Foreword

This is the story of Lt Gen Vijay Oberoi and his erudite soul-mate, Daulat. It is written by their daughter, Rashmi, who is a well-known writer, in her own right. Oberoi (XVIII NDA, G Sqn) was commissioned in 1961, and lost a leg in the 1965 war, when he was barely 24 years old. He braved the loss of his limb and won the heart of his beloved, on crutches. And then, he learnt to perform all the soldierly duties on the primitive wooden-leg fabricated by the army artisans. Despite stiff competition, he rose to an apex level in the army. After hanging up his boots, he has taken up the cause of soldiers and veterans. His contribution for the welfare of the ‘war-wounded’ is note-worthy. His own example is an inspiration for the disabled.

Rashmi has learnt the art of writing from both her parents. She writes middle articles and short stories for various magazines and e-journals. And she is fighting for the women with the same fervour as her father’s passion for the mutilated soldiers. Writing comes naturally to Rashmi, and she expresses her thoughts effortlessly. Going through her pieces, I find that she had a very pleasant childhood, and her latter life has been eventful. So, she has a lot to tell us. I am sanguine that she will host her own website, and encourage a lot of young writers. Her own personal best is yet to come!

  Now, over to Rashmi. (Her mail ID is : rash69in@gmail.com)

                                      

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My Adorable Parents

By Rashmi Oberoi

*A tribute from a Daughter to her Parents on their Golden 50^th Wedding Anniversary that falls on 22nd January 2017*

 

 Let us start from the very beginning… The only way to start.

 

‘Love’ In The Times Of ‘War’

 

“Why, darling, I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.” 

― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

 

 

 

I have vivid memories of “Love Is A Many-Splendored Thing” playing in the background… Was it Andy Williams or Connie Francis crooning the beautiful number? I don’t remember but I do know that song had a powerful effect on me with its emotion invoking lyrics. Love can do that to you and more… There is no greater feeling than falling in love…being wooed and romanced…and each day blossoming into a love that is true and eternal…the one that stays through thick and thin…through the good and bad…through happy times and sad times. The bond just strengthens over time and is there to stay.

A great love affair bespeaks of an emotional bonding…a physical attraction…a mental connection…ample space to be each other without imposing…unspoken words that mean much more than words…stolen glances…an inner radiance and so much more. The heart that goes ‘Boom Boom’ – a speedy pulse rate and an adrenalin rush and therefore the pulse will beat and the heart will pound and love will make the world go round! Love transcends all emotions of course.  Isn’t that natural?

 

On the flip side, there are those that ‘fall’ in and out of love at the drop of a hat… proclaiming love for a person with ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you’ one moment and ‘I hate you and want nothing to do with you’ the very next is really not love. The very essence of the word is lost in all this. In my many definitions of love; words like being unselfish, loyal, benevolent, respect, concern hold a meaningful place. And love should be shown…not just said inanely. It is to be felt…to be sensed.

So even in this fast-paced world of ours, where at times it seems as if love has gone flying out of the window…there are also times where you keep the faith and your trust in that one word stays focussed and flourishes into a virtue that exhibits human compassion, kindness, affection and magnanimity. Stories that make you believe in that one word and even if at times, things look bleak, the belief keeps you going and the light at the end of the long, dark tunnel shines through. A story of a brave soldier’s love has instilled in me that conviction.

 I narrate briefly the love story of this brave Indian soldier who was severely wounded during the war with Pakistan in 1965, when he was a captain with just four years’ service. At that time, he was serving in the much troubled Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir with his battalion. On account of the severity of his wounds, his right leg had to be amputated at the Military Hospital, Delhi. Thereafter, he was transferred to Military Hospital, Pune for another operation and for getting an artificial leg fitted after the wounds had completely healed. The Artificial Limb Centre at Pune is adjacent to the Military Hospital and his stay here was for about nine months.

As per the custom in the armed forces, the better halves do often volunteer to assist in looking after patients in Military hospitals. In the Pune hospital, a very senior and highly respected lady belonging to the officer’s regiment, who herself was the widow of a renowned Army General, also used to regularly visit the hospital and especially see this young soldier, as he belonged to the same regiment. Often, she used to be accompanied by her 20-year-old daughter, then studying in college. Although the officer and the young lady had met earlier, before he had lost his leg, it was only during the hospital visits that love blossomed between the two. As the Captain’s amputated leg healed, he started moving on crutches and thus became mobile. This enabled him to visit the young lady’s house often and meet her at the Army clubs and the RSI on Saturday evenings and watch movies at West End. They were often escorted by another wounded officer who had lost his left leg. History goes that only one pair of Bata slippers were required to be bought between the two war heroes!

Their fairy tale “Romance on Crutches” was soon the talk of the town. Their whirlwind courtships days are spoken of even today. From sharing the ‘Honeymoon Special’ ice-cream at ‘Kwalitys’…to wining and dining at 3 Coins and secret rendezvous at ‘Latifs’ to scrumptious Chinese food at Kamlin, their love bloomed. Salim, a crippled beggar, who sat outside ‘Kwalitys’ and had only the upper part of his body that rested on a flat board with wheels would notice the love-birds and smile at them and give them  his blessings…he would be tipped generously and much later wept with joy when he learnt the couple had got married. 

After the young officer was fitted with an artificial leg, his mobility became near normal. He also had no inhibitions about moving around on crutches or with an artificial leg in public; unfortunately, many such physically challenged persons do have such inhibitions. It was perhaps this grit, determination, humour and ‘cool’, coupled with his dash and drive and zest for life, which the young lady admired and fell for. He was not bad-looking either, even though he immodestly says it himself.

 

The young Captain had found for himself a lovely person indeed – she was vivacious, an extrovert, fond of the outdoors, extremely sincere and honest and a balanced person in both head and heart. Although the soldier sometimes wondered whether it would be right to woo a beautiful girl even though her sweetheart had lost one leg in the war, however, the young lady never displayed any negative feelings on account of this. In any case, the young man used to tell everyone and still does that “disability is never in a limb or an organ, but in the mind”. In his own mind, he never wavered from this philosophy, but instead took it as a challenge.

The young lady being a Maharashtrian and the Captain a Punjabi was never a hurdle. The Captain’s parents were highly progressive in their outlook. Hence, there was no hesitancy or opposition from his family. The young lady also came from a modern family with liberated views. Her father was the scion of a well-known and reputed Maratha family from the erstwhile State of Kolhapur. Her mother was a Muslim lady, also from Kolhapur, belonging to the famous Polomaster family. Theirs too was a love marriage that started with love-notes being left for each other, hidden in the cycle bells. They had eloped and got married when she was studying medicine at Lady Harding College, New Delhi. News of them running away and secretly getting married had made headlines in the newspapers. This took place in the 1930’s, so you can well imagine how bold the young lady’s parents were and how modern for their times.

Now, standing tall as happy grandparents of three teenaged grandchildren from two daughters, theirs is a testimony of the success of a marriage built on a foundation of undiluted love, mutual respect and devotion towards each other. Such love is hard to find.

This paean is for Daulat and Capt. Vijay (who later rose to be a Lt. General from the Maratha regiment in the Indian Army). They now look forward to celebrating 50 years of togetherness. I wonder if there has ever been even a single day in my life when I have felt less proud or more blessed with parents who have been in love each day of their lives…    

 “Every man’s life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.” – Ernest Hemingway

 

 

 

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~ What makes us different… !!

We Are… ‘Love Jihadis’

Yes, I come from a family that has a long line of love marriages that are both a mix of Interfaith and Inter-caste marriages. Thus, I have been told, that we ‘fall’ into the so-called category of the ‘Love Jihadis’ or whatever this nonsensical word is that is being floated around these days. I am deeply troubled by this word…by the hysteria it has generated…by the way we Indians have reacted to this. Where have we gone wrong and why have we all forgotten that we are Indians first and that we come from a rich history that boasts of a diverse culture. Have we no tolerance for religious diversity? The Hindutva storm being created… Fatwas being issued… Religious sentiments being stirred… Callous statements being made… Endless ranting by imbeciles. And this has led to nothing but negative propaganda, a dreadful mess and a remorseful state of affairs. Communal tensions flare up at the drop of a hat. Most being instigated by those that bask in stirring up religious hatred.

I would like to ask the ‘small-minded’ and ‘uneducated’ zealots and hardliners one question though? When you fall in love, do you first check to see what religion or ethnicity the person belongs to or do you fall in love with the person for what he/she is?

I am very proud of my family history and background and always boast about it. In fact, I make no bones about it. I come from a very illustrious family line of supposedly ‘Love Jihadis’ as being propagated these days. My Grandfather, the Late Major General Dinkar Rao Appasaheb Surve, a staunch Maratha married my Grandmother, Najmunissa Shaikh. She came from a very orthodox Muslim family. You can imagine the waves this created during those times and a century that wasn’t so broad-minded and therefore it even made headlines in the newspapers. But it was accepted and a decision that was respected and the couple were looked up to and always quoted as an example to others. Later, my Uncle Deelip married Fawzia. My mother, Daulat, married my Dad, a Hindu. The next generation were all ‘Love Jihadis’ as well. Aaah, such a ‘Love Jihadi’ family. Right!!

My cousin, Imraan married Minal, a Sindhi. Later, another Muslim cousin married a Maharashtrian. Yes, yes… We are ‘like this only’. My sister, Manisha is married to Dalbir, who is a Sikh. My cousin Rahul, is married to Mrinal, a Maharashtrian. My cousin sister, Gayatri, is married to Anil, a Kashmiri. A ‘Gorkha’ seems just about perfect for me I reckon! So here you have it.

I am a ‘cocktail’ and I am serious when I say this… I am actually quite uncomfortable when I am quizzed about… What religion I am? What state do I belong to? I mean, I am an Indian first and foremost. I have lived all over India, travelling from one place to another and I respect all religions. I am happy and content sitting in a Church, visiting a Gurudwara, offering prayers in a Temple and seeking blessings at the Ajmer Sharif Dargah. I am at peace in all of them. We forget that each one of us has the right to follow and choose what we want and that no one can force us to do or follow anything that we don’t want to. It is that simple.

I have a Muslim friend with a Christian wife… As I do a Hindu friend with a Muslim husband. What is the big deal, really? Have we become so intolerant to other’s beliefs or have we just turned into a condescending and frightfully judgemental generation?

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~ A Mother – Daughter Bond is always special and to be cherished.

A Mother’s Day Tribute

Mother’s Day usually falls during the spring season and is essentially a celebration honouring Mothers and Motherhood. In India, it is celebrated every year on the second Sunday of May. Over the years such distinctive days honouring our special and loved ones have become very popular and in fashion. I feel it is a nice way of thanking a “MoM” for all her unconditional love, support and care. Of course, in our tradition, a Mother is given a lot of honour and reverence. For me personally, it’s a day to spoil my Mother and pamper her with extra attention, gifts, flowers etc. Why not?! This is a dedication to My Mom – My best friend… All rolled into one. 

“Hello,” and before I can even say the next word, a voice on the other end of the telephone continues talking and says, “Hi Daulat, how are you?” Ummm, I smile and reply back, “This is not Daulat. This is Rashmi, her daughter.” Our voices are almost identical on the telephone and whenever I am home with my parents, most people mix up our voices. It’s even funnier when it’s the other way round. I’ve had friends calling and talking nineteen to a dozen with Mom thinking it’s me on the other end till they realize who they are talking to and then there’s a moment’s silence, quite often shocked and stunned followed by gulps and splutters and what not. My Mom has the giggles of course. Me, I always pray that they haven’t used their usual colourful language as they do when they talk to me!

 

And then it’s not just the voices… our habits too. We are finicky about the same things… Totally obsessed about cleanliness. Everything must be neat…orderly and most often than not you would find us with dusters in our hands, dusting everything in sight including ‘humans’ that get in the way or resemble statues and don’t show any signs of movement and maybe even imaginary dust at times. Cupboards have to be neat…clothes neatly folded and piled in neat rows. Throwing things into a cupboard is definitely a criminal offence in our world. My “Chotti Nani” once remarked when she stayed with me that all the bottles and jars in the store room looked like they were standing at attention, as though facing their drill sergeant for their next orders!

 

Oh, and we have a ‘thing’ for washing… We wash and we clean anything and everything that gets in our way. Dirty dishes/dirty clothes… What’s that!! Everything must be shiny and sparkly and smelling good. During my short holiday in Europe, I always did the dishes of my hosts and they would gleefully ask if I would like to stay on longer with them! And I can openly boast that you can’t find better ‘launderers’ than Mom and me. My sister qualifies in this as well. Yes, it’s a ‘family thing’. If there’s laundry to be done…be it piles and piles…believe you me, it will be done. Even if the washing machine groans and creaks and protests in vain. Having children in the hostel and dealing with their trunk loads of washing has made us somewhat into experts.

 

My son recalls one incident, during my cousin Nitin’s wedding, where we all trooped home very late or rather early in the morning in a ‘happy’ state and while everyone wanted to crash into their beds, Mom and I were busy collecting laundry for the first load. “Mayank strip… Give me all your clothes,” has attained much fame. OCD you may say… Naah, we are just compulsively obsessive!

 

The nicest compliment that I got recently in Kolhapur was from my Uncle whom I met after years. Every time he glanced at me he said he felt as if Daulat was sitting in the room. A young college going Daulat from their Pune days. That made my heart sing. Aaah yes, we have the same ‘noses’ too! And our handwritings match. And I have inherited her gift of remembering important dates like birthdays/anniversaries etc. So, it’s all the ‘good genes’ I know but it’s also true to say… I really am turning into my Mom now but still a long way to go before I can match up to her. I can proudly say, “I am my mother’s daughter!”

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~ The ties that bind the family together.

Nocturnal Deliberations

My time spent with my grandparents on their farm was precious and each moment treasured. Time really doesn’t erase such memories; on the contrary they become more pronounced and incidents and events more distinct. Recalling them takes you back in time with each moment so vivid and clear that one could easily be in a time capsule, transported back to another era.

As soon as the schools would shut down for the summer vacations, every one of us would head to the grandparents and the farm-house would fill up with all the aunts, uncles and cousins descending in lots and the chaotic hustle and bustle was welcomed by all. Yes, I confess, we cousins created quite a hullabaloo. But it was expected as we ‘city people’ ruled by urbanisation were returning to the wild…the rural environment that welcomed us came with a freedom that was exhilarating. This one month or even more saw us behaving quite like village bumpkins and proudly so.

From tractor rides to sitting on the buffalo-carts to swimming in the water-tank of the tube-well to stealing the ‘Mali’s cycle’ and disappearing into the neighbouring farms…we did it all. We only ate fruit freshly plucked from the trees, vegetables grown on the farm, drank milk from the dairy and eggs and chicken directly from the poultry. Life couldn’t be better and the doting Grandparents indulged us with all our whims.

Most nights we slept under the stars, lying on cots or ‘charpais’ with the rope usually biting through the sheets and the mosquitoes humming around us but we were oblivious to all this as all our concentration was on the stories being narrated by our Grandmother. She had a way with words and even though we heard the same stories and poems through the years, we never got tired of listening to them. The sweet, powerful perfume from the night-blooming jasmine or ‘raat ki rani’ would dull our senses. We would all be up at the crack of dawn, tailing our Grandfather on his early-morning rounds of the farm while he taught us invaluable lessons concerning nature. Being the oldest Grandchild I usually had the rest of the brood tailing behind me…the youngest always clutching my hand.

The nights we slept inside, I was the chosen one who got to sleep in my Grandparent’s room. The bed on the far corner was all mine…and I loved it. Woe betide if anyone else tried to stake a claim! My Grandparents would have these long discussions late into the night, sometimes in the wee hours of the morning and the more pressing problems even in the middle of the night. I knew all this as I had always been a light-sleeper and I would lie in bed with a smile on my face for being a part of their privy chats. They discussed all their children, grand-children, issues of the farm and other such matters. I learnt then how important it was to have a mature head of the family that maintained the right balance and kept the family together through thick and thin. They cared…they loved…they protected. I also learnt that I was the favourite grandchild and my grandfather adored my free-spirit and mischievous nature and all complaints against me were dismissed with a wave of his hand!

After my grandparents passed away, I saw the mantle being passed on… Being the eldest in the family, my parents took on their roles and responsibilities with aplomb. It is not about a successor but more about guiding hands for the next generation.

~ There was a celebratory lunch held in the last week of December 2016 that had combined a number of events with Time Lines in close proximity as well as close family and friends being available during that time. The very fact that family and friends travelled from all over to make it showed the amount of love present. It was also a declaration of how blessed my parents are with enduring friendships and family bonds.

There is a saying that goes, “To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.”

The surprise was a book that was released by my father:

“No Commas; No Pauses; No Full Stops” which is a personal mini account of his life.

A copy of the book was gifted to everyone present. 

 

Poignant Moment: My Nani, Mrs. Vimla Devi Surve hugging my mother Daulat Oberoi nee Surve.

 

The Classic Pose: My Grandparents – Dada and Dadi with the Newly Weds. Mr. Ram Prakash Oberoi, Mrs. Sushila Devi Oberoi, Capt. Vijay Oberoi and Daulat Oberoi nee Surve.

 

Love Conquers All: My Parents on their wedding day – 22nd January 1967! 

 

A Recent Picture: Photo bombed by our highly energetic Labrador, Pasha!

 

The Cake depicting the Triple Celebrations: Daulat’s 71st, Daulat and Vijay’s 50th and Vijay’s 75^th.

 

A short speech by Dad while his three Grandchildren stand around the Cake in the background.

 

 

 

Breaking tradition: The Cake was cut by their 3 Grandchildren – Shefali Oberoi, Mayank Oberoi and Girisha Arora.

 

 

A Family Photograph that reflects the joyous occasion!

 

 

Copies of the Book on display

 

 

There is no friend as loyal as a Book!

 

~ About the book: No Commas; No Pauses; No Full Stops

This is a personal mini account by my father Lt. Gen. Vijay Oberoi, PVSM, AVSM, VSM

The book is dedicated to: All ranks of The Maratha Light Infantry,

Especially the Brave, Simple and Valiant Maratha Jawans.

The book starts with my Father’s story – the watershed event of his life where he was wounded during the ’65 war which led to his right leg being amputated. He tells the readers how that changed his perspective and way of thinking as a young Captain in the Indian Army. He speaks of his early childhood days and turbulent times in Pakistan. He recalls his school days and his decision to join the army thereafter. There is a brief history on his family – both his paternal and maternal side that are his roots.

My mother, Daulat Oberoi, then regales the readers with her side of the story. She speaks of her ties with Kolhapur where she was born into one of the most prominent families of the princely state and being a proud daughter of a well-known General. She speaks about her parents who were from different faiths. She also gives you in detail exactly what a military wife is made of, what she is expected to do and how she copes up along the journey. Her work for the community and under-privileged deserves special mention.  There is a brief on the immediate family and grandchildren.

My father writes about his military career, on how he overcame hurdles, his valiant decisions, his regimental experiences, his commands, the history of the Marathas, his challenging tenures and finally his retirement.

The book ends with my Musings and how life has taught me many a lesson.

The book gives you an insight into the military ethos, tradition, and pride and most importantly family values and ties. It speaks of hard work, perseverance, dedication and nerves of steel.

 

~ Because of the constant encouragement and support from both my parents, I stand here today as the woman they have helped me become. I am so very proud to be their daughter. ~