the yard that opened out into a back street.

The little calf was feisty, active and wanted to explore the world. Sometimes it would jump up and dash from one end of the yard to another. Little kids were kept away from it, as they feared it would trample them. It was also a kid who was learning about the strange new world it was born into. The little boy once had been shocked by the calf running close to him and brushing him. He had then been terrified to see its mother, the large cow, come after the calf, towards him.  Nowadays, the calf was tied up to the post most of the day and not allowed to run freely.  It always had a rope tied around its neck.  One of the bigger boys in the house usually took it for walks around the streets and brought it back. He would usually carry a thin stick, about two feet long and pretend to strike it, or actually strike it on the sides and haunches, while shouting loudly “Hoi!”  or “Haah-Ah”.  The little boy thought he was speaking the cow language! Often another child would follow the calf or cow on the walks with a wicker basket to gather the dung, which was valuable, and bring it back home.

He remembered: He was up many nights, and his father was away at work. He and his sister would wake up at the sound of the air-raid sirens that went off and they all had to practise the drills so that it became familiar. He believed he was getting brave like the big kids.

One afternoon he was out in the yard, after lunch with his sister and the neighbouring kids. The ‘cowherd’ in the family was just returning with Mangala after a long walk. He was nearing the front gate from the street. He still had to go around the side street and turn into the back street to get back in. Just as the calf neared their house, suddenly the air-raid sirens went off unexpectedly. The little boy saw the calf, jump in fright and then it bolted off down the street. The boy holding its rope was pulled suddenly and fell, letting go off the rope. He got up, dusting himself off ran after the calf, shouting and shaking the stick, asking it to come back. The frightened calf ran faster and into the road with traffic. The boy screamed and swore at it, he was afraid of a big truck or army convoy coming along at that moment.

The little boy was watching in fascination, while his sister reminded him of the need to fetch their mother and get into preparation for the air-raid. They ran inside, woke their mother and dashed out again as she slowly walked out.

A bus came down the street and blocked the calf as it slowed down, the cowherd caught up with it and after giving it a couple of light blows with his stick, talked firmly to it and dragged it round the street corner to get back home. The others in the house went about, prepared, to their air-raid spots.

Just as they were still walking out of the house, there was a sudden burst of loud noise that built up into a crescendo. It was low, loud and like a long burst of thunder claps. It shook the whole area, houses, rattled windows and the ground below vibrated.  Everyone froze in their tracks, but the older people looked up into the sky. There was a wave of one, two, three and four screaming jet fighters that flew fairly low over the neighbourhood. For about half a minute or so, something that felt like a long, long time, the little boy stood frozen to the ground, stunned. His legs started to shake uncontrollably and soon a little pool formed at his feet. His mother scooped him up into her arms and thoughtfully covered his shame with her top end of her saree, the long cloth worn typically by Indian women. She saw that his teeth were chattering. She guided her two children to the stone bench near the gate and under it. They waited there, praying. The little boy did not understand what had happened.

When the all-clear blew, they went back home. His mother quickly wiped him clean with a wet towel and changed his clothes.

“Was that Pakistani  bomb?” he asked his mother quietly.

“No, son, that was not a bomb. They were just planes.”

The little boy did not like jet fighter planes then. He did not imagine they would make such a terrible sound and frighten him. The neighbours came to check and chat. His mother whispered something quietly to them, explaining what had happened. They patted the little boy and said, “No need to worry. Everything is OK. It was not a real air-raid. It was just a drill. Some planes flew, close but did not drop any bombs.”

Soon the big, burly, loud neighbour civil warden, with Harpreet in tow, came around to check on everyone, reassure them and inform them that the planes they saw and heard a while ago were not Pakistani planes, but Indian ones. They were flying from the Indian side on a practice run or something.

They saw the little boy cowering in fright next to his mother and the big, loud civil warden looked at the little boy and said in his gruff, bossy voice,” Kya?!! Dar gaye bachhe? Kuch nahin hua. Yeh tho asli nahin tha!  Arey, bahadur bano(What?!! Did you get frightened little boy? Don’t worry, this is not the real thing yet. Become brave!)”

He gruffly patted the boy roughly on his head and went away. The little boy was quiet all night. He did not feel that he had been very brave that day. Harpreet  waved to him and offered him a toffee as he left to check on the rest of the house.

When his father came back from work, late that night, he had his late dinner in the bedroom sitting on one edge of the little boy’s bed, next to his mother’s bed. The little boy woke up from his disturbed sleep, but kept quiet. He heard his parents’ quiet whispered conversation about what had happened during the day.

“Don’t worry. It is normal,” he heard his father say, “One can never tell real bravery from such things. I know big, brawny men, who are all bravado and boast, who will shake like a leaf and cry when the bombs start to fall around them. Sometimes, it is the quiet, wimpy looking guy who will be the calmest and bravest. One can never tell until the real thing starts. He is just a child, who heard the jets so low and close for the first time. Tell him, he is just normal and its OK to be afraid.”

To Be Continued...



Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014

All rights reserved