Originally posted on 1st Oct 2010 :

The four digit number 2997 may mean nothing to you, but for three long years at the National Defence Academy, it had great significance for me. It was an integral part of my identity. While many more cadets with my name may come and go, there never was and there never will be another 2997. When kit was distributed or the results of a test announced, I was called out by this number, and not the name given to me by my parents. I am not a numerologist like our Sergeant Major, (later, Col SK Kohli, EME) but I soon discovered that it was a propitious number. It ends with the lucky ‘7’ and if you divide it by three, you get 999. Do that three more times, and you get to a prime number which also ends with ‘7’. Try it and see for yourself.

But this story is not about 2997. It is about the cadet one number senior to me: 2996. Early enough, I noticed that he was more interested in the well being of others, than his own welfare. And he was a positive thinking person. On a dark and dingy night, if there was just one lonely star in the sky, he could conjure words to add light to it and make it as bright as moon.

2996  was commissioned in the Infantry, but the army soon spotted his high IQ, and therefore, he was transferred to the Intelligence Corps.  In due course of time his flair for the Chinese language was recognized and he was sent as the Military Attaché to Beijing. After completing the course at the National Defence College in 1990, and it was clear that he was going places. But his outstanding military career was cut short when he was diagnosed of cancer of the elementary canal in 1994. What followed was a series of surgeries and agonizing treatment. I went to see him in Pune, and before going to the ward, I met his doctor. I was told that his case was rather serious, and that his longevity would depend on his will to live and the affection he received from his family and friends. To contribute my two penny worth, I rehearsed my words of reassurance before reaching his bed. But what I saw left me surprised. 2996 had lost a lot of weight but his spirit was intact. Even before I could say a word he shot off a couplet and then ensured that the conversation did not drift to his health or all the pain and suffering which he had gone through.

We remained in touch, as always. The Internet did not exist those days, and even trunk calls were hard to get. And so we relied on letters. I once wrote to him from Bangalore, that I would look him up when I visited Delhi next. Prompt came the reply,

“Ek gustaakhi maiN karoonga mere yaar

Tu hoga paidal, maiN janaaze par sawaar”(Note: the silent N only  adds a nasal sound)

(You will have to bear with my misbehavior, my friend

While you will be footslogging, I will be ‘riding’ a bier)

I rushed to his house when I reached Delhi. He was in bed, but was surrounded by some shabbily dressed children whom he seemed to be teaching. His wife, Sneh told me that he spent several hours each day helping children from poor families with their home work and he also gave them books and stationery. He soon got up and when we hugged each other, he noticed a surgical belt around my waist. The conversation which ensued was all about back aches and how I must look after myself. He made his cancer look less serious than my silly little sprain in the back. He seemed to know a great deal about spinal complications, and gave me some useful tips on how to treat my back problem.

In due course of time he became a specialist on how to deal with cancer, and began to counsel cancer patients. Many people said that he knew more than most of the oncologists and cancer patients looked forward to his visits to their wards. They drew inspiration from his personal ability to fight the disease.

In 2002, I invited him to the wedding reception of our son. In the traditional envelope containing the ‘shagun’ money, there was a little note with the following lines inscribed in his own hand,

“Ik din maineN apni maut ki dua ki.                   (The silent ‘N’ adds a nasal sound)

Khuda bola, maut to tujhe maiN de dooN lekin unko kya kahooN

JinhoN neN teri lambi umar ki dua ki?!”

(One day, I asked God to grant me death

The Lord said, I can do that, but what do I say to them

Who have sought long life for you?”)

It has since been my habit to turn to him whenever I feel low. We rarely talk about his health or struggle with his disease. My latest call to 2996 was answered by his wife, and she told me his exact condition. He is virtually a bag of bones, weighing no more than 50 kilograms. His intake is very little, but with the little that he eats, he is able to do what he is the best at: to spread cheer. I requested Sneh to ask him to call me up when he returned. When the phone rang, I knew it was 2996, and he pre-empted me with the following lines,

“Apni haalat ka nahiN hai ehsaas mujhko

 MaineN auroN se suna hai ki maiN pareshaan hooN”

(I am not cognizant (or aware) of my condition

I have heard from others that I am troubled)

Death has knocked at the door of 2996, whom the world knows as Brig SC Sharma, several times during the last 15 years. But when the Yamaraj sees so many people swarming around this blessed old soldier, he goes back without completing the errand.