tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89303068195110205842024-03-13T15:26:00.172+05:30Through Sick and SinWelcome all and follow me as I meander down memory lane in an attempt to retell some fascinating tales about my father, Victor Egan, who came to India from Hungary in 1939.Unforseen circumstances saw him settle in this wonderful country until his death in 1997.
If I can maintain and keep up this blog, I also plan to include crazy family stories, my attempts at poetry and humorous anecdotes on my travels as an air force wife.solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-32710160249571685682014-04-24T07:28:00.001+05:302014-04-24T07:28:47.301+05:30Winding Down<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start and end of the last hunt</td></tr>
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With a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach I could sense an air of good times coming to an end. Trunks were being pulled out of garages and army batmen were arriving to help their madams pack. We Air Force wives had to manage on our own and I decided to only start winding up once we were done with all the equestrian events.</div>
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The final hunt was run which begun with a toast of wine at five o'clock in the morning on the Home Downs and ended with a lavish breakfast at Hotel Fernhill Palace.<br />
<span style="text-align: left;"> I bagged the first prize in dressage on my beloved horse Charisma and then began practising for the show jumping which was to be held at the Wellington Gymkhana Club. A day prior to the event we were taken around the course for a familiarisation tour and I completed it perfectly on Maharajah, who was not a known animal since he was specifically ear marked for his skills as a show jumper and not given to us amateurs until we were deemed capable of handling him. I was extremely nervous since this particular area of the sport had never been a strong one and I was participating only because my husband had bullied me into it. When it was finally my turn there was complete chaos - I lost my stirrup after the second hurdle and while trying to slip my foot back in, got completely bamboozled and took a reverse jump so was disqualified! I have rarely ever in my life felt so awful about failure and the thought of that terrible day still sends shivers of dismay down my spine.The only positive thing was Sandip winning the men's title so that made up for the abject misery that I was feeling.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandip in action</td></tr>
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The last big contest was the Point to Point race being held at Windy Saddle on the Ooty Downs which we were all looking forward to. Three days before the event I got a message from the field saying Sandip had been in an accident and broken his collar bone! It was a cold and dewy morning and in a routine ride his horse Chetak had slipped and unfortunately fallen on him. I rushed to the hospital and found a dejected looking husband with his arm in a sling. It was a bad end to a fabulous riding year since he was supposed to get back to fighter flying on completing the staff course and this mishap would delay his fitness rating.</div>
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People tried to dissuade me from doing the Point to Point since it was a crazy free for all dash around a tricky route but I was determined to take part. I managed to complete the course though there were many disorderly spills and some of the horses were seen finishing the run without their riders. This was the last adventure in the riding calender and with a feeling of doom I returned home, looking around at all the packing I would now have to manage single handed since my husband would be incapacitated for the next few months.<br />
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-68815890383890991622014-03-31T07:42:00.003+05:302014-03-31T07:42:41.309+05:30Amber<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easy,Amber and Moody<br />
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In spite of growing up with dogs I always thought it best to wait to keep one till Munch was a little older and could learn to respect and love the animal.</div>
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After interacting with Aarti's two gorgeous black spaniels Moody and Easy, I decided the time was right to keep a pet, so when she was making a trip to Chennai during one of the college breaks I requested her to pick up a pup for us. She happily obliged and we were thrilled when she returned with a tiny black and white bundle in a basket. The little one was very listless, which I put down to the journey and a change of house, but a couple of days later, much to my dismay, he was dead! Munch was traumatised by the pups sudden disappearance and was told that his mama was missing him so he had to be sent back home.</div>
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On her next trip to Chennai Aarti complained to the vet that he had given us a sick puppy so he agreed to a replacement in the form of Amber, a four month old golden spaniel. This time round we were blessed with a happy and healthy baby whom Munch took to straight away and I was delighted to have a dog in the house again after so many years.<br />
My petite daughter could be seen galloping along after Amber in an attempt to walk her but it was usually the other way around with Munch getting her daily exercise. I had to take over this duty full time after my little girl once tripped and was unceremoniously dragged down the road grimly hanging on to the leash of our over exuberant mutt.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Munch and Amber</td></tr>
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I have never had a dog who had such an affinity for water. Whether it was a tiny puddle, a swimming pool or a stream, Amber could splash or swim for hours until she would have to be forcibly evicted from the scene. Watering the garden was always quite a task since she invariably pranced around snapping and playing with the jet from the hose. She would bark hysterically demanding to be doused by the spray and then would charge around and around in utter excitement!<br />
She never gave us any trouble except for a year later doing naughty things with scruffy Tommy (pronounced Toe-mee) from the servants quarters. At that point Munch wanted to know why the dog was bleeding and I casually explained that all girls had to go through a 'period' when they were older. She then wanted to know if she would make a mess all over the house like Amber did so I showed her what a sanitary napkin was. When delivery time came it was Munch who was the most fascinated by the whole birthing process and was never in any doubt as to where babies emerged from. Thankfully she did not question how they got where they did and that talk was had a few years later.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrZNlrhqmzvyDs_JRPfaPHHXU9WO30NpgeSkPv3EqYOx6pTJNKPrwzKTset6Q8sQXEsM6iJ9Ojla8X3uwg590tt4JwTX7ViJpIAMmScvYiPvXXmx6LatKVhUA_VaLJ-knqMJ5Vf7a6BA/s1600/Scan_Pic0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrZNlrhqmzvyDs_JRPfaPHHXU9WO30NpgeSkPv3EqYOx6pTJNKPrwzKTset6Q8sQXEsM6iJ9Ojla8X3uwg590tt4JwTX7ViJpIAMmScvYiPvXXmx6LatKVhUA_VaLJ-knqMJ5Vf7a6BA/s1600/Scan_Pic0010.jpg" height="482" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Learning about the birds and the bees the natural way - Munch, Aarti, Amber and Me</td></tr>
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We had Amber for just over three years when she suddenly fell ill and was diagnosed with liver failure to which she succumbed in a few short weeks. I was quite devastated and swore never to keep another dog which over time I have discovered are the proverbial 'famous last words'.</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-48142678493899934442014-03-21T08:08:00.000+05:302014-03-21T08:08:36.328+05:30Mishaps and Mayhem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kilkol, Isabel, Sandip, Me, Cdr Patham, Minali, Aarti, Anna</td></tr>
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Any equestrian sport is dangerous and over the next few months I made numerous trips to the MH (Military Hospital) to visit friends who had been unlucky enough to injure themselves.</div>
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There were many broken bones when fellow riders took nasty falls and in one particular hunt which turned out to be crazily out of control for most of us, both Minali and Kilkol got into trouble while doing a mad downhill gallop. Kilkol cracked a couple of ribs and Minali hit her head and spent a worrisome few days in the hospital while the doctors checked for any serious damage to the brain.<br />
On the other hand I must admit we cackled with glee when some of the less popular ladies dropped out after a mishap, which was an extremely mean reaction, but that was just the way it was.</div>
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Out of all the women in our group, all had been thrown from the horse at some point or the other. I was the only one left who had not had this particular misfortune and I knew every one was waiting for this great event to come about. I had got to the stage when I just wanted to get it over with and it eventually happened when we started to practise for show jumping. I was given a reliable horse called Mist, who took every obstacle willingly and without hesitation, so was good to practise on to get comfortable. I got a little too relaxed and when Mist decided to put on the brakes just before a hurdle I flew over his neck and landed in a messy heap on the other side of the poles. I scrambled up before any one realised what had happened and coolly carried on with the rest of the ride. Luckily only my ego took a beating though I did have a nasty bruise on one half of my body for weeks after.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxRLz7FDClNB6BfNYrkw7RYvh6XCdkolSliTWt4vi2SwcieeymLWhSv5XuS1mWGSEj9JVcGKy5uncEI2I4XCaXXVicaozNy3zM5XFJOcQkoOOPeN-0jkKWNQtYlqemOQ5xWDgo5k4qR4/s1600/Scan_Pic0007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxRLz7FDClNB6BfNYrkw7RYvh6XCdkolSliTWt4vi2SwcieeymLWhSv5XuS1mWGSEj9JVcGKy5uncEI2I4XCaXXVicaozNy3zM5XFJOcQkoOOPeN-0jkKWNQtYlqemOQ5xWDgo5k4qR4/s1600/Scan_Pic0007.jpg" height="450" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blurry pride goes before a fall</td></tr>
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The worst trip to the MH I made had nothing to do with riding. I was summoned one morning by the school 'ayah' saying Munch had hurt herself. I rushed down to see what had happened and found my little girl covered in blood, crying her eyes out. Apparently the children had been playing during recess and she had some how caught her finger in the pivot point of the seesaw. I rushed her to the hospital and when the doctors examined her they said the finger had been so badly mangled that it might have to be amputated! It was at this point that I contacted Sandip who was in college and he really freaked out when he realised what had happened. Luckily for us the surgeon was really good and decided not to operate immediately but to wait a week and see if the tiny blood vessels would regenerate. Munch still has a crooked middle finger but at least it is still there!<br />
The last and final trip to the familiar surroundings of the MH happened right at the end of the course while Sandip was riding his beloved horse Chetak who slipped in the early morning dew and fell on him! He broke his collar bone and was incapacitated for the couple of weeks that remained of the staff course so missed the exciting closing events of the riding calendar!</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-69367359704901736192014-03-10T16:53:00.000+05:302014-03-10T16:53:43.470+05:30Ten Years Later<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><u>TEN YEARS LATER</u></strong></div>
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I looked and looked but never found</div>
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On the spring sweet grass of the Ooty Downs</div>
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A sign of the place where the horses ran - </div>
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Looked and sighed but could not discover</div>
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The narrowest path in the close green clover</div>
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Nor one rusty horseshoe to prove where they ran.</div>
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On open stretches in rides enchanted</div>
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The beat of our hearts too fast to be counted</div>
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We rocked to the canter and rose to the trot</div>
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While the sun beat down so golden and hot</div>
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And the grass was pounded and trampled away</div>
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But that was another, a happier day.</div>
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Now ten years later I stand and gaze</div>
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At the empty Downs in the summer haze</div>
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I see a ghost rider, he shouts "Ride On!"</div>
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Tears blur my eyes - when I blink he is gone.</div>
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Silly in the sunlight to cry like this</div>
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Silly to sigh now for all that I miss.</div>
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Lost horses, old friends, a long vanished season</div>
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I tell myself I must listen to reason</div>
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For that which is past can not ever come back</div>
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My life has been good, there is nothing I lack</div>
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Yet I long for those days that will never return</div>
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For all that I had then for ever I'll yearn.</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-92182021161276549772014-03-03T08:35:00.000+05:302014-03-03T08:40:51.100+05:30Ooty Hunt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ladies of OHC 1992-93<br />
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After a month of routine riding we were asked to volunteer for the Hunt which happened once a month in Ooty. None of us had any idea what this event was all about and I entered my name with some trepidation.</div>
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On doing a little bit of homework I found out that it would be the 147th year of the OHC (Ootacamund Hunt Club) with the kennels and hounds being looked after by Admiral and Mrs EC Kuruvila. I have always been disapproving of traditional fox hunting but was reassured by Col Rathore, the Veterinary Officer, that to actually even see a jackal ( which was what the hounds sniffed out) was a rare occurrence and there was never any blood shed allowed.</div>
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Strict instructions in the etiquette and uniform demanded in the field were issued and dire warnings were given not to take things lightly as this was serious business steeped in traditions of the past. </div>
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We left Wellington at the crack of dawn and were on the Home Downs in Ooty by five o'clock. The horses were already there and in the distance we could see the the committee members in their distinctive bright red jackets, mounted and ready to go, surrounded by a large pack of excited tail wagging hounds.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minali, Beenu, Sandip and Kilkol</td></tr>
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We saddled up and at a signal from a bugle took off after the red coats ( as we called them). I gasped with excitement since I had never actually felt the strength and speed of these amazingly beautiful animals when in an open and unconstrained space. The powerful all out gallop was completely exhilarating and a pure adrenalin rush. </div>
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We rode hard for an hour or so with the hounds baying in the distance but never saw a jackal or any other four legged creature. In all the excitement we had to keep in mind to yell "Hound Right" or "Hound Left" to avoid a careless mishap in case one of the energised beasts mistakenly strayed too close to the horses hooves.<br />
Once we returned to the starting point we had to dismount, doff our hats at the Master of the Hunt and say " Good Night Master and thank you for the hunt". I could never get to the bottom of this strange custom and why we had to bid the Master 'Good Night' since it was six thirty in the morning!</div>
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We would then make our way to the Ooty Club for beer and breakfast - in that order. The uninitiated equestrians who had goofed up in the hunt, taken a tumble or had the temerity to call one of the hounds a 'dog' were made to pay their penalties in bottles of beer! <br />
Still high on adrenaline and the early morning draught we would weave our way home, excitedly discussing the electrifying thrill of this awesome experience.<br />
I did not miss a single Hunt in our eleven month stay in Wellington. The basic routine was the same every time though we started and ended from different locations with quaint names such as Sheep Farm, West Brier, Glenmorgan and Windy Gap. Each ride was undertaken with an impassioned sense of adventure though some were more full of mishaps than others! I found myself in a few hair raisingly dangerous situations which I managed to survive, but the memories of those once in a life time sensations are still with me today and always will be.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to Ride with Samrat</td></tr>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-55214193323581849952014-02-21T14:19:00.001+05:302014-02-21T14:19:05.607+05:30Equus Addiction<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snarly, Aarti, Minali, Grumpy, Me and Balloo</td></tr>
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The circle of riding fanatics were me - Sandip, Minali - Uday, Kilkol - Charlie, Beenu - Rajeev and Aarti who was the only one whose husband unfortunately did not share our passion. The men rode in the early morning while we ladies had to report at three o'clock in the afternoon. I huffed and puffed for about two weeks until I got my riding legs back and from then on all the passion and love I had for the animal and the sport came flooding back and actually took over my complete existence. Luckily my husband shared my excitement and the crowd we befriended felt the same so we ended up talking, sleeping and dreaming of horses for the next eleven months.</div>
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Ladies had their share of falls and most got fed up and left, but us diehards continued and nothing was so terrible that we would think of even missing a day. The 'saabs' who instructed us were quite rude and uncouth and women who moaned and groaned too much were told unsympathetically by them to stay home and 'belo rotis'. These gruff men became the focus of much discussion and were given appropriately nasty nicknames to match their surly demeanours.There were no mobiles in those days so mother would telephone me at a predetermined time once a week. Even these calls were taken at the extension number at the stable office where Minali, Beenu, Arti and me would sit around with flasks of hot tea to be enjoyed after the ride.</div>
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Over time the animals grew familiar and beloved and we would vie for our favourites though we were sternly reprimanded that we should be able to control all types of steed. Once a week we were taking out of the confinement of the ring to go out on a hack into the beautiful countryside. These excursions were sometimes through the neighbouring tea gardens or up an unfamiliar hill but were always breathlessly thrilling since the horses seemed to feel the freedom and were always raring to go. During the couple of term breaks in the college year we opted to stay back and ride while most everybody else left to explore the rest of south India. During these periods we had the most fun as we could choose the best horses and get away with things that would normally not be allowed.<br />
I must admit though that I don't think I have ever made so many trips to the hospital as there was always some one or the other from the equestrian crowd who had suffered a broken bone or some other injury. Minali and Kilkol both had nasty falls along the way while Sandip too ended up in trouble but that was towards the end of the course and is another story.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Confusion in the riding arena</td></tr>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-55582478156786808462014-02-10T08:22:00.002+05:302014-02-10T09:48:52.812+05:30Settling Down<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aarti with Moody and Easy Minali with Rogue,Abheer and Avyay</td></tr>
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Sandip was immediately plunged into the complex routine of the course while it took me about ten days to unpack and get my bearings in the beautiful surroundings of Wellington. I realised in just a couple of hours that my maid Mable was super efficient and helpful, so promptly dubbed her 'Able Mable'. Some of the ladies I casually met had decided not to open up all their belongings since it was just an eleven month stay but I wanted to be comfortable so quickly organised house and home.</div>
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Sandip introduced me to some of his course mates with their wives and the Kolhatkars were the couple who seemed the most interesting. Both Minali and I were keen to join the riding club, she for the first time and me desperately wanting to get back to something I had passionately loved but had not had the opportunity to indulge in for years.</div>
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We walked down to the stables to see what we were letting ourselves in for and were immediately surrounded by friendly faces with a like minded interest. We were instructed to get our riding gear together so helmet, breeches and boots were ordered in the currency used for all manner of items - rum! <br />
In those days this was the most common form of payment and one could buy rations, clothes and most everything else for a predetermined number of bottles. There was even an old man who would come around with gorgeous bunches of wild flowers which had to be paid for in pegs. He would unabashedly hold out a container in which one had to measure out the 'daru' in return for the beautiful blooms!!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me. Aarti and Minali</td></tr>
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Minali and I quickly became inseparable and shared a relationship that was and still is extremely special! We would often sneak out in the car for long drives up to Ooty for a cup of coffee or a jaunt into the quaint little township of Coonor. The group A-ha had come out with their album The Definitive Singles Collection and the strains of 'Take on me' and 'Cry Wolf' can still vividly transport me back to those magical outings in the winding hill roads. Mani Ratnam's 'Roja' had just released and we thoroughly enjoyed the movie. The hauntingly beautiful music of the film echoed from every hillside and till today I think of the songs in Tamil and never could appreciate the later Bollywood version.<br />
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Staff college was the one place where individuals formed groups according to their interests and not because they were forced into sharing space together like in a normal squadron. The friendships formed and the bonds made in this one year will stay with me forever, because everything we did was special and fun and I think the intensity of each experience was felt more keenly because we knew we were time bound.</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-32861894544189374372014-02-03T15:27:00.000+05:302014-02-03T15:34:51.048+05:30Off to Wellington<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://maps.google.co.in/maps?psj=1&bav=on.2,or.r_qf.&biw=1280&bih=823&bvm=pv.xjs.s.en_US.1EneOJbgwUk.O&um=1&ie=UTF-8&gl=in&daddr=Ooty,+Tamil+Nadu&saddr=Jamnagar,+Gujarat&panel=1&f=d&fb=1&geocode=KZdFwDRJFVc5Mcp1m6SB3bfo;KY3X87WEvag7MUI_PskU25sX&sa=X&ei=g5rYUpfJC8rtrQelm4H4DQ&ved=0CCsQ-A8wAA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="From: Jamnagar, Gujarat To: Ooty, Tamil Nadu" class="lu_vs" data-bsrc="/maps/vt/data=VLHX1wd2Cgu8wR6jwyh-km8JBWAkEzU4,Lrcr9Qt5_s36EJlWvQJHivkG3X4uYQ-FRudYR6RI6xAFdu4vM-fyxJkSfXbrZe18Q0xl6pX4B7-hqNR01SR7j0jw-75EfIZHIMMcPwKaWeysId0breAWeFPnSze9msxZ7G7cIkwZURSKAmTOb7h6u6LyNiRRn9dSP7Nsoy0otH6Wdpn_-AD_ITYiRA8hmCY5jzzAoi4SwhPwUfpbuATjpo6ja1_BBBrqHHp8PH8UUUEjbtll67wuDE-1BCp6UokFAS8NtGHGUCysqDMPM9u4jcueft8lXAhCLW1OCx5gqEYjSiHb5itdJLbSDHCDt7CAZlh6xijrOU1GyyWhLpp6jQvwosfOO-CT7H65DcsCjOgmSvd5P1Q_xYPbahXc08fqsO0xYnUCjmVXgwt4XlAWxhgXPi69pK_UOJZMGKu-mOimdsyGsCTHzZFnfNXucer7FUDrLJh9UBdB6q3X5wGQu-FJU7GiIlA6nnWZctw3Sq_AYXhnyUKnI_eN1Vk_ThGspgZMxxiH8_HeDlVnDTGOL1PUr8B5Pi3zLmAjWscPcKNPtfs6l9nlsv50Hm_lsXm5tTry5wbOntwKrw&h=256&w=256" data-vs="r:dirs,w:0.5,h:1,mhwr:1" height="400" src="https://www.google.co.in/maps/vt/data=VLHX1wd2Cgu8wR6jwyh-km8JBWAkEzU4,Lrcr9Qt5_s36EJlWvQJHivkG3X4uYQ-FRudYR6RI6xAFdu4vM-fyxJkSfXbrZe18Q0xl6pX4B7-hqNR01SR7j0jw-75EfIZHIMMcPwKaWeysId0breAWeFPnSze9msxZ7G7cIkwZURSKAmTOb7h6u6LyNiRRn9dSP7Nsoy0otH6Wdpn_-AD_ITYiRA8hmCY5jzzAoi4SwhPwUfpbuATjpo6ja1_BBBrqHHp8PH8UUUEjbtll67wuDE-1BCp6UokFAS8NtGHGUCysqDMPM9u4jcueft8lXAhCLW1OCx5gqEYjSiHb5itdJLbSDHCDt7CAZlh6xijrOU1GyyWhLpp6jQvwosfOO-CT7H65DcsCjOgmSvd5P1Q_xYPbahXc08fqsO0xYnUCjmVXgwt4XlAWxhgXPi69pK_UOJZMGKu-mOimdsyGsCTHzZFnfNXucer7FUDrLJh9UBdB6q3X5wGQu-FJU7GiIlA6nnWZctw3Sq_AYXhnyUKnI_eN1Vk_ThGspgZMxxiH8_HeDlVnDTGOL1PUr8B5Pi3zLmAjWscPcKNPtfs6l9nlsv50Hm_lsXm5tTry5wbOntwKrw&h=256&w=256" style="border-image: none; border: 0px currentColor; display: inline;" title="From: Jamnagar, Gujarat To: Ooty, Tamil Nadu" width="400" /></a></div>
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Family Sud geared up for the nearly two thousand kilometre drive from Jamnagar to Wellington in Tamilnadu, where the Defence Services Staff College (DSSC) is situated. It was a daunting prospect but we had planned to do it in easy stages so were quite looking forward to the adventure.</div>
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We left Jamnagar on an early May morning and headed to Baroda where we intended to spend the night. Just an hour after departure we discovered that the air conditioning in the car was not working so grumpily sweltered our way into the city. Sandip had to spend quite a while getting the problem fixed while Munch and I idled in a fancy hotel room which we could ill afford, since nothing else was available.<br />
The next leg of the journey was an uneventful one and we reached the Air Force Station in Pune with enough time to look up a few old friends.<br />
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Our next halt was Goa, where we had planned to spend a couple of days. I invested in some shorts and casual vests which were more suitable for lolling around on the beach. Normally one could not sport such informal wear in a 'fauji' environment, but I was confident that I was far from the prying eyes of the usual formal crowd. We settled down on the beach with bottles of icy beer and before I realised it there were a stream of fellow officers and their families stopping by to say hello. I found myself discreetly trying to cover my bare body parts from their curious and appraising glances! It turned out that we were all going to the same destination and like us, they had decided to take a break before settling down for the eleven month staff college stint.</div>
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Leaving beaches and 'feni' behind we reached Mysore where we just about had the energy to do a cursory walk around the famous Mysore Palace, before falling into bed in readiness for the last leg of the journey.</div>
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After the hot and sultry drive we felt the first breath of cool air as we drove into the foothills of Gundlupet where we stopped for our first genuine south Indian breakfast of piping hot 'idlis' and 'dosa'. We had been forewarned to carry warm clothes, since the weather suddenly changed, so we pulled out our sweaters which had been stuffed under the car seat and prepared for the chill of the hills.<br />
We finally arrived at DSSC and were instructed to head for the Officer's Mess. There we were given some basic rations of bread, eggs,tea, sugar and milk and instructed to go to the flat allotted to us which was 29/1 Gurkha Hills. We were met by a frizzly haired maid who introduced herself as Mabel and so began the best year of my life.</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-16237647864312577102014-01-28T13:03:00.000+05:302014-01-28T17:04:41.579+05:30Little Star<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ankita, Adhir and Sanam as the Sheik and his two wives</td></tr>
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My dearest friend Gauri's husband was posted out of Jamnagar and I was left feeling most bereft without her company. The bright spot in my life was little Munch who was quite the star of the Air Force Station.<br />
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There was a fancy dress party for the kids and we, my friends Beenu and Deepshika, who had a daughter Ankita, and a son Adhir respectively, decided to send the children as sheik Dawood and his two wives. They were the cutest threesome and even though it was an individual event they won first prize and someone was hurriedly dispatched to pick up some extra chocolates for the little trio.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ankita and Sanam opening the Diwali celebrations</td></tr>
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A few months later Ankita and Munch were chosen to do the opening ceremony at the Diwali celebration. I was more nervous than anyone and gave my daughter strict instructions to do her thing and then aim for her father who was told to stand at a particular spot in the audience. The silly man moved his position at the last minute so there was a second of panic for the little girl who was desperately looking for him in the crowd as she marched off the stage.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Torpedo</td></tr>
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Sandip taught Munch how to swim after he discovered a book in the library written by a Russian author on how to systematically go about this task. I did not have the heart to watch but eventually plucked up the courage to see the progress made, once the crying stage was over and she had mastered the technique. Being so tiny she could not lift her head out of the water so the manoeuvres had to be carefully timed. Sandip would tell someone to launch her off while he stood a few feet away. She would paddle towards him like a little torpedo until he would lift her up before she ran out of breath a few seconds later. She grew to love swimming and we were surprised to know that people would come to the pool and stand around just to see her in action!</div>
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Sandip had decided to sit for the Staff College entrance examination which meant he had to get down to some serious study. It was my job to make reams of notes on current affairs which were duly circulated to all the others appearing for the same paper.<br />
Then it was time to pack up house and home for the eleven month Staff College course which was held in Wellington, Tamil Nadu.</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-54688640344650787482014-01-19T11:16:00.000+05:302014-01-19T11:16:18.889+05:30Travels From Jamnagar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Balachadi Beach</td></tr>
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We would promise ourselves every time we got posted to a new place that we would make an effort to take in all the places of interest around us. Jamnagar was one of the few places we actually did this.</div>
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Driving out to the unexploited Balachadi beach was always an exciting time and we were usually the only ones walking along its rocky shore. It was rumoured that old temples built along the coast had been reclaimed by the sea many years ago and if one was lucky one could still find objects thrown up by the tide. I did find a marble Brahman bull with part of his face missing and a stone Ganesha, which I still have with me, though I could never verify if the stories of old temple ruins were true. </div>
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When my mother came to visit we drove up to Dwarka, passing virgin beaches of golden sand on the way. Dwarka is the ancient kingdom of Lord Krishna and a holy pilgrimage site for Hindus. The Dwarkadeesh Temple was magnificent in architecture though I could have done without the kohl rimmed eyes of the young temple boys demanding to know what our cast and religion were.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hair raising ferry shuttle to Beyt Dwarka</td></tr>
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We took the ferry to the island of Beyt Dwarka which is believed to be the birthplace of Lord Krishna. Myth has us believe that the city of gold was swallowed by a massive flood when he left this world and if one looks into the depths of the ocean one can still see the sacred township. The four kilometre boat ride was literally a hair raising experience as the sea was very choppy accompanied by a strong wind so we were actually quite nervous about making it one piece and not ending up as fish food.<br />
We spent a few days in Bhuj with our friends Lalima and Umesh Shashtri. This quaint town with its shops full of the most beautiful ethnic craft left an indelible impression on my mind. Unfortunately most of the town was devastated in the terrible earthquake of 2001. From here we ventured out to Mandvi beach but the only memory I have is of an angry sea with dead jelly fish like creatures washed up all along the shore.<br />
<span class="body_text">We drove the 200 kilometers to Somnath and explored the sacred complex there. The principal temple is believed to have been built in gold by the moon god Soma, in silver by the sun god Ravi, in wood by Krishna and in stone by the later Rajputs.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somnath</td></tr>
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We spent a couple of the nights at the ITDC hotel in Gir Sanctuary where we hoped to catch a glimpse of the rare Asiatic lion. We saw plenty of deer and small fauna but the big cat eluded us completely. What made it worse was hearing a raucous bunch of tourists just behind us exclaiming how they had just seen "many many loins" crossing the road!</div>
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We also explored the Union Territory of Diu which is a place infused with Portuguese history. The old fort was an imposing edifice with well preserved old bronze cannons still manning the ramparts as they must have years ago. The churches we visited also exuded a sense of peace and calm with their quaint old baroque charm.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diu</td></tr>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-13536763175412752202014-01-12T08:02:00.001+05:302014-01-12T08:02:13.436+05:30 Back With A Crash<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TACDE picnic at Sapra Dam, Jamnagar<br />
Aru in the red head gear is the current Chief of Air Staff. His lovely wife Lily is in the yellow pants.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> On our arrival in Jamnagar we were duly ensconced in the usual temporary accommodation for the next few months. These barrack like rooms were known as the Honeymoon Block, and were rumoured to have originally been the royal stables for the old Jaam Sahib's horses! This was a story I could never verify though we were quite comfortable in our makeshift lodgings.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> My husband Sandip was the youngest officer posted into the prestigious TACDE and was kept extremely busy by <span style="font-family: inherit;">the various courses that were conducted there.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> One of the first people I met was Squadron Leader Rajan Bhasin and his glamorous wife Gauri. This friendship has stood the test of time and Gauri is and will always be my soul mate. Thirty years down the line we are still there for each other through "sick and sin".</span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The air force station itself was self sufficient and well organised and though I did not make any particularly good friends in the unit I was quite happy with just Gauri for company. Her younger son Tanvir and Munch were the same age, which was most convenient since they would happily play together while we sipped our morning cups of tea and chatted for hours.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sanam was growing up fast and when she would see the children walk past our house every morning on their way to school with their bags and water bottles, she could barely contain her excitement. She was longing</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> to join them so I promised her if she was a good girl I would seriously consider letting her go! When the time came for her to actually join Bachpan, the play school, she was so thrilled that she did not even look over her shoulder to wave goodbye or see me wipe a sentimental tear from the corner of my eye. Mrs Gertie Assey was her first teacher and Munch adored her and generally loved the whole school experience unlike some kids who puked and cried their way through the first few months.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Class of 91</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jamnagar in itself was quite devoid of entertainment. There was only one restaurant which served non vegetarian food so we mostly ended up eating at Rasik Bhai's famous "pao bhaji" dhaba. We had our first experience of cable TV and never missed an episode of The Bold and the Beautiful. The Gulf War was sat through in the privacy of our drawing rooms and the shock of Rajiv Gandhi's assassination reverberated through the campus. We could also sometimes catch PTV and many a time I watched Benazir Bhutto raving and ranting in her fiery anti India tirades. This was our first exposure to the power of the media which was something none of us had gone through before.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Social events were limited to squadron parties and the dreaded surprise "bouncing" by the youngsters. One of the incidents that I vividly remember was when Cawas and his friend Cherry caused great excitement by driving full pelt into the front gate of the Air Officer Commanding (AOC). I recently asked Cherry to recount that day as he remembered it and this is what he said - </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">" I was back in Jamnagar for flying after doing the FIS course before my posting to Hakimpet. The world cup foot ball was on and 29 Squadron got together at Raji and Veena's (our commanding officer and his wife) place to watch a match over dinner and drinks - not necessarily in that order. After the match yours truly volunteered to drop Sujata Mukund home, since her husband was out on detachment. The only vehicle easily accessible was the CO's gypsy, so happy bachelors Cawas, Nikhil (late) and I set off with me at the wheel. All went well till we said our byes to Sujata after which I foolishly wanted to test ride the vehicle to its limit. I ended up skidding into Group Captain Trevor Osman's (the AOC) front gate and slamming into it at full speed, just missing the guard who was on duty. Cawas managed to get out and bravely rang the door bell. He had a broken jaw, where it had made contact with the dash board and was dripping blood. Nikhil had a whip lash injury of his neck and I was jammed behind the drivers seat. Within minutes the doctors were on the scene. To get me out they had to break the wind shield as I was kind of stuck behind the wheel. In the process and with much effort they finally yanked me out but since my ankle was crushed between the brake and the accelerator, which they had no way of knowing , my knee twisted around itself. We were rushed to the Military Hospital - Cawas with a broken jaw, Nikhil with sore back and me with broken right arm, paralysed hand. smashed ankle and twisted knee. Quite a happy bunch of idiots."</span></div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-12416808545394547372012-12-05T16:47:00.001+05:302012-12-05T16:47:30.057+05:30Off to Jamnagar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQjRUJnqcW-ptRiQW3pBSPzMmPj7RjzjFk-7RlD_oPZI9s2nmu7IbvxowJNY3uIru9r0Ohfp-J2RMNa_tWYDgC3n3YcNTQfbzJXPcmP4hCEIz3Di3-lJz54JKgcKzfwffvQpWGbuRwRk/s1600/Scan_Pic0016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQjRUJnqcW-ptRiQW3pBSPzMmPj7RjzjFk-7RlD_oPZI9s2nmu7IbvxowJNY3uIru9r0Ohfp-J2RMNa_tWYDgC3n3YcNTQfbzJXPcmP4hCEIz3Di3-lJz54JKgcKzfwffvQpWGbuRwRk/s640/Scan_Pic0016.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Goodbye to Saraya friends</div>
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It took us a couple of weeks to pack up house in Pune and then mum, Munch and I made our way back to Saraya while Sandip moved on to Jamnagar. It was decided that we wait for him to give us the go ahead to join him when accommodation became available.</div>
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A few months later it was time for baby and me to finally make the trip. It was the first time I would be travelling alone with my little girl and I realised that I had accumulated a whole lot of extra stuff - pram, walker, baby things, as well as my own belongings.We did the usual journey to Delhi by train from where we were to catch a connecting flight to Ahmadabad. Sandip would be there to receive us for the further three hundred kilometre drive to Jamnagar.</div>
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I arrived at the airport with baby on one arm, bags in the other and grossly overweight luggage, so I thought up a devious plot to save on excess baggage charges. I knew there were people who travelled to Ahmadabad just for a days business, so decided to latch on to one of them and request that we check in together to avoid the excess penalty.</div>
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I stared at the line of passengers and spotted an elderly man carrying only a brief case, who was just the sort of victim I was looking for. I went up to him and told him what my problem was, and he without a moments hesitation, said it would be perfectly fine for us to check in together. I gratefully thanked him and we preceded to go through the pre-flight formalities without any problem.</div>
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We stood together chatting for a while and I politely asked the kind gentleman if he was going to Ahmadabad on business or pleasure. He looked at me as if I had gone completely mad and stuttered that he was not going to Ahmadabad at all but Calcutta! I realised with equal horror that he had been standing in the wrong queue, which the stupid girl behind the counter had not realised before issuing him a boarding pass.</div>
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He immediately grabbed my arm and marched me back to where it had all begun, where he proceeded to bellow at the ground staff that they had checked him onto the wrong flight. They apologised profusely and hastened to rectify their mistake, then patiently waited for me to hand over my ticket as well. The harassed gentleman quickly declared that I was a complete stranger and that he was just helping me out with overweight baggage. I was glared at disapprovingly, then made to weigh all my suitcases again. While handing over the slip for the amount to be paid, the lady made me listen to a long lecture on how what I had done was illegal and could get me into a lot of trouble!</div>
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On landing at Ahmadabad I was indignantly telling Sandip the whole story, and he had such a hearty laugh at my amazing luck. That I would carefully choose the one idiot who was standing in the wrong queue, that the same moron would be checked in by an inexperienced counter girl and that I would eventually get caught, so would have to sheepishly pay the whole amount anyway. That's what happens when one thinks one is over smart was all he smugly said!</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-86609830336723745412012-10-07T12:21:00.000+05:302012-10-07T12:38:36.140+05:30A Perilous Journey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoumR32wWPAp2z0sgLWH5m3KeBGQOd5A2n7gzFcxLSaJ4h5bQlAx29fDtFwN9XB4_gi4av-jCNYEhyphenhyphenDyjhF2Lgli-aiyRgs0-4z0Iu_fYdsjjvJB2Jhc8Ax4iST-2j0J6-HMOZByRGiaU/s1600/Scan_Pic0015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoumR32wWPAp2z0sgLWH5m3KeBGQOd5A2n7gzFcxLSaJ4h5bQlAx29fDtFwN9XB4_gi4av-jCNYEhyphenhyphenDyjhF2Lgli-aiyRgs0-4z0Iu_fYdsjjvJB2Jhc8Ax4iST-2j0J6-HMOZByRGiaU/s640/Scan_Pic0015.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Mum, Munch (that was what Sanam was now affectionately called) and I left for Pune to pack up house for the posting to Jamnagar. We travelled from Gorakhpur to Delhi by train where my father-in-law was at the station to pick us up. He took us home to Sheikh Sarai to freshen up and say a quick hello to the rest of the family before dropping us to the airport. We unexpectedly bumped into Sandip's young cousin Akash, who was also on his way to Pune to join a college there and who turned out to be booked on the very same flight.<br />
We checked in our baggage and were just hanging around waiting for further announcements when we heard our flight number being called as cancelled! There was an immediate mad rush of humanity towards the counter, all demanding explanations or refunds. I tried to elbow my way through the hysterical throng to get some clarity on the situation, but was quite unsuccessful so beat a dishevelled retreat with a wailing baby in my arms. </div>
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In all this confusion we found we had another attachment to our group in the shape of a Mona who was newly pregnant and joining her army husband to give him the good news. She was travelling alone, so nervously asked if she could tag along with us to which suggestion we readily and happily agreed.</div>
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After about fifteen minutes of chaos it was announced that those without checked in luggage could board another flight en route to Bombay. I made fluttery eyes at the hassled young man who was waving his arms around, frantically trying to get the attention of irate passengers, and begged him to let me board as I was alone with my baby. He looked at me sympathetically and told me to quickly identify my baggage and go for security check. He was astounded when I looked over my shoulder and shrieked for Mum, Akash and Mona to quickly join up and we marched past a now glaring attendant to board the aircraft and plonk ourselves into our seats. We had no idea if our luggage had been loaded or not and none of us were familiar with Bombay so were nervous about landing there late at night, but when we finally deplaned we were relieved to see all our bags bobbing along on the conveyor belt. </div>
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The people behind the help desk at the airport advised us to make our way to Dadar from where we would get a taxi to take us the rest of the way to Pune. We trundled off into the night and got a cab without any trouble so settled back for the next leg of the journey.</div>
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As soon as the last of the twinkling city lights faded into the distance our driver suddenly pulled over to the side of the road saying we had a puncture. Within minutes another cab pulled up behind us which made Mum and I stare at each other in frozen terror as thoughts of rape, robbery and murder played havoc in our minds. Our chap quickly reassured us that it was just a friend from the same taxi stand who would help change the wheel. The task at hand was quickly attended to and without further delay we continued on our way.<br />
Our sighs of relief were short lived because as soon as we drove into the winding hill roads of the Western Ghats we found ourselves stuck in the middle of a dreadful traffic jam. We were immobile for over an hour with the truck parked alongside blaring the latest Bollywood music. My little Munch decided to stand up in my lap and dance in time to the cacophony much to the amusement of the scruffy looking men in the vehicle.<br />
Once we started to move again we realised much to our exasperation that our good driver was pulling off the road again, this time to help his mate whom we had met earlier, whose taxi was now the one with a flat.<br />
By this time we were quite numbed with exhaustion so when the cabbie said he would like to stop at a roadside 'dhabba' for a quick cup of tea we readily agreed. As he swaggered into the dimly lit shack we heard him bellowing at someone in the darkness to bring him some 'afeem'. Mum goggled at me in shock and horror and whispered that we had been travelling all this way with an opium addict. I just told her that he had bought us this far so it would most probably be alright, and in any case there was not much we could do about the crazy situation we were in.</div>
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As the outskirts of Pune emerged in the early light of dawn we dropped Mona off at the army base and then Akash was deposited at the bus stand to further make his way to college. We drove into Lohegaon Air Force Station at five o'clock in the morning and had to ring the doorbell vigorously for a few minutes before a sleepy Sandip came doddering out to let us in.</div>
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I stared at him in indignation and demanded to know how he could sleep when for all intents and purposes we had disappeared off the face of the earth. He calmly said he had telephoned Pa when he heard the flight was cancelled and was informed that we had been safely dropped off at the airport. When there was no more news he assumed we were making our way home and was not worried since he knew I would manage everything one way or another. </div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1Gurgaon, Haryana, India28.4594965 77.026638328.3478185 76.8687098 28.5711745 77.1845668tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-40615020500240554412012-09-30T11:45:00.000+05:302012-09-30T11:48:04.653+05:30Hello Daddy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello Daddy</td></tr>
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And then it was time for Sandip to come home and meet Sanam for the very first time. She was prettied up in a beautiful pink smocked dress which her Nani had embroidered, and then we excitedly waited for daddy to walk through the door.</div>
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When he finally arrived we held our breaths in anticipation, waiting to see his reactions and expressions as he first set eyes on his beautiful little girl. It was such an emotional moment and hard to describe with so much joy, pride, curiosity and amazement flitting across his countenance. We tearfully gazed at father and daughter as he held her close and kissed her all over her little face.</div>
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He spent a week in Saraya before we travelled back to Pune with mum in tow. She stayed for a month to help me settle in comfortably, and I was miserable to see her leave since I had become very dependent on her support. Luckily my maid Sabira was a gem which made things a bit easier, but as I was a hands on mum I wanted to do everything on my own, as a result of which I found myself in a perpetual state of exhaustion.<br />
Sandip got back to his busy routine so was not around to help out. I remember feeling a lot of resentment at the time, but then had to quickly come to terms with the harsh fact that real life is quite different to expectations. I had imagined us sharing baby duties and doing things together, but that is one thing the air force did not ever give us the luxury of experiencing. Unfortunately he ended up missing a lot of her early years due to service constraints but I must take credit for adjusting positively to his absence once I got over the initial grumpiness of him not being there.<br />
The next few months sped by and then it was December again which was the time I traditionally went home to be with family. I travelled back with Sanam and we were having a wonderfully relaxed holiday celebrating her first birthday and introducing her to the joys of Christmas, when Sandip called with the news that we were posted to TACDE in Jamnagar. It was decided that mum, baby and I would journey back to Pune to pack up house and then make our way back to Saraya, as there was no accommodation available in Jamnagar at that point of time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV0HeSf3nkGbEJd6MvMNHMthnT1pcFMmFVM_2OWucMyD9o7eNlIsw1sf0Ol7IQr3axYnKXZIAqhpV4velavl4JlfUby18r3yHE9eilVQRtiHsAk3f6ESpGlcz01I-1ZoIabjH3JwODqK8/s1600/Scan_Pic0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV0HeSf3nkGbEJd6MvMNHMthnT1pcFMmFVM_2OWucMyD9o7eNlIsw1sf0Ol7IQr3axYnKXZIAqhpV4velavl4JlfUby18r3yHE9eilVQRtiHsAk3f6ESpGlcz01I-1ZoIabjH3JwODqK8/s640/Scan_Pic0014.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Birthday and Happy Christmas</td></tr>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-56645259410520095522012-09-23T11:41:00.000+05:302012-09-23T11:41:27.812+05:30A New Routine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dadi and Dada</td></tr>
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The next couple of months flew by in a haze of exhaustion, struggling to cope with my new routine. Bottles had to be sterilised, feeds given, nappies changed and sleepless nights walked through trying to soothe a crying infant. Sanam had the appetite of a little bird and preferred to drink a couple of ounces of milk at a time, so naturally had to be feed that much more frequently. I seemed to drift around in an aura of the odour of baby puke no matter how many times I changed my clothes. I always thought motherhood was a mantle which would fall over me naturally once my child was born, but in reality I discovered I was tired, crabby and at my wits end most of the time!</div>
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A few months earlier I had read a gruesome article about a woman in the UK who had micro-waved her new born because she could not bear the noise of its crying. On one particularly difficult night when Sanam would just not go to sleep, I gave her a little shake and tiredly thumped her back into her cot, which just made her shriek all the louder. I felt such a wave of panic that maybe I had murderous tendencies hidden somewhere deep inside, so rushed to wake up mother and confess to what I had done. My good old mum was quick to reassure me that it was quite natural to feel impatient once in a while and advised me to curl up in her bed and have a good nights sleep while she took over for a while. That was all the medicine and therapy I needed to feel absolutely fine the next morning.</div>
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When Sanam was about two months old I found everything getting easier, or maybe I was just more attuned to all the life changes I was going through. One of the most looked forward to moments in the day was after she would have a bath, when I would bury my nose into her neck and breathe in the amazing smell of fresh baby! My favourite pastime was simply kissing her tiny feet that had as yet never touched the ground. I adored this tiny bundle and found myself gazing at her in complete amazement, still sometimes not believing that she was really and truly all mine.</div>
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Sandip's parents made their first trip to Saraya to meet their granddaughter and were completely smitten, more so because she was the first little girl born into the Sud family for a long time. Unfortunately it was also at this time that I noticed that my sweet mother-in-law was getting unnaturally absent minded. When I mentioned it to Pa he said she was just getting older and these things happened. It was a year later that she was diagnosed with the dreaded Alzheimer's disease, which was the most tragic thing that could happen to someone who was the epitome of gentle kindness.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBh0VU49yGdgm0PR1CxGVIZcBkG2cKV0IlM3UAo75hN-preF5F3QXftspE7RulJsbEYRlb4v2EENUyEvR7M51-3jh0PXBWIOlVivVCyalme7hbfQefPCQPLwf9WlRNa43UldttAVONPw/s1600/Scan_Pic0012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBh0VU49yGdgm0PR1CxGVIZcBkG2cKV0IlM3UAo75hN-preF5F3QXftspE7RulJsbEYRlb4v2EENUyEvR7M51-3jh0PXBWIOlVivVCyalme7hbfQefPCQPLwf9WlRNa43UldttAVONPw/s640/Scan_Pic0012.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nana and Nani</td></tr>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-41469183153080113522012-09-14T08:33:00.003+05:302012-09-23T06:31:50.423+05:30Sanam<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello World!!<br />
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After hours of labour I was wheeled back into a dingy private room but was too exhausted and emotional to sleep. The conditions in the hospital itself were extremely pathetic and filthy in spite of it being one of the better establishments of Gorakhpur, so we decided to ask for an immediate discharge. I had to sign a form saying I was leaving at my own risk, but knew father's nurse sister Alex and Tara Babu his assistant would look after me in the comfort of my own surroundings.</div>
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The first thing I did on reaching home was to put my precious new bundle into her Nana's arms. He looked down at the pronounced dimple in her chin and with his usual wry sense of humour remarked " There is no doubt of this ones parentage!" </div>
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The next thing I did was to book a call to Sandip in Jamnagar to announce the arrival of our daughter, but the lines were down and much to my disappointment I just could not get through.</div>
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On the evening of the fifteenth I was waddling to Dad's room to see how he was doing, when the phone rang as I was walking past. I picked it up only to find Sandip on the other end demanding to know what was happening. I laughingly told him that the delivery was over and Sanam had arrived!This was the name we had chosen for a girl when we came to know he would not be present at the birth. There was a stunned silence at the other end before he excitedly begged for details. I babbled that she was all red and ugly and looked just like him! There was another surprised pause and I realised what it sounded like so quickly amended that she had inherited his dimple chin and I had not meant to imply that he was red and ugly. </div>
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Mum was quite frantic running between my ailing sister, a very ill father and me so I did not get to relax at all, but bustled about exhaustively trying to adjust to the life changing situation that was now all I lived for.The next few weeks were difficult, though both patients recovered and mum and I took turns to change nappies, see to feeds and do the night shift. I would wail to my husband far away that I was fatigued and completely drained of energy and he apologised profusely for not being around to help.</div>
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I was so impatient for him to see this very beautiful little girl that we had produced, but had to wait a few months more for that. He eventually first met his daughter in March 1989 when she was all grown up and three months old.</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-50522036129502079812012-09-06T13:37:00.000+05:302012-09-23T06:32:21.795+05:30D Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little miracle just an hour old</td></tr>
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In September 1988 I returned with my parents to Saraya where I restlessly and impatiently wiled away the months in anticipation of D-Day, which was the fifteenth of December. I could manage to speak to Sandip in Jamnagar only once in a while, since getting a phone call through was always a complicated procedure in those days. </div>
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My sister Juliet had came down from Lucknow to be there when baby came, but fell seriously ill so was of no help. At the same time my father was going through one of his bad spells and I overheard him ordering his assistant in a weak voice to keep him going till his grandchild was born. I went into labour in the wee hours of the fourteenth and left with mother for the railway hospital, which was an hour's drive away and supposed to be one of the more civilised facilities in Gorakhpur.</div>
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Labour - nothing that one reads or hears prepares you for the hours of body wrenching agony that have to be endured. I have an unusually high threshold of pain but despite that found myself groaning aloud every so often. I lost complete track of time with baby in no hurry to make an appearance and at one point desperately announced that I had had enough and wanted a Cesarean. The doctor looked very startled and remarked that I was not even screaming so why couldn't I bear the torture a few hours more?</div>
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What really infuriated me was one of the nurses who insisted on continuously stroking my leg and humming "Sungmarmar ka badan". I growled at her through gritted teeth that if she commented once more on my marble like body I would get up and personally hit her over the head with a bedpan!</div>
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At exactly seven forty five in the evening my baby finally decided it was time to enter the world. " Its a girl" the doctor announced and I felt such a surge of joy and relief that I promptly burst into tears. The same thigh stroking nurse sympathetically clucked and said "Koi baat nahin, agli baar ladka hoga". I did not have the energy to tell her that I had longed for a daughter more than anything in the world and was just feeling completely overwhelmed.</div>
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The doctor then asked if I would like to hold my little one before she was sent off to be tidied up and I was handed over this fragile, naked, ugly, beautiful, helpless little body who in an instant filled the deepest core of every fibre of my being with awe and adoration. Then she was bundled up and taken out to be introduced to her grandmother who off course also wept with delighted emotion and was immediately surrounded by a bevy of sympathetic nurses reassuring her it would definitely be a grandson next time around.</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-82482791752746435012012-08-31T06:26:00.000+05:302012-08-31T08:14:16.772+05:30Labouring On<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandip at the FCL graduation while I laboured on (literally) on my own</td></tr>
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Once we got home and spent a couple of hours excitedly discussing what the unexpected news of my pregnancy meant to us, I found I was overwhelmed with the most awful feeling of nausea. I struggled through the rest of the day with a pukey face and Sandip laughingly teased that he was not looking forward to seeing this afflicted expression for the next few months. As it turned out those few hours were the only time I ever felt the dreaded morning sickness, so I presume it must have been more psychological than anything else.</div>
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I was warned by all that I might have complications because of my past medical history so was advised to take things very easy. Inspite of everything I was one of the lucky few who never had any problems besides the constant craving for "chumchum" - a sweet I never had before or after those nine months. I would sit at the dining table and devour a kilo at a time, then gaze pleadingly at a very bemused husband and demand "More chumchum!"</div>
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I planned to go back to Saraya for my delivery and Sandip said he would like to be with me in the labour room, an idea that did not sit well with my father, since he was of the old school of thought that certain goings on are best left unobserved by the male species since they can get quite gruesome.</div>
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Six months later we got the news that Sandip's name was one of those chosen for the prestigious FCL(Fighter Combat Leader) course run by TACDE (Tactics and Air Combat Development Establishment), that was conducted in Jamnagar, Gujarat which was considered to be the Top Gun school of the Indian Air Force. I was initially quite dismayed since that would mean he would be nowhere around in my final few months, but when he volunteered to refuse the course I straightened out my depressed face and assured him I would be just fine.</div>
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It was at this time that my parents had come to Pune, since father had to undergo a hip replacement surgery at the renowned Sancheti hospital. It was decided we would all travel back home together once he had recovered from the operation and let Sandip go off to Jamnagar, where he would be for the next six months.</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-39886276862446808872012-08-25T11:47:00.000+05:302012-08-27T07:29:55.743+05:30Could it be?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZTIMsY4p4BUv6XwRdOJrA12-f1aiztZd9TZtag__RQ7yxtoDuL6iBsXDOAdntO2uau7dbEdKjFPOX0HprczWSv1_KuBcnEKy8buqSXEuQvKGVX35IUEwJ6MmA1xzBbpr44eCpR-Nf8c/s1600/Scan_Pic0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZTIMsY4p4BUv6XwRdOJrA12-f1aiztZd9TZtag__RQ7yxtoDuL6iBsXDOAdntO2uau7dbEdKjFPOX0HprczWSv1_KuBcnEKy8buqSXEuQvKGVX35IUEwJ6MmA1xzBbpr44eCpR-Nf8c/s640/Scan_Pic0003.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is one of those few pictures in my album which I kept only because I remember my exact thoughts at the time it was clicked!<br />
"Is it possible I might be pregnant?" <br />
Me, Harish Masand, Ruheene, Ingita Kothiyal, Lily Raha, Sandip and Malini Masand and someone whose name I can't recall</td></tr>
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I was a few days late with my period, which I thought was a bit unusual since I was normally quite punctual in such matters. When I was ten days overdue I began to chew my nails in tension and after two weeks apprised Sandip of the situation. He gently admonished that I had been told by the doctors that I could not conceive, so should not get my hopes up unnecessarily. I waited another forty eight hours then hesitatingly asked if we could go into town and have a pregnancy test done, just for my own peace of mind.</div>
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In those days we did not have any kind of instant home prediction kits and so we drove into town on the bike looking for a lab which would do the needful. We spotted a sign atop one of the buildings on Main Street and trudged up three flights of stairs into a dingy and seedy looking room.The technician gave me a bottle and when I handed him my sample he disinterestedly told us to come back in a couple of hours for the results. I was so anxious that I told him we would rather sit there and wait. The young man must have sensed our tension because in half an hour he waved us over with the outcome of the tests. </div>
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He handed the paper over to Sandip and I found myself concentrating on my husband's expression instead of looking down and reading the report for myself. I saw a strange smile break over his face as he looked up at me and announced "Its positive!" I could barely believe what I had heard and we stared at each other in shock at the unexpected good news. Once we had gathered our wits we started down the stairs and I had a very concerned voice in my ear telling me to walk slowly and carefully, as he guided me down the steep steps with a protective hand under my arm.</div>
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After driving home at a snail's pace we sat in silence for a while letting the enormity of the news sink in. We also decided not to make any public announcement until we were sure all would be well. Memories of my miscarriage were too fresh in our minds to take anything for granted at that point of time.</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-52400232200410361782012-08-16T13:25:00.001+05:302012-08-16T13:28:28.333+05:30MiG-29<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rajiv Gandhi with Harish Masand and Sud in the background at the induction of the MiG-29</td></tr>
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28 Squadron moved lock, stock and barrel from Tezpur to Pune in 1985 as one of the units chosen to convert to the newly acquired MiG-29 aircraft. The high tech fighter was shrouded in mystery with no one being allowed to see it until it was officially inducted by Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi later in the year. We ladies had discovered a vantage point on the main road to town where we managed to sometimes catch a glimpse of the lethal looking machine as it was taking off and were thrilled by its menacing hooded appearance which was different to any of the other jets we were familiar with.<br />
Harish Masand was the first Commanding Officer of the squadron and his wife Malini and I quickly took up where we had left off in Gorakhpur, much to the initial puzzlement and later resentment of the rest of the crowd who had no idea that our friendship was an old one.<br />
Once the fleet was officially part of the Indian Air Force life got extremely busy for the officers who were out of station on temporary duty for most of the next year. We ladies had to manage on our own for most of that time, which was not too difficult as Malini ensured we were well looked after. Not that the husbands were not sorely missed, especially in crisis situations - a couple of children went into hospital and were discharged, a few bones were broken and healed and one of the ladies even had a baby, while our magnificent men showed off their flying machines over the length and breadth of the country!<br />
I was in a happy place until someone would ask me when we were planning to start a family. I would always react with a nonchalant shrug and calmly reply that we were not in a hurry, but these casual remarks had the ability to really depress me. I had not felt the need to confide in anyone that the doctors had told me that I could never have children and was still trying to come to terms with the inevitability of their diagnosis.<br />
And then one month I was a few days late with my period.....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-AM24IfoELZWxpiRw7Cygo8xJLMichAl0BsRa0k9re3byyk3eJOQyzYjaq__vAM6RBKDnQrvOiTU1OScV5oe45WPGZJ_-MtCvFYF1Fok0ax3j_V1h0lkU9xY5HaO8szZGXotb3bFqeI/s1600/Scan_Pic0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-AM24IfoELZWxpiRw7Cygo8xJLMichAl0BsRa0k9re3byyk3eJOQyzYjaq__vAM6RBKDnQrvOiTU1OScV5oe45WPGZJ_-MtCvFYF1Fok0ax3j_V1h0lkU9xY5HaO8szZGXotb3bFqeI/s640/Scan_Pic0002.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ladies of First Supersonics 28 Squadron with some of the young officers - Malini with the big handbag next to me in the white kurta with little Ruheene ( Malini's daughter) in front of us</td></tr>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-91771928789446429292012-08-10T07:30:00.000+05:302012-08-10T07:30:23.567+05:30Pune<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Banyan trees on Poona streets</td></tr>
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When I had recovered from the physical and mental aftermath of the miscarriage I joined Sandip in Poona, or Pune as it is now called.</div>
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Much as I had loved the three years we spent in the wilderness of Tezpur it felt good to be back in civilisation. The Air Force Station in Lohegaon was on the outskirts of town and we found ourselves back in temporary accommodation. This time it was one large room which served as drawing, dining and sleeping quarters, with a narrow passage attached where I unpacked the essentials to set up my kitchen.<br />
Poona had a strange old fashioned quaintness to it. Many of the houses in the cantonment area had been built by the British and maintained their original charming facades. These were heritage constructions, built on spacious grounds, surrounded by well maintained gardens. One of the very first things that I found fascinating were the majestic banyans that lined almost every street, with their gnarled trunk like roots dropping down to the ground. These trees take years to attain this magnificent size so I am guessing most of them would be over a hundred years old. </div>
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One of our favourite haunts for a quick bite was Marz-O-Rin, a timeless landmark which people have been returning to since it was first set up in 1965. The chicken sandwiches and cold coffee were to die for and I have many a time tried unsuccessfully to replicate the unique flavors of these simple items. The aroma of freshly made Shrewsbury biscuits wafting out of Kayani Bakery on Main Street lured me in to buy a box every time I was in the vicinity.The exotic cheeses from ABC farms quickly became a favourite indulgence, and was the first time we experimented with new and exotic flavors being familiar with only good old Amul till then.The Place was where we went back time and again for a vast choice of the most succulent sizzlers.<br />
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Shopping for fresh vegetables and choice cuts of meat in Shivaji Market was something I also enjoyed immensely after the rather shrivelled up produce we used to get in the east.My favourite lady vendor, much to my dismay, was convinced that I looked like Indira Gandhi and always greeted me as such! Chandan stores was where I did all my more fancy grocery shopping much to the disapproval of friends who preferred the older and more staid Dorabjee's.</div>
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The weather in Poona was also a welcome change from the humidity we had lived in for the past three years. The climate was moderate and except for April and May when it was bearably hot, the monsoons arrived and cooled things down. 'Kissing Rain' was what my mother described the constant gentle drizzle that brushed one's face as, which is particular to the rainy season in this part of the world. We did not own an air conditioner and never felt the need for one, as however warm the days might be the evenings and nights were always pleasant.</div>
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We stayed in our temporary lodgings for only a few months before being allotted a flat and the usual opening up of familiar household knick-knacks made it into a cosy home. I was lucky enough to inherit a wonderful maid Sabira, so all in all was very content in my new environment.</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-37450654035207677842012-08-04T14:49:00.000+05:302012-08-04T14:49:01.824+05:30Despair<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The secret regions of my heart are filled with a strange unrest - </div>
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making the harp strings of my soul strike discordant notes</div>
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that send meaningless messages to my brain.</div>
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My eyes keep their eternal vigil on shabby crumbling milestones</div>
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that flicker by with terrifying speed - shabby milestones</div>
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that mark the countdown of my inane existence.</div>
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I look for you along the way but I know - I know</div>
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that the roads I take</div>
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are not roads that you would care to travel by.</div>
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So I hurtle around my own crazy orbit</div>
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regardless of the cold bleak galaxies and vast spaces</div>
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that surround me -</div>
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Not yet quite realising that I am lost - back where I began -</div>
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filled with unrest - striking discordant notes -</div>
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hearing meaningless messages -</div>
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and left blind by my futile vigil.</div>
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<br /></div>solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-32841219461659535872012-07-26T07:04:00.000+05:302012-08-16T13:37:02.477+05:30'Baanjh'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sud and I had decided to wait a year before planning a family. When we thought the time was right we excitedly got down to business, only to discover nothing was happening and there was no good news to announce. After a few months went by I began to worry, but was convinced by the ladies who knew it all that these things were unpredictable and I should not stress. "Don't dwell on it" I was repeatedly advised, which just made me want to bop them in their smug faces as it is like saying "If you don't think of a green elephant I will give you a million bucks!" Taboo images are all that keep one preoccupied - even if it is just the brain working in overdrive to keep visions of exotic animals or in my case babies at bay.</div>
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After a year of disappointment I began to do the doctor rounds and everyone I saw reassured me there was nothing wrong with either of us and we should just be patient. I would have my fingers crossed every month and when there was the tell tale sign of 'no luck' I would weep in my husband's arms. We would go out to parties where I would see mothers feeding their tiny tots and come home in depression. My neighbour in Tezpur produced a little girl and I went across with gritted teeth to do the needful 'oohing' and 'aahing', only to be told in no uncertain terms that she would rather I not pick up the child since I was a sterile 'baanjh' and so might put the evil eye on her little one. 'Baanjh' is a derogatory word used for women who cannot have children.</div>
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Then there were those knowledgeable biddies who came up with the most fantastical suggestions of what I should do to conceive. Strange contorted positions were recommended, times of the month and in which direction to face were suggested and I was even given a vial of Sai Baba's supposedly holy ashes to do unmentionable things with. My poor husband went along with all my bizarre requests with a helpless and worried expression, though he stopped short of actually telling me that maybe I was behaving in a completely daft and irrational manner.</div>
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The strange thing is that I am not a superstitious person by nature but had got to that desperate stage when I was willing to try anything, anyway, anyhow. When I did finally conceive, only to miscarry a couple of weeks into the pregnancy and was then informed that I could never have children due to complications that ensued, I felt a strange sense of relief that the whole situation was now out of my hands.</div>
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The other paradox was that I had never been a particularly maternal sort of person and always preferred puppies to babies. I could never bring myself to 'cootchie-coo' other peoples newborn bundles, but being told that I would never have one of my own was soul shattering. Even then it was more the idea that Sud would never be a father, or that my parents would be deprived of grandchildren that was more heart breaking than anything else.</div>
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solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-34079916561306690682012-07-19T13:30:00.000+05:302012-07-19T13:36:51.906+05:30Ill Health and Goodbye<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The last year of our tenure in Tezpur saw both Sud and me suffering from ill health. He developed a bad allergy, which I was convinced was caused by something in the lush greenery of the countryside. Some folks suggested it might be the cats, but I argued that in the 'basha' we had lived closely with the animals and not faced any problem. It was much later, when I did more in depth research, that I discovered that sensitive reactions have the potential to build over a period of time. My poor husband was in dreadful shape with severe respiratory problems and had to be put on steroids as a result of which he could not fly. I have never kept another cat since then as he is now so touchy that he immediately begins to wheeze even if a feline is innocently prowling somewhere in the vicinity.</div>
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We had started planning a family as well and I conceived only to miscarry a few weeks into the pregnancy. I was admitted to the Military Hospital were the doctors did what they had to do, but I found the bleeding would not stop and I was running high fever accompanied by a crippling back ache. When I returned for a consult I was told I had an infection and was given the usual antibiotics. I did not feel any better and was in a miserable and weakened condition when news came that we were posted to Pune, to the new MiG-29 squadron that was forming there. I sadly said my goodbyes to Tezpur in a sorry and debilitated state as I followed a silly tradition of my own every time we moved, of making a quiet round of the house saying thank you walls, thank you kitchen, thank you chairs, thank you beds while touching everything one last time.<br />
I decided to take a break in Saraya where it was diagnosed that I had a ruptured uterus. The doctors said I would never be able to conceive as my fallopian tubes had been blocked by scar tissue resulting from the severe infection that I had endured for so long.</div>
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It took months for me to recover from this ordeal though I was in depression at the idea of not having children. I was never a particularly maternal sort of person, but once I was told that it was an impossibility, the hankering for offspring naturally and irrationally grew into an obsession. I narrated woe begone dialogues to Sud saying he could marry again or leave me, because I knew he would have made a wonderful father. He glared at me and told me to stop being melodramatic as he claimed he loved me and did not particularly need or want a baby making machine. He was always supportive and understanding, though I must admit I did wallow in self pity for quite a while after and made his life quite miserable.<br />
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</div>solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8930306819511020584.post-72083776514030442182012-07-12T13:50:00.000+05:302012-07-12T13:54:18.711+05:30Dulangmukh, Kaziranga, Shillong<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the quadrant and the only fish we saw</td></tr>
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Once every few months Sud would be deputed to go as the Range Safety Officer to Dulangmukh, which is where aircraft would go for live gunnery practise at the range there. I accompanied him on one of these trips and after flying to the remote and now defunct airfield of Zero and then jolting along non existent roads, we reached the crude living accommodation that was there for the RSO's. We spent a lovely few days where I would go with my husband to the quadrant in the early morning and watch in complete fascination as the pilots did their firing and bombing routine. I remember the thrill of having Amul zoom cheekily low and announce over RT that he could see I was wearing a blue sweater! We took long walks into the dense jungle and along the Subansari river which is the largest tributary of the mighty Brahmaputra. We had enthusiastically carried all our fishing tackle but unfortunately discovered that this waterway was so polluted that only small dead fish floated along its banks. We would return to our humble lodgings in the chill of the evening to happily snuggle into cosy sleeping bags never once complaining that there was no electricity, running water or any other kind of modern day comfort. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kaziranga</td></tr>
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We drove to the Kaziranga wild life sanctuary which was about 80 kilometres away on our trusted Yezdi bike and that too was a wonderful experience. We were there in the breeding season so all the animals had babies and it was thrilling to see them roam free in their natural habitat. Besides plenty of deer and wild elephants we did get charged at by an indignant and protective mama rhino who was looking out for her little one. The 'mahout' yelled blue murder and threw his 'ankush' at the angry creature who put on the brakes in confusion at all the noise giving the elephants time to do a right about turn and move respectfully away. When my mother visited a few months later we made another trip to the game reserve and this time stayed with friends at one of the tea estates. I think that was one of the only times I wondered if maybe I had married a man in the wrong profession! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waterfall in Shillong and the tiniest baby elephant I have ever seen in Kaziranga</td></tr>
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We did the drive up to to Shillong as well which was the longest bike ride I had ever undertaken. I remember my back felt quite broken by the end of the 250 kilometre journey since for some reason I stubbornly insisted on carrying our rucksack instead of listening to Sud's suggestion of letting him put it on the fuel tank in front. I was wearing my dark glasses all the way and was most horrified to see I had got badly tanned except for under the goggles so ended up embarrassingly looking like a raccoon. We only stayed here a couple of days and it was only years later when we were posted to this beautiful part of the country that we could explore it more at leisure.</div>
</div>solitary wandererhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04697999188322979058noreply@blogger.com0