He hated waiting for the bus at the stop below his office. At this time of the evening, several lakh salaried employees like him left the office. All were always in a hurry to get back home after a hard day’s work.
One’s position in life could be anything he had mused; but, in the evenings, what mattered was your position in the queue for the bus. In case one managed to stand with the first few in the queue for the bus, one could not only be assured of catching the bus but may also get a seat.
At one time, from Mantralaya to Bandra, he used to catch the local train but he had to walk great distances on either end from the local stations. Also, trains at this time of the evenings would be crowded. The only people who’d get seats at Churchgate would be the ones who’d travel backwards from Grant Road and Charni Road to Churchgate and then wait for the train to restart for Borivali.
It had taken him years to become a Head Clerk in his office in the Education Department; and now, instead of being a mere Godbole, he had become Godbole saab. He liked the ring of the title saab. It gave him an authoritative stature in the office. Minister madam trusted him so much that she had given instructions that all outgoing mail put up to her for signatures should be whetted by Godbole saab and should bear his initials just below the signature block.
He had met Anjali twenty years back and they were married for thirteen years now. She had given him everything that he could have asked for except for one thing that she had not been able to bear his child.
He had taken her for checks by gynaecologist several times. The gynaec had not been able to find anything wrong except to tell them that their anxiety was probably the cause. It may or may not have been; but, as time went by, it actually became the cause. The more time passed, the more was their anxiety at not having to have a child.
In their holidays, they had been to several holy places to pray for Anjali to become a mother and for him, Vikas Godbole to become a proud father. They had also been to Sri Sai Baba at Shirdi. But, they hadn’t been fortunate.
Just at the time they had almost given up, they found that their loneliness and anxiety had actually reunited them in more matured love. They longed to be with each other. She was at home during the daytime. She tailored clothes for the children and actually earned more with this hobby of hers than he did as a head-clerk. However, from the time he returned from office late in the evenings until next day after breakfast, they were virtually inseparable. They played Scrabble, went for walks on the sea-shore after dinner, and they watched television together. Once in a week they went to see either Marathi or Hindi movies.
Finally, God decided to be kind to them and she was expecting. Indeed, it was due anytime now. And that accounted for his rush home in the evenings as if his life depended upon it. Nowadays, thanks to Anjali’s condition, he was always the first or at least amongst the first few in the queue.
Standing in the queue everyday, he used to see an urchin approaching the queue for alms. He was a boy of about eight, unkempt, his nose dripping mucous, dressed in his tattered shorts and invariably in the same yellow shirt that obviously had seen better days. His feet were bare. He went from one person to the other, touching them on their trousers or sarees and suits, lifting his hand from their clothes, bringing it repeatedly to his forehead and saying, “Saab/memsaab gareeb ko kuchh de do. Subah se kuchh nahin khaya. Aap ka bhala hoga“. (Sir/Madam, please five something to this poor boy. Haven’t eaten anything since the morning. God will bless you.)
Most people turned their faces away from the boy and ignored him or just shooed him away. Some even began animated conversations about how beggary was the curse of India and how one had to be careful about such ruffians: “Before you can say Jai Ganesh, such guys would flick your bags and run away. You can’t trust these thugs.”
Vikas too had busied himself looking here and there in the first few days. However, once when the boy had tugged at his trousers hard, he looked down and looked straight into those pleading eyes; these were intense and bore into him. He could never look away after that. He was hooked. He would take out some coins and give the boy and now they had become friends; a degree of intimacy had set in as if they knew each other from ages.
He liked looking into those deep eyes searching his face for recognition. The looks changed from pity to joy when the boy sighted him. A smile would form on the corners of those young supple lips as if thanking him for what he was going to receive: a coin, a currency note, a toffee, a biscuit; invariably, Vikas Godbole got into the habit of carrying something for the boy.
Those eyes, those deep and eager eyes haunted Vikas. He was trying his best to read them, to figure out what story they carried for him. But, every time, he thought he came close to it, the bus arrived and he rushed home to be with the love of his life Anjali.
One day, immediately after his pay-day, he bought the boy a new shirt and a pocket comb. And today, the boy had changed his looks somewhat: hair were combed and he almost looked clean. As he approached Vikas in the queue, his heartbeat quickened. If it hadn’t been for the others in the queue who continued to sneer not just at the boy but also at the reckless habit of Vikas Godbole to show affection towards a street urchin, he would have wanted to hug him and pick him up in his arms. Vikas knew instinctively that he would be buying the young boy many more clothes and things in the future.
He reached out in his pocket, took out a few coins, and handed over to the boy. One of them slipped from his hand and rolled over to the road. Impulsively, the boy ran after it. He couldn’t have let go of a coin on a day when he needed it most to buy an ice-stick to add to the joy of wearing his new shirt for the first time in his life.
A speeding car had just overtaken a scooter and busy as it was in overtaking, it failed to react to the young urchin running after the coin. There was a screeching noise of the brakes, a fearful howl, the sound of metal meeting flesh, a scream, several shouts, blood and a body lying under the car, that of the urchin, honks, more shouts…….and then the sound of a siren.
Vikas broke from the queue and ran towards the car. Everything happened in a flash even after that. The car reversed a little, a cop appeared on the scene, an ambulance appeared, took the boy away and a police van took the car driver away. The police man parked the car involved in the accident on the side to make way for the traffic.
Vikas tried to get into the ambulance with the boy but he was pushed out. Later, when he had missed his bus and just sat on the kerb, he was trying to come to grips with what had happened. It was certainly his charity that had killed the child. He would never forgive himself for it. Should he have gone with the ambulance or with the police van? But, that would have required telling them what the child meant to him. In what way was he related to the child? Did he really mean that much? Was it simply because of those deep and keen eyes?
Vikas had no idea of how long he sat at the kerb and how much he cried. One hour, two hours, or even more; he had lost count of time.
Finally, it was dark and he resignedly caught a bus home. All throughout the journey he kept thinking of what could he have done before and after the accident. Could it have worked out any other way?
He reached home and found the door locked. It was unlike Anjali to have left home in this condition and that too without informing him. He reached into his pocket for his phone and then saw that there were as many as seven missed calls from her in a span of three hours. He got panicky and knocked at the door of his neighbour to enquire from them where Anjali was since she often informed them before leaving home. They informed him that she had gone into labour and had to be rushed to the maternity hospital.
He went running there. He was in a trance. He prayed to all the gods known to him whilst running.
The nurse told him that it was a difficult delivery but the good news was that his wife had given birth to a healthy male child. Could he see them? He was told that it was late and Anjali had been totally exhausted. He could go home he could come in the morning to see them.
He didn’t go home at all. He sat on the bench in the corridor and reminisced about his life with Anjali. He couldn’t believe it; he was a father after all those years of hopelessness. He prayed for her, prayed for his new-born son. But, every now and then his thoughts returned to the urchin in his new shirt, combed hair, his reaching into the pocket, taking out the coins, one of the coins rolling on to the road and the boy rushing after it for the last time in his life.
He hardly slept except for a few times when he dozed off due to sheer fatigue.
In the morning, he was taken to her bed. Both she and the child were awake. He hugged her and cried and then with tearful eyes he looked at his son.
Those deep and keen eyes looked back at him…..as if…..as if…..they hadn’t ever stopped looking at him.
There is, of course, no such rank. However, just like all morals, ethics and virtues are acceptable societal attributes if the majority thinks so, in the armed forces too, the majority service in manpower, Army that is, decides on what is an acceptable rank of the other service (in this case Navy) when they too have a rank spelled and pronounced exactly the same way (the Navy Captain is equivalent to a full Colonel in the Army).
The situation is compounded further when you realise that in the Navy, Captain is a rank as well as an appointment. A CO of a ship or a submarine is referred to as Captain irrespective of his rank. If you are a Sub-Lieutenant to a Commodore, you are in command as a Captain.
But, Captain (I.N.) has some unwanted connotations. I was undergoing the Higher Command Course with the Army at (that time) the College of Combat (no pretences at this being the Army College of Combat; but being the ‘majority‘ service, it had ascribed to itself the prefix ‘the’ and touted its training institution as the College of Combat. It was here that my rank was changed/modified to Captain ‘Within brackets IN’.
In my dreams (Whenever I am in difficult and unfamiliar situations I dream and transport myself to elsewhere. This hobby of mine continued from my school days when during Algebra classes, I transported myself to Switzerland and such other exotic locales) I reached the Pearly Gates. One glance at Saint Peter and his Assistant convinced me that, as in everything in India, the Army had been asked to control ‘the situation’; namely, to check and monitor the heavy influx into the Kingdom of Heaven (KOH). Saint Peter’s Assistant (SPA) was an army man, mustachioed, booted and looking important. After the usual questions regarding name, date of birth, father’s name etc, he asked me: “Rank?”
“Captain” I said.
“Captain In” said SPA.
“Thank you” I said and started walking in.
“Thum” SPA growled, “I asked you if you are a Captain I.N. or a normal Captain.
I cringed at the distinction. Before arriving at the Army’s premier training institution, I had considered myself perfectly normal.
“I too am a perfectly normal Captain” I replied with great dignity.
He re-checked my age and decided otherwise.
“Ah”, it suddenly dawned on him, “You must be a Group Captain”.
“But Sir”, I remonstrated, “I am totally by myself”.
“Stop being funny” he said, “One of the reasons why you are here is because you always tend to be funny whether in class, mess or even during tours and wargames.”
I made a quick mental note not to ask any “funny” questions, even if given another chance to undergo the Army Higher Command Course (AHCC), in my next life.
At this Saint Peter himself intervened, “Let’s hear why you consider yourself qualified to enter the KOH.”
(Pic courtesy: tehelka.com)
“Well Sir”, I began hopefully, “I was a Col GS/Adm of an important Division in the wargame Zorawar.”
“We know”, said SP and SPA together, “No action whatsoever took place in your Div Sector”.
“By the way”, said SPA with a view to deflate my new acquired Army-styled-ego, “Even if you had done anything better than trying to ‘figure-out’, you would still not be qualified. You know even the Corps and Div Commanders of that exercise haven’t qualified. Only Blue Air Force officers can be permitted into the KOH, on the strength of their ‘pro-active stance’ and ‘pre-emptive strikes’, even though these were outside the wargame rooms.”
“But Sir”, I insisted, “Surely you won’t have failed to notice that I was in the Control (Room) in the last wargame Yudh Abhyas. Won’t that be a ‘positive’ achievement?”
“No, not enough” said SPA with finality.
What a cruel world, I thought. When one is not in ‘Control’, it appears as if those who are there have directly descended from Heaven; but, now that I was there, SPA found it “not enough”.
I decided to speak-up against the prejudices, but in the interest of Jointmanship (incidentally, the Army wants the word itself to be changed to Jointmantank and the Air Force to Jointmanplane), I decided against it. Clutching at the last straw, I blurted excitedly, “I facilitated several AHCC course-mates and even DSs to purchase ship’s canteen items during our visit to Mumbai.”
There was an immediate response as if I had touched a raw nerve. SP turned to SPA and barked, “Tell the cheeky Navy fellow to go to HELL.”
“Join The Navy See The World” “Join The Navy Meet The Girls”
The above two slogans were very prevalent (in the US Navy at least and by imitation in our Navy too) during our impressionable days and helped some of us to quickly make up our minds as to which service to join.
(Pic courtesy: www.funnyjunk.com)
And then, we got on to sailing, bunks, holy-stoning the decks and looking at miles and miles of water around the ships we sailed in. The ‘world’ that we had to see was Bridge, Wheel House, Ops Room, Engine Room and Paint Store.
Once, in a while, some of us who were (un) lucky, were sent up on the Crow’s Nest (a place on the foremast. In the days of yore, a sailor used to be put up there to sight the land). From the Crow’s Nest we could see more. That is more of ‘miles and miles of waters around us’.
So, who were the people for whom these slogans were applicable? I was of the rank of Commander serving in Naval Headquarters and I discovered that there was hardly an Electrical Officer, serving ashore, who had not been sent abroad on some course or the other. Curiously, many of these officers, after completing their courses, never again served on the equipment on which they underwent foreign training.
There was one exception to this. He was Cdr L (Commander of the Electrical Department on a ship) of just commissioned Godavari and retired as the COM (Chief of Material). When the commissioning crew was excitedly talking about the forthcoming dream foreign cruise, he, correctly and resignedly, predicted that as long as he was Cdr L of the ship, the ship won’t go abroad. He said in his 20 years naval career, he had never been abroad.
He was a rare Electrical Officer.
Until I left the Navy in 2010, I was in awe of these officers who had ‘seen the world’, so as to say, in their fair reward of having joined the Navy.
One of them was introduced to me in NHQ with: “He is presently on temporary duty to our country India in his permanent appointment abroad for the last two decades”.
After retirement, and thanks to HIAOOU (My Facebook group called ‘Humour In And Out of Uniform’, I discovered that there is another branch worth joining to give credence to ‘Join The Navy See The World’. It is the Naval Constructor’s branch. These guys go abroad to enable them to come up with indigenous designs.
Slogans are always true. They may not be applicable to the poor executive officers (the business end of the Navy) in the two pictures below:
These historical poems and poets contributed not just towards India’s independence but also filled us with sense of pride and awe at the task ahead to make India the best nation on earth.
I provide you these poems in their original language, in Hindi, their transliteration and finally their meaning in English.
#1 Poem: I start with our National Song or Geet: Saare Jahan Se Achha…
Let me begin with what is known as Taranah-e-Hind or Anthem of the People of Hindustan. Forty three years before independence, it was written by the poet Muhammad Iqbal and published in the Ittehad, a weekly journal.
The next year, it was read by him in Government College Lahore (then in India) and it soon became the manifestation of our opposition to the British rule. He was, of course, a lecturer in the same college.
There is no Indian, whose chest doesn’t swell with pride at the recitation of this poem/song.
In parades all over the country, men and women march to the tune of this song.
I am giving you the poem in all three languages: Urdu, Hindi and English and its meaning in English:
Urdu
سارے جہاں سے اچھا ہندوستاں ہمارا
ہم بلبلیں ہیں اس کی، یہ گلستاں ہمارا
غربت میں ہوں اگر ہم، رہتا ہے دل وطن میں
سمجھو وہیں ہمیں بھی دل ہو جہاں ہمارا
پربت وہ سب سے اونچا، ہمسایہ آسماں کا
وہ سنتری ہمارا، وہ پاسباں ہمارا
گودی میں کھیلتی ہیں اس کی ہزاروں ندیاں
گلشن ہے جن کے دم سے رشکِ جناں ہمارا
اے آبِ رودِ گنگا! وہ دن ہیں یاد تجھ کو؟
اترا ترے کنارے جب کارواں ہمارا
مذہب نہیں سکھاتا آپس میں بیر رکھنا
ہندی ہیں ہم، وطن ہے ہندوستاں ہمارا
یونان و مصر و روما سب مٹ گئے جہاں سے
اب تک مگر ہے باقی نام و نشاں ہمارا
کچھ بات ہے کہ ہستی مٹتی نہیں ہماری
صدیوں رہا ہے دشمن دورِ زماں ہمارا
اقبال! کوئی محرم اپنا نہيں جہاں میں
معلوم کیا کسی کو دردِ نہاں ہمارا!
Hindi
सारे जहाँ से अच्छा हिन्दोसिताँ हमारा
हम बुलबुलें हैं इसकी यह गुलसिताँ हमारा
ग़ुर्बत में हों अगर हम, रहता है दिल वतन में
समझो वहीं हमें भी दिल हो जहाँ हमारा
परबत वह सबसे ऊँचा, हम्साया आसमाँ का
वह संतरी हमारा, वह पासबाँ हमारा
गोदी में खेलती हैं इसकी हज़ारों नदियाँ
गुल्शन है जिनके दम से रश्क-ए-जनाँ हमारा
ऐ आब-ए-रूद-ए-गंगा! वह दिन हैं याद तुझको?
उतरा तिरे किनारे जब कारवाँ हमारा
मज़्हब नहीं सिखाता आपस में बैर रखना
हिन्दी हैं हम, वतन है हिन्दोसिताँ हमारा
यूनान-व-मिस्र-व-रूमा सब मिट गए जहाँ से
अब तक मगर है बाक़ी नाम-व-निशाँ हमारा
कुछ बात है कि हस्ती मिटती नहीं हमारी
सदियों रहा है दुश्मन दौर-ए-ज़माँ हमारा
इक़्बाल! कोई महरम अपना नहीं जहाँ में
मालूम क्या किसी को दर्द-ए-निहाँ हमारा!
English
Sāre jahāṉ se acchā, Hindositāṉ hamārā
Ham bulbuleṉ haiṉ is kī, yih gulsitāṉ hamārā
G̱ẖurbat meṉ hoṉ agar ham, rahtā hai dil wat̤an meṉ
Samjho wuhīṉ hameṉ bhī dil ho jahāṉ hamārā
Parbat wuh sab se ūṉcā, hamsāyah āsmāṉ kā
Wuh santarī hamārā, wuh pāsbāṉ hamārā
Godī meṉ kheltī haiṉ is kī hazāroṉ nadiyāṉ
Guls̱ẖan hai jin ke dam se ras̱ẖk-i janāṉ hamārā
Ai āb-i rūd-i Gangā! wuh din haiṉ yād tujh ko?
Utrā tire kināre jab kārwāṉ hamārā
Maẕhab nahīṉ sikhātā āpas meṉ bair rakhnā
Hindī haiṉ ham, wat̤an hai Hindositāṉ hamārā
Yūnān o-Miṣr o-Rūmā, sab miṭ ga’e jahāṉ se
Ab tak magar hai bāqī, nām o-nis̱ẖaṉ hamārā
Kuch bāt hai kih hastī, miṭtī nahīṉ hamārī
Ṣadiyoṉ rahā hai dus̱ẖman daur-i zamāṉ hamārā
Better than the entire world, is our Hindustan,
We are its nightingales, and it (is) our garden abode
If we are in an alien place, the heart remains in the homeland,
Know us to be only there where our heart is.
That tallest mountain, that shade-sharer of the sky,
It (is) our sentry, it (is) our watchman
In its lap frolic where thousands of ponds,
Whose vitality makes our garden the envy of Paradise.
O the flowing waters of the Ganges, do you remember that day
When our caravan first disembarked on your waterfront?
Religion does not teach us to bear ill-will among ourselves
We are of Hind, our homeland is Hindustan.
In a world in which ancient Greece, Egypt, and Rome have all vanished without trace
Our own attributes (name and sign) live on today.
Such is our existence that it cannot be erased
Even though, for centuries, the cycle of time has been our enemy.
Iqbal! We have no confidante in this world
What does any one know of our hidden pain?
(Pic courtesy: www.friendskorner.com)
#2 Poem: Sarfroshi ki tamanna…..
An Urdu poem written by an Arya Samaji? Well, that was the strength of my Bharat or India before politicians on both sides of the border divided us along religious and casteist lines for their …vested interests.
Ram Prasad Bismil was born on 11th June 1897 in Shajahanpur. He was merely 30 when he was hanged to death by the British at Gorakhpur Jail. His crime? Well, he, along with a few others such as Ashfaqulla Khan, Roshan Singh and Rajendra Nath Lahiri sought to break the shackles of slavery for India and let its people live in Freedom.
He was one of the founding members of Hindustan Republican Association. The association and his writings later became the inspiration for Shaheed Bhagat Singh.
Bismil wrote about many poems and Ghazals (both in Hindi and Urdu) inspiring people to revolt against the British. This Urdu Ghazal (his most famous) is written in Beher-E-Ramal/Mazahif Musamman. This type of Beher in Urdu poetry was the favourite meter of Ram Prasad Bismil. He had written almost 35 ghazals in this meter.
As with Saare Jahan Se Achha, I give you the poem in Urdu, Hindi and English and then give its English translation. Let me see if your blood boils to read the poem, as it did for Bhahat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev.
Urdu
سرفروشی کی تمنا اب ہمارے دل میں ہے
سرفروشی کی تمنا اب ہمارے دل میں ہے
دیکھنا ہے زور کتنا بازوئے قاتل میں ہے
کرتا نہیں کیوں دوسرا کچھ بات چیت
دیکھتا ھوں میں جسے وہ چپ تیری محفل میں ہے
اے شہید ملک و ملت میں تیرے اوپر نثار
اب تیری ہمت کا چرچہ غیر کی محفل میں ہے
سرفروشی کی تمنا اب ہمارے دل میں ہے
وقت آنے دے بتا دیں گے تجہے اے آسمان
ہم ابھی سے کیا بتائیں کیا ہمارے دل میں ہے
کھینج کر لائی ہے سب کو قتل ہونے کی امید
عاشقوں کا آج جمگھٹ کوچئہ قاتل میں ہے
سرفروشی کی تمنا اب ہمارے دل میں ہے
ہے لئے ہتھیار دشمن تاک میں بیٹھا ادھر
اور ہم تیار ھیں سینہ لئے اپنا ادھر
خون سے کھیلیں گے ہولی گر وطن مشکل میں ہے
سرفروشی کی تمنا اب ہمارے دل میں ہے
ہاتھ جن میں ہو جنون کٹتے نہیں تلوار سے
سر جو اٹھ جاتے ہیں وہ جھکتے نہیں للکا ر سے
اور بھڑکے گا جو شعلہ سا ہمارے دل میں ہے
سرفروشی کی تمنا اب ہمارے دل میں ہے
ہم جو گھر سے نکلے ہی تھے باندہ کے سر پہ کفن
جان ہتھیلی پر لئے لو، لے چلے ہیں یہ قدم
زندگی تو اپنی مہمان موت کی محفل میں ہے
سرفروشی کی تمنا اب ہمارے دل میں ہے
یوں کھڑا مقتل میں قاتل کہہ رہا ہے بار بار
کیا تمناِ شہادت بھی کِسی کے دِل میں ہے
دل میں طوفانوں کی تولی اور نسوں میں انقلاب
ھوش دشمن کے اڑا دیں گے ھمیں روکو نہ آج
دور رہ پائے جو ہم سے دم کہاں منزل میں ہے
وہ جِسم بھی کیا جِسم ہے جس میں نہ ہو خونِ جنون
طوفانوں سے کیا لڑے جو کشتیِ ساحل میں ہے
سرفروشی کی تمنا اب ہمارے دل میں ہے
دیکھنا ہے زور کتنا بازوئے قاتل میں ہے
Hindi
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
देखना है ज़ोर कितना बाज़ू-ए-क़ातिल में है
(ऐ वतन,) करता नहीं क्यूँ दूसरा कुछ बातचीत,
देखता हूँ मैं जिसे वो चुप तेरी महफ़िल में है
ऐ शहीद-ए-मुल्क-ओ-मिल्लत, मैं तेरे ऊपर निसार,
अब तेरी हिम्मत का चरचः ग़ैर की महफ़िल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
वक़्त आने पर बता देंगे तुझे, ए आसमान,
हम अभी से क्या बताएँ क्या हमारे दिल में है
खेँच कर लाई है सब को क़त्ल होने की उमीद,
आशिक़ोँ का आज जमघट कूचः-ए-क़ातिल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
है लिए हथियार दुशमन ताक में बैठा उधर,
और हम तय्यार हैं सीना लिये अपना इधर.
ख़ून से खेलेंगे होली गर वतन मुश्किल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
हाथ, जिन में हो जुनून, कटते नही तलवार से,
सर जो उठ जाते हैं वो झुकते नहीं ललकार से.
और भड़केगा जो शोलः सा हमारे दिल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
हम तो घर से ही थे निकले बाँधकर सर पर कफ़न,
जाँ हथेली पर लिये लो बढ चले हैं ये कदम.
जिन्दगी तो अपनी मॆहमाँ मौत की महफ़िल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
यूँ खड़ा मक़्तल में क़ातिल कह रहा है बार-बार,
क्या तमन्ना-ए-शहादत भी किसी के दिल में है?
दिल में तूफ़ानों की टोली और नसों में इन्क़िलाब,
होश दुश्मन के उड़ा देंगे हमें रोको न आज.
दूर रह पाए जो हमसे दम कहाँ मंज़िल में है,
जिस्म भी क्या जिस्म है जिसमें न हो ख़ून-ए-जुनून
क्या लढ़े तूफ़ान से जो कश्ती-ए-साहिल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
देखना है ज़ोर कितना बाज़ू-ए-क़ातिल में है
English
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Dekhna hai zor kitna baazu-e-qaatil mein hai
aye watan Karta nahin kyun doosra kuch baat-cheet
Dekhta hun main jise woh chup teri mehfil mein hai
Aye shaheed-e-mulk-o-millat main tere oopar nisaar
Ab teri himmat ka charcha ghair ki mehfil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Waqt aanay dey bata denge tujhe aye aasman
Hum abhi se kya batayen kya hamare dil mein hai
Khainch kar layee hai sab ko qatl hone ki ummeed
Aashiqon ka aaj jumghat koocha-e-qaatil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Hai liye hathiyaar dushman taak mein baitha udhar
Aur hum taiyyaar hain seena liye apna idhar
Khoon se khelenge holi gar vatan muskhil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Haath jin mein ho junoon katt te nahi talvaar se
Sar jo uth jaate hain voh jhukte nahi lalkaar se
Aur bhadkega jo shola-sa humaare dil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Hum to ghar se nikle hi the baandhkar sar pe kafan
Jaan hatheli par liye lo barh chale hain ye qadam
Zindagi to apni mehmaan maut ki mehfil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Yuun khadaa maqtal mein qaatil kah rahaa hai baar baar
Kya tamannaa-e-shahaadat bhi kisee ke dil mein hai
Dil mein tuufaanon ki toli aur nason mein inqilaab
Hosh dushman ke udaa denge humein roko na aaj
Duur reh paaye jo humse dam kahaan manzil mein hai
Wo jism bhi kya jism hai jismein na ho khoon-e-junoon
Toofaanon se kya lade jo kashti-e-saahil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.
Dekhna hai zor kitna baazuay qaatil mein hai.
English Translation
The desire for revolution is in our hearts
Let us see what strength there is in the arms of our executioner
Why do you remain silent thus?
Whoever I see, is gathered quiet so…
O martyr of country, of nation, I submit myself to thee
For yet even the enemy speaks of thy courage
The desire for struggle is in our hearts…
When the time comes, we shall show thee, O heaven
For why should we tell thee now, what lurks in our hearts?
We have been dragged to service, by the hope of blood, of vengeance
Yea, by our love for nation divine, we go to the streets of the enemy
The desire for struggle is in our hearts…
Armed does the enemy sit, ready to open fire
Ready too are we, our bosoms thrust out to him
With blood we shall play Holi, if our nation need us
The desire for struggle is in our hearts…
No sword can sever hands that have the heat of battle within,
No threat can bow heads that have risen so…
Yea, for in our insides has risen a flame,
and the desire for struggle is in our hearts…
Set we out from our homes, our heads shrouded with cloth,
Taking our lives in our hands, do we march so…
In our assembly of death, life is now but a guest
The desire for struggle is in our hearts…
Stands the enemy in the gallows thus, asking,
Does anyone wish to bear testimony?…
With a host of storms in our heart, and with revolution in our breath,
We shall knock the enemy cold, and no one shall stop us…
What is that body that does not have hot blood in it,
How can a person conquer a Typhoon while sitting in a boat near the shore.
The desire for struggle is in our hearts,
We shall now see what strength there is in the boughs of the enemy.
(Pic courtesy: www.snapdeal.com)
#3 Poem: Vande Mataram (I Praise Thee, Mother)
Bankim Chandra Chattopadhayay, the great Bengali litterateur wrote his classic Anandmath in the year 1882. It was one of the most important pieces of literature ever written by …an Indian in Bengali or English. The poem, that was to later become India’s national song was written for the first time in this novel.
The poem, originally a Bengali and Sanskrit stotra, for the first time, personified India as a mother goddess. It became the most important poem in the context of India’s struggle for Independence and was sung in the political context, for the first time, by Rabindra Nath Tagore at the 1896 session of Indian National Congress.
In 1950, the first two stanzas of the song were given the status of India’s National Song, as distinct from India’s National Anthem Jana Gana Mana.
First, let me give you the original song in Bengali:
Mother, I salute thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
bright with orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Dark fields waving Mother of might,
Mother free.
Glory of moonlight dreams,
Over thy branches and lordly streams,
Clad in thy blossoming trees,
Mother, giver of ease
Laughing low and sweet!
Mother I kiss thy feet,
Speaker sweet and low!
Mother, to thee I salute.
Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands
When the swords flash out in seventy million hands
And seventy million voices roar
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
With many strengths who art mighty and stored,
To thee I call Mother and Lord!
Though who savest, arise and save!
To her I cry who ever her foeman drove
Back from plain and Sea
And shook herself free.
Thou art wisdom, thou art law,
Thou art heart, our soul, our breath
Though art love divine, the awe
In our hearts that conquers death.
Thine the strength that nerves the arm,
Thine the beauty, thine the charm.
Every image made divine
In our temples is but thine.
Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen,
With her hands that strike and her
swords of sheen,
Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,
And the Muse a hundred-toned,
Pure and perfect without peer,
Mother lend thine ear,
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleems,
Dark of hue O candid-fair
In thy soul, with bejeweled hair
And thy glorious smile divine,
Loveliest of all earthly lands,
Showering wealth from well-stored hands!
Mother, mother mine!
Mother sweet, I salute thee,
Mother great and free!
(Pic courtesy: www.karsewak.blogspot.com)
#4 Poem: Pushp Ki Abhilasha (A Flower’s Desire)
Pandit Makhanlal Chaturvedi (April 4, 1889 – January 30, 1968), also called Panditji, was an Indian poet, writer, essayist, playwright and a journalist who is particularly reme…mbered for his participation in India’s national struggle for independence and his contribution to Chhayavaad, the Neo-romanticism movement of Hindi literature. He was awarded the first Sahitya Akademi Award in Hindi for his work Him Taringini in 1955.
His poem Pushp Ki Abhilasha is considered one of the finest works in patriotic poetry.
I give you its Hindi version, English transliteration and the meaning in English:
Here is it in Hindi:
चाह नहीं मैं सुरबाला के
गहनों में गूँथा जाऊँ
चाह नहीं, प्रेमी-माला में
बिंध प्यारी को ललचाऊँ
चाह नहीं, सम्राटों के शव
पर हे हरि, डाला जाऊँ
चाह नहीं, देवों के सिर पर
चढ़ूँ भाग्य पर इठलाऊँ
मुझे तोड़ लेना वनमाली
उस पथ पर देना तुम फेंक
मातृभूमि पर शीश चढ़ाने
जिस पर जावें वीर अनेक ।।
Its transliteration in English:
Chah Nahin Mai Surbala Ke
Gehnon Mein Guntha Jaaon.
Chah Nahin Premi Mala Mein
Bindh, Pyari Ko Lalchaon.
Chah Nahin Samraton Ke Shav Par,
He Hari Dala Jaaon.
Chah Nahin Devon Ke Sar Par
Chadhon, Bhagya Par Itraoon.
Mujhey Tod Lena Banmali,
Us Path Par Tum Dena Phaink,
Matra Bhoomi Per Sheesh Chadhaney,
Jis Path Jaayen Veer Anek.
And finally, its translation in English:
It is not my desire to be weaved in the ornaments of a beautiful girl.
It is not my desire to be weaved into a Lover’s garland and tempt a beloved.
It is not my desire, O Hari, to adorn the funeral of a monarch.
It is not my desire to be presented as offering to a goddess and rejoice at my good luck.
O, Gardner, all I desire is
That you will pluck me and throw me on that path
On which our brave soldiers tread to sacrifice their lives for the motherland.
#5 Poem: Lohe Ke Mard (Iron Men or Men of Steel)
During my school days, I liked Hindi poets Maithili Sharan Gupt, Sumitra Nandan Pant, Subhadra Kumari Chauhan and Mahadevi Verma. But, each one of us have our favourites. Mine… was Ramdhari Singh Dinkar. Why? I was a young impressionable boy at that time and I liked Veer Ras. Ramdhari Singh Dinkar’s poems made my blood boil with their naked patriotism and resolve.
Just like Maithili Sharan Gupt, Dinkar was also given the title of National Poet and if you recall, in 2008, his statue was unveiled in the Parliament by the then Prime Minister Shri Manmohan Singh.
The Government of India went one step ahead and named Sahitya Ratna Awards after him: Rashtrakavi Ramdhari Singh Dinkar Sahitya Ratna Awards.
The poem Lohe Ke Mard was written by him on 01 November 1962. The war with China, if you recall, started on 20 Oct 1962.
As always, I give you the poem in Devanagiri script, transliteration in English and finally its translation in English. Share with me in the comments if you too got goose pimples whilst reading the poem.
Enjoy: Lohe Ke Mard by Ramdhari Singh Dinkar
पुरुष वीर बलवान,
देश की शान,
हमारे नौजवान
घायल होकर आये हैं।
कहते हैं, ये पुष्प, दीप,
अक्षत क्यों लाये हो?
हमें कामना नहीं सुयश-विस्तार की,
फूलों के हारों की, जय-जयकार की।
तड़प रही घायल स्वदेश की शान है।
सीमा पर संकट में हिन्दुस्तान है।
ले जाओ आरती, पुष्प, पल्लव हरे,
ले जाओ ये थाल मोदकों ले भरे।
तिलक चढ़ा मत और हृदय में हूक दो,
दे सकते हो तो गोली-बन्दूक दो।
Transliteration in English
Purush veer balwaan
Desh ki shaan
Hamare naujawan
Ghayal ho kar aaye hain.
Kehte hain, ye pushp, deep
Akshat kyon laaye ho?
Hammen kaamna nahin suyash-vistaar ki,
Phulon ke haaro ki, jai-jaikaar ki.
Tadap rahi ghayal, swadesh ki shaan hai,
Seema par sankat mein Hindustan hai.
Le jaayo aarti, pushp, pallav hare,
Le jaayo ye thaal modkon se bhare.
Tilak chada mat aur hriday mein hoonk do,
De sakte ho to goli bandook do.
Translation
Men, brave, strong
Are pride of the nation.
(But) these young soldiers
Have returned (from the border) wounded.
They ask: Flowers, lamps
Why have you brought them unhurt?
We don’t desire fame and glory
Garlands of flowers or praise.
Wounded, the nation’s pride lies in pain,
We have an emergency at the border.
Take away the aarti, flowers and green leaves,
Take away these trays full of modak sweets.
Don’t honour us with tilak, when heart is wounded,
If you want to give us anything, please give bullets and guns!
(Pic courtesy: www.begusaraionline.com)
#6 Poem: Azaadi Ka Geet (Song of Freedom)
Harivanshrai Bachchan (Amitabh Bachchan’s father) was born on 27 Nov 1907 in India that was slave. He died on 18th Jan 2003, having lived in independent India for 55 years. He was a major poet of the Chhayawad literary movement (Romanticism)
This is what he had to say on 15th August 1947:
आज़ादी का गीत
हम ऐसे आज़ाद हमारा झंडा है बादल।
चाँदी सोने हीरे मोती से सजती गुड़ियाँ।
इनसे आतंकित करने की बीत गई घड़ियाँ
इनसे सज धज बैठा करते जो हैं कठपुतले
हमने तोड़ अभी फेंकी हैं बेड़ी हथकड़ियाँ
परंपरा गत पुरखों की हमने जाग्रत की फिर से
उठा शीश पर रक्खा हमने हिम किरीट उज्जवल
हम ऐसे आज़ाद हमारा झंडा है बादल।
चाँदी सोने हीरे मोती से सजवा छाते
जो अपने सिर धरवाते थे वे अब शरमाते
फूलकली बरसाने वाली टूट गई दुनिया
वज्रों के वाहन अंबर में निर्भय घहराते
इंद्रायुध भी एक बार जो हिम्मत से ओटे
छत्र हमारा निर्मित करते साठ कोटि करतल
हम ऐसे आज़ाद हमारा झंडा है बादल।
– हरिवंश राय बच्चन
Aazaadi Ka Geet
Ham aise aazaad, hamara jhanda hai baadal,
Chandi, sone, here, moti se sajati gudiyan,
Inse aatankit karne ki beet gayi ghadiyan,
Inse saj dhaj baitha karte jo hain kathputle
Hamane tode abhi fainki hain bedhi hathkadiyan.
Parampara gat purkhon ki hamane jagrit ki phir se
Utha sheesh par rakha hamane him kireet ujjawal
Ham aise aazaad hamara jhanda hai baadal.
Chandi here moti se sajawa chhate,
Jo apne sir dharvaate the vo ab sharmate
Phoolkaari barsaane waali toot gayi duniya
Vajaron ke waahan ambar mein nirbhay gehraate.
Indrrayudh bhi ek baar himmat se ote’,
Chhatra hamara nirmit karte saath koti kartal,
Ham aise aazaad hamara jhanda hai baadal
– Harivanshrai Bachchan
We are free and our flag flies like clouds
Toy-girls are adorned with diamonds and pearls,
The time to paly with them is over now.
Only puppets sit adorned with them
We have broken and thrown away the shackles at our feet.
Tradition of past men, we have revived
With head held high, we have looked to snow laden mountains
We are free and our flag flies like clouds!
(Our rulers) Those with umbrellas of silver, gold, diamonds and pearls
Over their heads, are repentant now,
The world where they were greeted with flower petals is gone now
The chariots of Vajra now roam freely in the sky!
Us who have wrapped Indra Yudh around us with great courage
We now have a new umbrella, established with sound of sixty crore kartal,
We are free and our flag flies like clouds!
(Pic courtesy: www.todaytoptrends.com)
#7 Poem: Jhanda Ooncha Rahe Hamaara…
Shyamlal Gupta immortalised Indian Flag through his melodious lyrics “Vijayi Vishwa Tiranga Pyara, Zanda Ooncha Rahe Hamara.”…
After Gandhiji assumed the leadership of Indian freedom movement and tricolour became symbol of independence, Gupta thought of composing a motivating song eulogising the flag and born those immortal lines “ Vijayi Vishwa Tiranga Pyara, Zanda Ooncha Rahe Hamara.” Shyamlalji Gupta, was born on September 9, 1896 at Kanpur in a Dosar Vaishya family.
After the composition of Zanda Geet, a wave of patriotism got created in India. The song brought a passion among Indians to fight for making India free from the clutches of British. The atmosphere was charged so much so that it was felt that Indian Tri-colour might take place of Union Jack. People from every background and age, adored Zanda Geet and it became an integral and inseparable part of freedom movement. In the year 1934 at Haripur Congress, Zanda Geet was given a status of National Song. Sarojini Naidu presented it. The session was chaired by Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru.
Here is the famous song, first in Devnagiri script:
विजयी विश्व तिरंगा प्यारा,
झंडा ऊँचा रहे हमारा।
सदा शक्ति बरसाने वाला,
प्रेम सुधा सरसाने वाला
वीरों को हरषाने वाला
मातृभूमि का तन-मन सारा,
झंडा ऊँचा रहे हमारा।
स्वतंत्रता के भीषण रण में,
लखकर जोश बढ़े क्षण-क्षण में,
काँपे शत्रु देखकर मन में,
मिट जावे भय संकट सारा,
झंडा ऊँचा रहे हमारा।
इस झंडे के नीचे निर्भय,
हो स्वराज जनता का निश्चय,
बोलो भारत माता की जय,
स्वतंत्रता ही ध्येय हमारा,
झंडा ऊँचा रहे हमारा।
आओ प्यारे वीरों आओ,
देश-जाति पर बलि-बलि जाओ,
एक साथ सब मिलकर गाओ,
प्यारा भारत देश हमारा,
झंडा ऊँचा रहे हमारा।
इसकी शान न जाने पावे,
चाहे जान भले ही जावे,
विश्व-विजय करके दिखलावे,
तब होवे प्रण-पूर्ण हमारा,
झंडा ऊँचा रहे हमारा।
Sada Shakti barsaane waala,
Prem sudha sursaane waala,
Veeron ko harshaane waala
Matribhumi ka tan man saara
Jhanda ooncha rahe hamaara
Swantrata ke bheeshan ran mein
Lakhkar josh badhe kshan kshan mein
Kaampe shatru dekhkar man mein
Mit jaave bhay sankat saara
Jhanda ooncha rahe hamaara
Is jhande ke neeche nirbhay
Ho swaraj janam ka nishchay
Bolo Bharat Mata ki jay
Swantrata hi dhyay hamara
Jhanda ooncha rahe hamara
Aao pyaaro veero aao
Desh jaati per bali bali jaao
Ek saath sab mil kar gaao
Pyaara Bharat desh hamara
Jhanda ooncha rahe hamara
Iski shaan na jaane pave
Chahe jaan bhale hi jaave
Vijay Vijay kar ke dikhlave
Sab hove pran poorn hamaara
Jhanda ooncha rahe hamaara
And finally the English translation:
The conqueror of the world, our tri-colour
Let our flag always fly high
It showers strength always
It oozes out love nectar
It gives pride to the brave
It is the heart and mind of Motherland
Let our flag always fly high
In the intense battle for independence
It gives josh to every moment
The enemy trembles after seeing it
(And for us) our fear and danger goes away
Let our flag always fly high
Under this flag we are fearless
And our intention is the birth of Swaraj
Shout Jay for Bharat Mata
Now our aim is independence
Let our flag always fly high
Come, beloved braves, come
Sacrifice everything for our nation
In one voice sing together
Beloved is our nation Bharat
Let our flag always fly high
Let its prestige never go away
Even if we give away our lives for that
Let Victory Victory be ours
Let our pledge be realised
Let our flag always fly high
(Pic courtesy: www.geeta-kavita.com)
#8 Poem: 15 August 1947
Girija Kumar Mathur was born on 22 Aug 1919 in Gunna, Madhya Pradesh. He emerged as an important Hindi poet and lyricist. Mathur was conferred the Vyas Samman by t…he K.K.Birla Foundation. He retired as the deputy director-general of Doordarshan in 1978 and was later appointed emeritus producer. His first collection of poems, Manjir, was published in 1941. He passed away on 10 Jan 1994.
The poem that he wrote on 15 Aug 1947 is still so relevant today, 67 years later.
In Devanagiri
१
आज जीत की रात
पहरुए! सावधान रहना
खुले देश के द्वार
अचल दीपक समान रहना
२
प्रथम चरण है नए स्वर्ग का
है मंज़िल का छोर
इस जनमंथन से उठ आई
पहली रत्न-हिलोर
अभी शेष है पूरी होना
जीवन-मुक्ता-डोर
क्योंकि नहीं मिट पाई दुख की
विगत साँवली कोर
ले युग की पतवार
बने अम्बुधि समान रहना।
३
विषम शृंखलाएँ टूटी हैं
खुली समस्त दिशाएँ
आज प्रभंजन बनकर चलतीं
युग-बंदिनी हवाएँ
प्रश्नचिह्न बन खड़ी हो गईं
यह सिमटी सीमाएँ
आज पुराने सिंहासन की
टूट रही प्रतिमाएँ
उठता है तूफ़ान, इन्दु! तुम
दीप्तिमान रहना।
४
ऊँची हुई मशाल हमारी
आगे कठिन डगर है
शत्रु हट गया, लेकिन उसकी
छायाओं का डर है
शोषण से है मृत समाज
कमज़ोर हमारा घर है
किन्तु आ रहा नई ज़िन्दगी
यह विश्वास अमर है
जन-गंगा में ज्वार,
लहर तुम प्रवहमान रहना
पहरुए! सावधान रहना।
In English transliteration
1
Aaj jeet ki raat
Pehruye! Savdhaan rehna
Khule desh ke dwaar
Achal deepak smaan rehna
2
Prathm charan hai naye swarg ka
Hai manzil ka chhor
Is janmanthan se uthh aayi
Pehli rattan hilore
Abhi shesh hai poori hona
Jeevan-mukta-dore
Kyunki nahin mit paayi dukh ki
Vigat saanwli kore
Le yug ki patwaar
Bane ambudhi smaan rehna.
3
Visham shrankhlaayen tooti hain
Khuli samast dishaayen
Aaaj prabhanjan banker chalti
Yug-Bandini hawaayen
Prashanchinh ban khadi ho gayi
Ye simati seemayen
Aaj puraane sinhaasan ki
Toot rahi pratimayen
Uthhata hai toofaan Indra! tum
Deeptiman rehana.
4
Oonchi hui mashaal hamari
Aage kathhin dahgar hai
Shatru hat gaya, lekin usaki
Chhayayon ka dar hai
Shoshan se hai mrit samaaj
Kamzore hamaara ghar hai
Kyunki aa raha nayi zindagi
Yeh vishwas amar hai
JanGanga mein jwaar
Lehar tum pravhamaan rehna
Pehruye! Saavdhaan rehna
Finally, the English translation
1
Tonight, is the night of victory,
O Sentinel! Remain alert
Gates of the country are open
Remain like a still lamp.
2
It is our first step into this new heaven
It is only the edge of the destination
With this mass churning we have
Our first wave as a jewel
Still it remains to be completed
The thread that sets us totally free
Because our miseries are not yet over
And the darkness of our past is still with us
You should be like a boatman
Guiding us through the ocean.
3
Odd chains have broken
All directions are open now
Like defeat they move
The winds that are hostage to the past
Like a question mark they stand
The limits of our borders
Today, the old thrones
Have broken their models
The typhoon rises, O Indra
Remain radiant.
4
Our torch remains high
Our path is difficult
Enemy has gone, but
His shadows threaten us
Our dead society is prone to exploitation
Our house is weak
But new Life is coming
This belief is eternal
In the tide of the Ganga of our people
O wave, remain observant of the stream
O sentinel, remain alert.
In the year 1999, the Navy decided to send me to command the Navy’s largest establishment area-wise, the Very Low Frequency Station INS Kattabomman. Now, being a Punjabi, I had tough time explaining to my larger family and friends in Punjab the name of the establishment that I was going to command. For them ‘katta’ clearly meant a male-calf of a buffalo and they joked that I was the most suitable person to command something as rustic as a ‘katta’ with or without ‘bomman’.
Gradually, however, the sense of pride sank in when I discovered that we were, at that time, one of the only six countries in the world who had such a station. The VLF transmitter is so large that it occupies a complete and huge three storey building. The antenna covers a radius of approximately a kilometre plus 200 metres. The establishment is so large that many a times, the families have gone for a picnic within the establishment.
The establishment was named after Kattabomman or Veerapandiya Kattabomma Karuthayya Nayakkar, the country’s first freedom fighter against the British. He was a courageous 18th-century Palayakarrar (‘Polygar’) chieftain from Panchalankurichi of Tamil Nadu, India. His ancestors migrated to Tamil Nadu from Kandukur area of Prakasam district in present day Andhra Pradesh during the Vijayanagara period. He waged a war with the British six decades before the Indian War of Independence occurred in the Northern parts of India.
I had a grand parade presented to me for taking over and then the erstwhile Commanding Officer and I retired to my office to carry out Handing Over/Taking Over Procedures. After handing over, my predecessor went to the CO’s House to catch an early morning train.
Finally, I had the establishment to myself. The sense of pride and joy was however short-lived.
Within about an hour of my taking over, my XO came rushing in and said that a sailor had climbed the Communication Centre mast (not the VLF mast which is about 300 metres high but the Comcen mast, which was still quite high) and refused to come down and threatened to commit suicide. Now, this was an emergency for me. Imagine, finally in command of a prestigious establishment and you are greeted by the sight of a sailor about to jump from a high mast.
Fortunately for me my wife rang up, at that time, from Vizag to congratulate me on my taking over command. I quickly told her about the determined-to-commit-suicide sailor. She said under no circumstances anyone in authority should talk to him as he was likely to carry out his threat. It should be a lady who should speak to him preferably in his lingo and preferably in civilian attire.
Now, on parade, I had seen our lady doctor and I immediately sent for her. I explained the urgency to her and told her she should talk to him as a friend, or a sister and somehow bring him down and that no attempt should be made to have a show of authority.
Sudha did her job rather well and after about an hour or so the sailor climbed down.
It came out that he appeared for the CW (Commission Worthy) Exam to become an officer, failed and the other sailors chided him relentlessly with such taunts as ‘unfit to be a sailor, unfit to be an officer’; and asking for confirmation if he was finally an aam aadmi like the rest of them.
I did not report the case at all. I worked on the sailor for the next few days. Eventually, he became one of the best sailors in Kattabomman.
Many people emotionally re-enact the famous water tank soo-side scene of the Hindi block-buster Sholay. Basanti may not always be the reason or the cause, I discovered. Soo-side is not just the way the Angrez go (like the famous point by that name in Kodaikanal, named after a British lady). Our indigenous people too get an urge to do it sometimes.
Sholay was right in one respect though: No lamboo (or Jai) can do anything without a willing mausi.
The Navy owns ships, submarines and aircraft. But, to commute on land you require road transport. That’s where the Navy finds itself totally at sea.
We envy our Army counterparts whose jeeps, jongas and Ambassador cars look ‘battle-worthy’ from outside and are fitted with the latest luxury items inside if the allotment is even for a unit Officer-in-Charge.
The one Achilles Heel of the Navy personnel has always continued being road transport in general, and staff-cars in particular. Let’s say the Navy finally deems it fit to provide you with a staff-car, as a Captain/Commodore, just a few years before retirement, it would be competing with the Chhakdas (that you see in the Saurashtra region: they are indigenously designed from Royal Enfield mobikes) for comfort and looks. The chances are that the Chhakada would take you places but your staff-car won’t.
The Navy makes you a practising communicator the moment you are given a staff car. You communicate your next day’s requirement to the civilian driver when you secure him. But, come the morning, you make series of calls to the Naval Transport Pool (NT Pool) enquiring as to what happened to the transport. It would be nothing less than an hour and two dozen calls when you learn that either the transport or the driver has packed up.
And imagine this happening before Command Divisions. You are resplendent in your ceremonial rig, complete with a sword and shining brass on your peak-cap, you look yourself in the mirror several times to congratulate yourself at having arrived in life. The timings of sailors and officers arriving at the venue have been fixed and rehearsed and then, to your horror, you find that the transport has failed to report. No phone calls can help now. You start your own car, rush to the venue and find that the parking for self-driven cars is about a kilometre away from the venue. You lock the car, and run to the venue, ruffled and sweating and a far cry from the proud officer who viewed himself in the mirror indulgently just half an hour back.
I was once an Admiral-in-the-waiting (for the simple reason that no Admiral was free that day and I was the senior most Commodore) for a visiting PLA (Navy) (People’s Liberation Army (Navy) of China) Admiral. My staff-car R42 (the number specifies how far have you reached in the Command; C-in-C’s are R1 and R2 and so on) finally arrived after several calls and heart-burns to take me to the airport to receive this Chinese Admiral. One thing curious about this car was that it made more noise than speed. But, even at that, through my constant communication with the driver, we managed to arrive at the airport just as the dignitaries were stepping into the arrival lounge. They had to go to the ITC Maratha hotel, close to the airport terminal, for dinner and I smartly took a seat next to the Admiral in his Merc and we reached the hotel. I espied through the corners of my eyes (if you are in the armed forces, you realise that the corners of your eyes are far more important than the eyes themselves) that my car was not following. During the dinner I made several trips outside to look for R42 and found that all the other cars in the convoy had arrived except for the elusive R42. Finally, when the Admiral was getting into his Merc to go back to the airport to catch a flight to New Delhi, I learnt that R42, true to its form had packed up at the airport itself. The Chinese Admiral pretended (they all do) that he didn’t know English and Hindi but, when he was getting down at the airport terminal, his ‘interpreter’ told me that the Admiral had instructed his driver to drive me back home after seeing off the delegation.
Staff Car not much different from R42 (Pic courtesy: www.thenational.ae)
Various fascinating experiences with transport or staff-cars in the Navy that I have experienced or heard would make into a serialised book in various volumes. However, here are some of the pippins:
I was once a DSO (Duty Staff Officer) at Naval Headquarters and I was to take rounds of the units at great distances from NHQ in Delhi. Invariably, my communication skills with the NT Pool at INS India never produced the transport on time and there were occasions when I had taken rounds in the middle of the night instead of at 8 pm. After that, in the Night Rounds Book we were to write ‘Rounds correct’ or otherwise and sign. I noticed that the book never had an ‘otherwise’ entry. So, one day, I wrote in red ‘Rounds not correct as transport did not report’. This book was periodically inspected by CO India. The next time when I did my duty again as DSO, I noticed that the CO had signed but there was no action whatsoever.
In Goa, once, a Staff Officer (Operations) had to receive a visiting ship on the jetty. His communications to the NT Pool fell on deaf ears and finally, when the hour of reckoning drew close, he screamed that come what may some transport had to report to him. After twenty minutes, to his shocked surprise, he found a mobile-crane waiting outside his residence to take him to the jetty about six kms away.
(Pic courtesy: homepage.ntlworld.com)
When the Government of India letter came about with sanction of transport for all officers in the Navy from residence to place of work, provided the distance was more than 1 kilometre, a C-in-C, before admitting the claims of a few officers, got the distance physically measured with a measuring tape. So, in the same colony, if your house happened to be 987 metres away from office, you were denied to claim for road transport but in the very next building an officer enjoyed the privilege.
We were privileged once with a visit by the Assistant Chief of Naval Staff (Policy and Plans) to our station, Vizag. All along, officers were denied road transport due to “lack of funds”. This ACNS (P&P) in an open forum attended by all Command officers ‘not-on-essential-duties’, in answer to a query by a young officer, brought out that Naval Headquarters had made adequate funds available to the Command for hiring of transport, but that, his record showed that the Command had been returning large portions of these funds unused year after year.
In a Command meeting once I brought out that the rates of hiring of transport by NT Pool were significantly more than in the Port Trust wherein I was a Trustee. I was ‘excommunicated’ for deliberately not understanding the ‘compulsions’ of the NT Pool.
But, the real pippin is this experience of mine as a young Acting Sub-Lieut when I was appointed to INS Himgiri for earning my Watch-keeping certificate. Our CO, as Commander, was to share his allotted staff-car with two other COs of Durg class of corvettes. These COs, despite their best communication, never got the staff-car since our CO was the senior most and his own requirements didn’t leave anything for the others.
Once, when the staff-car reported at our gangway to take our CO for an important Fleet Office meeting, our CO observed just before leaving the ship that curiously a Midshipman occupied the right rear seat whilst our CO was to get into the left rear seat. Since I was on duty as Assistant Officer of the Watch (AOOW), he asked me find out what that Midshipman was doing there. My query revealed that the Midshipman was occupying the CO Sindhudurg end of the Staff Car as instructed by his CO. After that, I learnt that our CO started sharing the car with the other two.
In the Navy, you can be CO of an Aircraft Carrier or of the latest Stealth Frigate. But, as far as civilians are concerned, your proud existence is like the opening line of a song: Jungle mein more naacha, kisane dekha? (A peacock dancing in the Jungle is unseen). Your true pride comes in when you sit in a staff-car, wherein neither the car nor the driver pack-up when you require it most.
I retired from the Navy in 2010. I do not know if the situation has changed now.
The best books on practical leadership in the armed forces that I have read are the Follow Me series by Major General Aubrey S Newman, also known as Red Newman. In one of the chapters, Newman deals with the penchant of senior leadership to go into overdrive to do something petty or insignificant.
To illustrate, he brings out an instance when as a Major General he was going around a base by jeep and he spotted a soldier without a proper haircut. He said he was about to stop and correct the soldier when it occurred to him in a flash that by doing so he would undermine the complete system of hierarchy in his division. He also said that people at higher levels should be circumspect about pointing out such petty things lest these should become high priorities with people many echelons below.
These simple lessons were wasted on some of the officers that I had served with in my nearly 37 years of being in the Indian Navy.
One of them went to one of his ships and, when the tea was served to him, noticed that a tray with kettle of hot water, tea bags, hot milk dispenser, sugar cubes etc was brought in. He commented that the tea-bags perpetually contained the worst quality tea dust. He added that tea made in this manner tasted insipid to him since he otherwise really relished tea. He demanded that next time he visited a ship, he should be served tea brewed in traditional Indian manner complete with Elaichi and Masala.
He must have returned to his office and mentioned this in passing to his FOO (Fleet Operations Officer). Before long, detailed instructions on the making of tea on board had been issued complete with appendices and annexures. Fleet Admin Officer was not to be left behind in this melee to score brownie points. He instituted a return from the ships called ‘Dip Tea Return’ and at last count was merrily pulling up ships whose Dip Tea Returns were still awaited. Soon, the other returns from the ships became less important and ships competed with each other in certifying that for the last so many days at a stretch no one on board had gone anywhere near dip-tea.
Another such incident that comes to my mind is this of a senior officer realising one fine day that the good old tradition of navy personnel wearing shorts or knickers (Dress No. 8) was dying down. He got convinced that what separated (navy) men from (army and air-force) boys were knickers. So, he decreed that people at sea at all times and people in harbour on specified days should bare their limbs, from knees downwards, that is. Or, in short, wear shorts.
(Pic courtesy: www.nausena-bharti.nic.in)
The long and short of it was that in the Command, men vied with one another to show as much leg as possible, so what if stockinged. The age old navy tradition of ‘wakey wakey rise and shine, show a leg’ was given a modern look.
When the Command had acquired cent per cent sea-legs, so as to say, the Navy Chief decided to pay us a visit. We were all lined up in knickers and stockings to be introduced to the Chief. The Chief came, he saw and he conquered us with this remark, “I wish I too had as lovely legs as yours to be able to wear knickers.”
We suddenly felt short-changed. Some officers, I concluded, are visionaries; others are knicker-sighted.
P.S. Try having masala-tea in knickers………………Ah, Taj!
P.P.S. On second thought knickers are better suited to do those naval things that you want to do, especially as senior officers, when long pants stand in the way of your plans.
P.P.P.S. Pot bellies and shorts never go……..well, hand-in-hand!
Orphanage in Naval Dockyard, Mumbai; wherein you see Indian Navy ships of all classes and sizes including the aircraft carrier Viraat?
Some of you would tell me that there are many other undiscovered relics in ND (MB) but you could never imagine that an orphanage too existed.
You haven’t seen one? Well, I have. Read on:
As a Lieutenant or Lieutenant Commander you had to do duty in a place (it used to be on the top floor of Fleet Office building) called HDCC (Harbour Defence Control or Coordination Centre); an organisation under the NOIC or Naval Officer-in-Charge. If you had ever done a duty there, you would understand the resemblance of Naval Dockyard to an orphanage.
The boat required to patrol the dockyard waters had its call sign as ‘Baby’ whereas HDCC invariably assumed the call-sign ‘Mother’. In various levels of clandestine threat to Bombay Harbour, as given in the orders, the number of these boats would increase. In case of more than one boat, these were (innovatively?) given callsigns: Baby1, Baby2, Baby3 etc.
(Pic courtesy: commons.wikimedia.org)
The most difficult part of their vigil used to be to keep in touch with HDCC and hence, throughout the night one could hear (if one had an equivalent Punwire communication handset), heart-rending cries of “Mother, this is baby one, over” and “Baby this is mother over”.
You get the illusion of an orphanage straightway. Want to see another illusion. Well, watch people dancing in a video and mute the music; you would be surprised how funny it looks.
Some of these were due to vagaries of radio communication whereas some of these, at times, were not so unintentional. Taste this that was recorded during my watch at HDCC when I was posted in WATT (B) or Weapons Acceptance Trials Team (Bombay):
“Baby this is mother, over”
No response. Only a crackling sound.
Again: “Baby, baby, this is mother, mother, over”
Still no response. More crackling noise.
The HDCC communication sailor now looking at me for effect: “Baby, this is mother, radio check over”
No response. More crackling noise.
Communication sailor about to give up: “Baby, this is mother, nothing heard from you, out”
Loud and clear response from baby: “Mother this is baby, nothing heard from you also, out”
Click sound of switching off the set to “preserve battery”!
This is not apocryphal. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the First, a pussy cat of one of the maids of the queen, on one of its unrestricted sojourns in the Windsor Castle, ran beneath the queen’s throne and startled the queen. The queen, having as good a sense of humour as many in my Facebook group called ‘Humour In And Out Of Humour’ or HIAOOU for short, decreed that the pussy cat be permitted to stay in the castle as long as it kept the castle free of mice.
And that’s how the pussy cat gained respectability and the famous nursery rhyme came about.
This 16th century tradition soon found its way to RN (Royal Naval) ships. And since we in the Indian Navy eagerly lapped up everything that the Brits had to offer, every IN ship had a cat of its own. Sailors on long sailings away from home comforted themselves with the company of a pussy cat, having left their wives ashore.
Pussy-cats also came in handy with the junior most sailors on board and the cabin boys or civilian bearers. Since these low-down worthies were kicked about by almost everyone on board, they now had the pussy-cat to kick; somewhat similar to how sailors in solitary detention (as a punishment) are given hemp to pick.
I was made the Ship’s Commander on the aircraft carrier Viraat in June 1994. The ship was under refit. But, within three months we got ready and by November of that year, we embarked the air squadrons.
During the refit, the living conditions had deteriorated. Sailors and officers were a few but rats and cats had increased their population. In order that the rats won’t attack all parts of their bodies whilst they slept, the sailors had encouraged cats to multiply. I don’t know how Noah had managed, but my sailors were convinced that the only way to manage the deluge (of rats) on board was to have pussies everywhere.
Now, this experiment was working very fine (for them, that is) until the aircraft came on board. And that’s the time I discovered, to my horror that one feline variety hated the other: the pussy-cats hated the White Tigers (Sea Harriers) and vice versa.
First imagine the change of scene as visualised by the pussy-cats. They were purring and meeowing without competition and everyone loved them. And then the White Tigers (successors of what my friend Sareshth Kumar Sir flew with blissful abandon) arrived on the scene and grred and howled. The only way to see things is to step down to the level of pussy-cats and feel how unfair life can be.
(photo courtesy: indiannavy.nic.in)
Now, shift the scene to the White Tigers; an unenviable track record of ruling the Indian seas since 1960. You are the pilot of one and you carry on your shoulders the proud legacy of having driven fear of God in the hearts of East Pakistanis in Cox Bazaar, Chittagong, and such equally exotic names as Mongla, Khulna and Chalna. And you are about to make a vertical landing on Viraat and find your spot already occupied by a pussy cat. I mean, you can be excused to conclude that this is not the right time and place for pussies.
(Photo courtesy: thetimes.co.uk)
So, it was left to the Ship’s Commander to have the Viraat flight deck as catless as possible. Many of you who have routinely dealt with pussies would tell me that nothing can be easier. All you have to do is to call the Master Chief Bosun’s Mate and tell him, “Master Chief Saab, starting tomorrow I don’t want to see pussy-cats on board.” And then Master Chief Saab smartly salutes and goes to mess-decks, musters all the pussy-cats in smart files and marches them off the gangway and tells them, “Bye, bye cats, please find yourself another home; Sea Tigers have come to live on board.”
There is a huge gap between fantasy and practice, however. Getting cats is easy; but getting rid of them has resulted into innumerable jokes and disasters. I had a job at hand. All leadership lessons that I had come across don’t ever teach you how to be DoP (Director of Pussies) on an aircraft carrier.
Sailors were emotionally involved with them. Their way of looking at it was that the pussy-cats stood by them in their hour of need; and to get rid of them at the expense of some White Tigers with doubtful capability to keep the mess decks clear of mice wasn’t a wise step at all.
Finally, tough measures were called for by yours truly. I counselled and cajoled, and coerced and shook them up that having Viraat cat-less was in national interest. I was also fed up of young pilots, during air briefings, greeting me with cat-calls. Indeed, they had told me that if I don’t do anything about it, they, the air boys, would have no choice but to boycatt – sorry – boycott me altogether.
The exercise took seven days. Away from the eyes of SPCA and Maneka Gandhi, cats were put into gunny bags and let out in the streets of Mumbai, to keep them mice free.
The original nursery rhymes from the days of Queen Bess went like this:
Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?
I’ve been to London to look at the Queen.
Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you do there?
I frightened a little mouse, under the chair.
Nearly four centuries later, I was to realise that I was the “little mouse” as the Ship’s Commander. QE I was made of sterner stuff. I had come close to losing my job. And I was “frightened” indeed.
JOM is a Junior Officers’ Mess on board ships. Sometimes, as was the case on Himgiri, there is more than one JOM: the Upper JOM for the senior amongst the junior officers and Lower JOM to indicate your status of being as low down in hierarchy as worms. Nevertheless, the middle word of the expansion of JOM, as far we were concerned, signified our having realized a life time aim, that of becoming a commissioned officer in the armed forces of our great nation. On board the Cadet Training Ship Delhi and Midshipman Training Ship Tir, we were as far away from becoming officers as Man was from landing on the Moon before Neil Armstrong actually did that small step for himself and giant leap for mankind. But, now we had arrived.
And, to give credit to the Navy, it treats you like officers too. During your watch at sea and in harbour, you have the charge, for example, of a modern Leander class frigate costing the nation – at that time – nearly a thousand crore rupees. Nothing moves on the ship without your permission. You are Captain of the frigate for the time being; empowered by the Regs Navy to be in command. Sailors, however senior they are, ask your permission to proceed ashore and you are responsible for them and everything that happens on board.
So, the last thing that you want is some senior one coming to you and bullshitting you about the way you live, similar to how they used to do in the Academy days checking your toothpaste caps etc.
One evening, however, we had an unexpected visitor to our Lower JOM: the Captain of the ship himself: Commander NN Anand or Baby Anand as he used to be called. We were lying on our bunks in various stages of dress and undress; mostly undress. Having the Captain standing in our midst was unimaginable. However, it was happening to us. We sprang out of the bunks somewhat similar to the goalies in the recently concluded World Cup during the shootouts. However, our Captain was determined to score one goal after another.
(Pic courtesy: analienmind.wordpress.com)
Since I was the tallest of the lot and most visible, he turned towards me and said, “Hey you, let me see your towel.”
The Navy trains its officers well. When they are faced with potentially dangerous situations, their minds don’t close like quick shut-down valves. I was the first one to seize the opportunity and the lone hanging towel in the JOM and claim it as my own. That left my other seven comrades towel-less. I had that gleeful look on my face that sometimes you see on the face of a Buzkashi contestant who seizes the buz (goat) and carry it to the goal.
However, this joy was short-lived since the next question was to Billoo, “And you, let me see your bed sheet.” And, I espied through the corner of my eyes that Billoo had grabbed the multi-coloured and multi-stained bed sheet that was nearest to him and claimed it as his own.
Baby Anand seemed to have come prepared to put us to shame. If we had thought that not having enough towels and bed-sheets between us was embarrassing, next he was asking such intimate questions as about the whereabouts of our pillows and pillow-covers, kerchiefs, and even under-wears and vests.
The great emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar when he was exiled to Burma wrote his famous ghazal there that had a line, “Do ghaz zameen naa mili kuye yaar mein.” Likewise, eight of us in Lower JOM (It had never appeared so ‘Low’ in our estimate earlier), didn’t find two yards of zameen to bury our mortification.
There is a Bombay Dyeing show room in Colaba opposite the mandir. All of us were sent there to the shop to buy clean bed-sheets, pillows, pillow covers, and towels; whereas another departmental store became richer by a few hundred bucks with eight young acting sub-lieutenants buying kerchiefs and underclothing.
The next afternoon, CO Beas Cdr Shivamani was a guest of our CO for lunch. One would think that the COs of ships when they meet over drinks and lunch have such important things to discuss as ship-handling and navigation and the international maritime situation. But, nay, discussing the hygiene and living style of their junior officers appear to be high in the agenda. And how do we know that? Well, the same evening, as we walked along Colaba Causeway, we found our course-mates led by Minhas, frantically purchasing towels, bed sheets and pillow covers at the Bombay Dyeing.
I am a Punjabi Sikh by birth; my dad’s side of the family being from the village in Ropar (now Rupnagar) district of Punjab, and my mother’s side of people from village Urapur near Nawanshaher in Punjab.
From the time I was small, I have been exposed to Punjabi humour. About a year ago, I have started a group on Facebook to promote Punjabi humour. The group is called ‘Laugh With The Punjabis’. At the time of writing it has nearly 12000 members.
Why Punjabi jokes and humour? Punjabis are the only people who can not only sportively take a joke on themselves, but, can be expected to tell you two jokes about themselves for every one cracked by you. The community is now counted amongst the most progressive and generous communities in the world.
You can always join the group (it is free to men and women, boys and girls of all communities, regions, age and nationalities. I have ensured that none of the humour there is directed against any people. And, you don’t laugh at the Punjabis but laugh with the Punjabis.
Santa and Banta migrated to America and got job in the rocket fuel department at NASA Houston.
Most of their salary was spent, like that of any Punjabi, on “khaan-peen” especially peen (drinking).
One day, Santa and Banta had a fight during working hours. Santa gave a push to Banta who fell into rocket fuel and he involuntarily tasted it.
He told Santa to taste it too and they felt that it was a potent drink like rum or whisky.
So, they forgot their fighting and helped themselves to tasting more and more of rocket fuel. They had a jolly good time and got pissed and went home and slept.
Next morning, Banta received an urgent phone call from Santa, “O Banteya, jadd toilet jaayenga tanh toilet seat nu zor naal phadd lainyi.”
Banta: Kyun Santeya?
Santa: Main China tonh bol reha haan!
Old Time Joke #25, Flavour of Punjab
Still valid after more than five decades:
In our village in Punjab, on one rare occasion, a train arrived on time.
It was a stunning event and the villagers quickly organised a function; garlanded the engine and the driver and distributed sweets. A speech praising the engine driver was made by the Sarpanch and the engine driver was asked to say a few words.
Engine Driver: Bahut meharbaani haaran layi, mithaai layi ate iss function layi. Per sachi dassan tanh main inna da hakdaar nahin; kyunki eh kal di gaddi hai!
Old Time joke #26, Flavour of Punjab
(Excerpt from an actual speech by Giani Zail Singh ji)
Bhaarat ek bahut mahaan desh hai. Alagg alagg praant hain, jahan alagg alagg tarah ke log rehate hain. Inake alagg alagg dharam hain jaisee Hindu, Musalmaan, Sikh, Isaayi. Inaki alagg alagg bhashayen hain jaise Punjab mein Punjabi, Himachal mein Himachali, Bengal mein Bengali, Tamilnadu mein Tamilnadi aur Kerala mein Kerali.
Old Time Joke #27, Flavour of Punjab
Actual ad in Tribune of Chandigarh:
Handsome Jatt Sikh, 6 feet, well-built, with 50 acres land wants to marry beautiful and tall Sikh girl with a tractor. Interested girls send picture of tractor.
Old Time Joke #28, Flavour of Punjab
After the partition in 1947, as this Punjabi family from Lahore shifted to Ludhiana, the father had a pet reply to all the demands of his only son: “Oye, oh tanh reh gayi Lahore.” For example, the conversation between them would go somewhat like this:
After a few days, the son asked: Papa, mainu ik camera lai deyo.
Father: Nahin beta, camera tanh saare reh gaye Lahore.
Much to the consternation of the son, this had become the order of the day. One day, the son, brought his report card home with zero marks in most subjects.
Father: Oye, tere number kithe ne?
Son: Chhado daddy; number tanh saare reh gaye Lahore.
Father (hot under the collar): Oye, tameez naa gal kar; main tera peyo haan.
Son: Per papa, peyo tanh saare reh gaye Lahore!
(Pic courtesy: itsmyviews.com)
(Pic courtesy: nativepakistan.com)
Old Time Joke #29, Flavour of Punjab
Balwant and Satwant two friends were going on a mobike and felt the strong breeze hitting them hard in the winters. Especially, the wind was going from the shirt front gaps between the buttons and slashing their chests like bullets.
So, they came up with a practical idea. They wore their shirts backwards and helped each other button them up.
After some time, the mobike hit against a gadda (bullock cart) and they and the mobike fell.
The villagers rushed to give them “first-aid” as they would readily do in any village in Punjab.
Later, in the police report, the following statement was recorded by a few witnesses: “Accident serious si. Dona bechaareyan diyan gardanaa (necks) buri tarah mud gayiyan si. Aseen jadon seedhiyan keetiyan tanh dona ne dum tod ditta.”
Old Time Joke #30, Flavour of Punjab
Kartar slapped a man in the market, heartily on the back, and excitedly said, “Oye Satinder, bade saalan baad miliya hain. Waah bhai waah, chehra badal gaya, rang dhang badal gaya, pugg da style badal gaya, chaal badal gayi….”
The other man: Bhai saab, meraa naam Satinder nahin hai ji.
Kartar unfazed: Waah bhai waah; naam bhi badal leya!
Continue laughing with the Punjabis; more to follow in subsequent posts.
I am a Punjabi Sikh by birth; my dad’s side of the family being from the village in Ropar (now Rupnagar) district of Punjab, and my mother’s side of people from village Urapur near Nawanshaher in Punjab.
From the time I was small, I have been exposed to Punjabi humour. About a year ago, I have started a group on Facebook to promote Punjabi humour. The group is called ‘Laugh With The Punjabis’. At the time of writing it has nearly 12000 members.
Why Punjabi jokes and humour? Punjabis are the only people who can not only sportively take a joke on themselves, but, can be expected to tell you two jokes about themselves for every one cracked by you. The community is now counted amongst the most progressive and generous communities in the world. You can always join the group (it is free to men and women, boys and girls of all communities, regions, age and nationalities. I have ensured that none of the humour there is directed against any people. And, you don’t laugh at the Punjabis but laugh with the Punjabis. You have already read seventeen old-time jokes with the flavour of Punjab in ‘Laugh With The Punjabis – Part I’ and ‘Laugh With The Punjabis – Part II’. These are the jokes recounted by me in the group that I am nostalgic about. I used to hear them in my childhood and boyhood days. Lets continue with the old-time jokes.
Old Time Joke #18, Flavour of Punjab
Munda: Chal Jaan, picture dekhan chaliye. Pichhli seats te baithange. Kudi: Je pichhali seats diyan tiktan naa miliyan pher?
Munda: Pher picture dekh lawaange!
Old Time Joke #19, Flavour of Punjab
Sardar Ujjagar Singh jithe bhi jaanda si, transistor naal rakhda si. Ik din usane, Jalandhar rickshaw layi Railway Station Jaan layi. Uthe usane train layi Amritsar jaan layi aur uthe Ruckshaw layi ghar jaan layi.
All throughout he had his transistor on to listen to songs. In between, the news broadcast came on with the opening sentence, “Yeh aakashwani Jalandhar hai.” Hearing this he hit the rickshaw-puller with his umbrella, “Oye, tin ghante ho gaye; aje Jalandhar hi ghumaayi jaa reha hain?”
Old Time Joke #20, Flavour of Punjab
Satwant bahut padaayi kar ke Akhkhan (Eyes) da daakter ban gaya. Ik din ik mareez us kol aaya aur usne keha: “Daakter saab; marz da ilaaj dasso…ik ik cheez do do nazar aandi hai”.
Satwant (Thodi der ghoor ke dekhan to baad): “Thuaanu charan nu ehi problem hai?”
Old Time Joke #21, Flavour of Punjab
Kirpal: Bhagwaane, ajj main 5 rupaye bacha laye.
His Wife: Oh kiddan?
Kirpal: Sabere jadd main office jaan waaste bus stop te pahunchaya tanh dekhyaa bus nikal rahi si. Main pichhe pichhe nadhaya aur office pahunch gaya. Bus Ticket de punj rupaye bach gaye.
Wife: Tussi bewakoof ho ji. Sau rupaye bhi bacha sakde si je taxi de pichhe nadh de.
Old Time Joke #22, Flavour of Punjab
Santa and Banta went for a walk and came across a nice open piece of land. They rested there for a little while and started day-dreaming.
Santa: Yaar Bante je zameen saanu mil jaaye tanh aapan ki karaange?
Banta: Aapan ganne lagaawange.
Santa: Oh tanh sab theek hai, per naal waale pind tonh loki aa aa ke todange ate ganne choopange.
Banta: Nahin, aapan fence lagaawange.
Santa: Kai pind waale bade haraami hunde ne, oh fence tapp ke bhi aa jaande ne
Banta: Gall tanh teri theek hai, Sante; chal ohna nu jaake darust karde haan.
So the complete pind of Santa and Banta went and sorted out the neighbouring pind. Black eyed and wounded, the village people asked: Par saada kasoor ki hai?
And Banta replied angrily: Hore choopo ganne!
Old Time Joke #23, Flavour of Punjab
When I was small, in our village, a theft took place. All jewellery, money and costly items were missing.
However, when they searched, they found these items lying wrapped in a sheet next to the wall. Now this was very surprising and various people started giving various theories.
After listening to all theories, Joginder Singh Jagga came up with his own theory:
” Oye main dasadanh haan ki hoya howega. Chor raat nu baarah baje dabe pair aaya howega jadd saare so rahe honge. Usnu pata hona gehna, paisa wagairah kithe paya howega. Usane saara maal gadhari ch bann ke lai jaan di koshish keeti honi. Ehne ch baapu paani peen waste uthaya hona aur khadka hoya howega.”
“Pher usane daudhan di koshish keeti honi. Pehale oh darwaaze di taraf daudhya hona. Pher usnu yaad aaya howega ke darwaaze de kol tanh bebe sutti payi si aur awaaz sun ke uthh gayi howegi. Pher oh kandh (wall) de paase daudhya howega.”
“Kandh uchchi si ate gadhari (bundle) bhaari hona. Usnu hun faisla karna si ke chhlaang maar ke nikal jaawe yaa gadhri (bundle) de naal fadyaa jaaye.”
This was such an absorbing story that at this point they all asked Jagga, “Pher ki hoya howega, Jaggeya?”
And Jagga said, “Hona ki si. Iss hafda thafdi ch gadhri (bundle) andar reh gayi….AUR MAIN BAAHAR”.
Continue laughing with the Punjabis; more to follow in subsequent posts.
I am a Punjabi Sikh by birth; my dad’s side of the family being from the village in Ropar (now Rupnagar) district of Punjab, and my mother’s side of people from village Urapur near Nawanshaher in Punjab.
From the time I was small, I have been exposed to Punjabi humour. About a year ago, I have started a group on Facebook to promote Punjabi humour. The group is called ‘Laugh With The Punjabis’. At the time of writing it has nearly 12000 members.
Why Punjabi jokes and humour? Punjabis are the only people who can not only sportively take a joke on themselves, but, can be expected to tell you two jokes about themselves for every one cracked by you. The community is now counted amongst the most progressive and generous communities in the world.
You can always join the group (it is free to men and women, boys and girls of all communities, regions, age and nationalities. I have ensured that none of the humour there is directed against any people. And, you don’t laugh at the Punjabis but laugh with the Punjabis.
You have already read seven old-time jokes with the flavour of Punjab in ‘Laugh With The Punjabis – Part I’. These are the jokes recounted by me in the group that I am nostalgic about. I used to hear them in my childhood and boyhood days.
Lets continue with the old-time jokes.
Old Time Joke #8, Flavour of Punjab
This was told to me by Commodore Sukhjinder Singh, who retired as JAG (Navy) (that is, Judge Advocate General, Navy)
One day we were sitting in the Angre Wardroom and I asked him how did he become a lawyer. He explained:
“I had a good friend in Patiala. When I grew up and finished schooling, one day I was talking to him as to what should I become; when he suddenly told me:
Oye Sukhjinder tu Vakeel ban jaa yaar.
I asked him why and he replied:
Oye yaar main ik murder karan di soch reha haan!”
Kaun kehnda hai Punjabi door-darshi nahin hunde?
Old Time Joke #9, Flavour of Punjab
There was a Kissan Fair going on near Phillaur. Our man Ujjagar Singh from my village Urapur went to see the fair with his family. The greatest attraction for the farmers was their versatile stud bull (Chohtta). But, to see the bull one had to buy tickets.
Ujjagar Singh went to the ticket counter and asked for 26 tickets for himself and his family.
Ticket Window te Janaani: Praaji tussi aithe khado; Assin chohtte (stud bull) nu lai ke aande haan thuayanoo dekhan layi.
Old Time Joke #10 – Flavour of Punjab
Banta was admitted in the hospital for broken limbs and several other injuries. The doctor asked him what happened?
Banta: Hoeya kuchh nahin ji. Main chhatt te chadiya si koi kamm karan layi. Uthe mainu Sante daa joke samajh aa gaya jehda usane chaar din pehale sunaaya si.
Old Time Joke #11 – Flavour of Punjab
Santu was guiding a buffalo (majhh) into the school on a chain (sangal). It had the letters E-S-S-A-Y written on it on either side in white chalk.
Angry English teacher demanded to know what was it?
Santu: Madam ji tussi keha si Cow (gaan) te essay likh ke leyaayo. Saade pind ch ik bhi gaan nahin hai ji. Main majhh te likh ke le aaya. Theek hai naa ji spelling?
Old Time Joke #12, Flavour of Punjab
You already know that you can’t find a Sikh beggar. This one is about Sardar Ujjagar Singh Sekhon, a Jatt Sikh and it is just a made-up joke to bring out the comedy in a most unlikely situation of a Sikh begging.
In 1971 War, his entire family was killed and he lost his legs. He was dying of abject poverty and neglect and then someone suggested to him that since in any case he was dying there was no harm in begging.
So USS took out his best dress and turle waali pugg and went to the first house on his crutches and knocked at the door.
A woman opened the door and asked, “Tussi kaun ho ji?”
USS getting angry, “Mayi, dekh nahin rehi main mangta haan? Jaa kuchh khaan layi lai aa.”
Woman (taken aback): Khaan nu tanh kuchh hai nahin ji.
USS: Pher kuchh paisa gehna lata de de.
Woman: Oh bhi nahin hai ji.
USS: Sheesha tanh hai ke nahin?
Woman: Haan ji, oh tanh haiga.
Ujjagar Singh Sekhon: Jaa pher sheesha lai aa, main muchhan nu taa tanh de lawan.
Old Time Joke #13, Flavour of Punjab
From our village in Urapur, Kartar Singh went on a world tour during those days when it was not so common to go abroad.
On his return he sat under the peepal tree on a manji and related his experiences: “O ji chaar di main London reha, chaar din Paris, chaar din Tokyo, chaar din New York…..”
Ten year old school boy impressed, “Chachaji thuaada tanh Geography daa bada knowledge hovega.”
Kartar Singh, “Mainu yaad hai char din uthe bhi reha.”
Old Time Joke #14, Flavour of Punjab
Munda: Chal Jaan, picture dekhan chaliye. Pichhli seats te baithange.
Kudi: Je pichhali seats diyan tiktan naa miliyan pher?
Munda: Pher picture dekh lawaange!
Old Time Joke #15, Flavour of Punjab
Santa and another man were arguing. Santa tried to be reasonable but the other was adamant.
Finally, Santa lost his shirt and shouted: Oye tu sambhal jaa nahin tanh main tere 34 de 34 dand bhan ke hath ch fada dwaanga.
Another man nearby corrected Santa: Per paaji dand tanh sirf 32 hunde ne.
Santa: Mainu pehle pata si tu bhi bolenga; main tere bhi do gin laye hoye ne.
Old Time Joke #16, Flavour of Punjab
I saw this happening!
An old man was going down the slope in Ludhiana and rammed his bicycle into a girl. Both fell, dusted their clothes and got up.
Girl: Main keha bajurgo thoda dekh ke chalayo cycle. Sharm nahin aandi thuanu; ehni thuadi daadhi aayi hoi hai?
Old Man: O beebe, daadhi hai, brake thodi hai. Meri tanh brake fail hoi hai.
Old Time Joke # 17, Flavour of Punjab
Another Actual Incident in Ludhiana
My cousin (wadde masiji da chhota munda) MP Singh and I were walking back home after seeing a movie. We saw a massive fight going on in which several men were involved.
MP was excited and told me: Chal aapan bhi kutt katayi kariye.
Shocked, I asked him: Per Mohinder saadi ehna naal ki dushmani hai?
MP: Dushmani tanh koi nahin per eddan da mauka pher pata nahin kadon milega?
Continue laughing with the Punjabis; more to follow in subsequent posts.
I am a Punjabi Sikh by birth; my dad’s side of the family being from the village in Ropar (now Rupnagar) district of Punjab, and my mother’s side of people from village Urapur near Nawanshaher in Punjab.
From the time I was small, I have been exposed to Punjabi humour. About a year ago, I have started a group on Facebook to promote Punjabi humour. The group is called ‘Laugh With The Punjabis’. At the time of writing it has nearly 12000 members.
Why Punjabi jokes and humour? Punjabis are the only people who can not only sportively take a joke on themselves, but, can be expected to tell you two jokes about themselves for every one cracked by you. The community is now counted amongst the most progressive and generous communities in the world.
You can always join the group (it is free to men and women, boys and girls of all communities, regions, age and nationalities. I have ensured that none of the humour there is directed against any people. And, you don’t laugh at the Punjabis but laugh with the Punjabis.
Below, and in a series of blog-posts, I am bringing out the jokes related by me in the group that I am nostalgic about. I used to hear them in my childhood and boyhood days.
Before we begin, here is:
AN INVITATION TO MADNESS:
Join Laugh With The Punjabis (LWTP)
Ped de neeche khade hoke dekho kinne amb ne,
LWTP join karke dekho kinne ithe bumb ne!
LTTE Sri Lanka ch khatam ho gayi, barbaad ho gayi,
LWTP India ch shuru ho gayi, aabaad ho gayi.
Dono hi failaande ne, bharpoor terror,
Ik by design, ik simply by error.
Ikko eh group hai, jithe saare ne leader,
Saare post paayun waale, bahut kam ne reader.
Posts ehna di dekh ke, hairaan haan main,
Gussa ehna da dekh ke, preshaan haan main.
Phir sochada haan, dost ne, humsuffer ne,
Mere tanh paagalpan ch, ehi tanh buffer ne.
Ehi group join karo, ban jaayo saade beli,
Agli transfer thuaadi, howegi Agra ya Bareilly.
Enjoy.
Old Time Joke #1 – Flavour of Punjab
Punjab Mail arrived at the station and it was so full that people were sticking out of windows and doors like bees from a hive.
Sardar Ujjagar Singh from my village was travelling to the city with his peepa of desi ghee. He somehow forced his way into the general compartment and the train started. The 15 kgs tin of the Ghee was getting into everybody’s way and was turning out to be a nuisance.
So, SUS took it, tied a piece of his tamba (dhoti) to the handle and tied the other end to a chain hanging in the compartment.
This brought the train to a screeching halt and the Guard and his team came to investigate. They found the peepa hanging from the chain.
Guard said: Ai dekho is peepe ne gaddi roki hai.
Sardar Ujjagar Singh: Dekhya, desi gheo di taaqat!
Old Time Joke #2 – Flavour of Punjab
From my village Urapur in Jalandhar district (between Ludhiana and Nawanshahr), there are two ways to go to the nearest city Nawanshahr: one is via Garcha and the other is via Bohara (Bahara); the road bifurcating after Aur.
One day, one of our fellow villagers stopped at a friend’s place in Garcha. They showered on him the traditional Punjabi hospitality but they were soon to find out that their friend from our village was made of sterner stuff. He polished off 25 to 30 roti, all their dal, sabji and kheer. Finally, after early dinner, the family sat with our man around in the vehda and started gup-shup.
They asked him about the purpose of his visit to Nawanshahr.
Our man said: Daakter ji nu milana hai.
Garcha Friend: Oye tainu ki problem hai?
Our man: Daakter ji nu dasnaa hai ke mainu bhukh nahin lagadi.
Garcha Friend’s Wohti (wife) cutting in: Waapas jaandi baar tussi Bohara ho ke jaayo, oh short-cut hai.
Old Time Joke #3 – Flavour of Punjab
Santa Singh, the Lion of Punjab, landed in New York in 1954, and there was a competition going on there to see who would be the bravest to jump from the tallest building into the swimming pool below.
Santa’s friends fielded him as the bravest; the most daring.
This was going to be the most stupendous feat and there were media personnel giving live commentary:
“Ladies and gentlemen; this is going to be a feat unequalled in the annals of history. And here we see now Santa Singh from Punjab in India reaching on top of this 100 story building, waving nonchalantly to the crowds below and, …. what is this? He has decided to jump with his full clothes on….what a brave and courageous man he is from the land of the braves…..and with a great Chhpaak, he lands into the pool…..wait, lets approach him and ask him his first reaction: ‘Santa ji; you are the bravest of the brave….please tell us how do you feel after accomplishing the world’s most daring act?'”
Santa: Oh tanh ji main baad ch dasaanga; pehale eh dasso mainu dhakka kinne ditta si?
Old Time Joke #4, Flavour of Punjab
Dasaunda Singh fought elections, won, and his party won majority. Dasaunda was made the Chief Minister of Punjab.
However, being a pind wala (villager), his people guided him to be suspicious of all around him lest they should take him for a ride. “Jithe tainu shaq howe, uthe puchh layin ki ho rehya hai.”
Fortified with this knowledge, he started next day morning for the Assembly by his driver driven Ambassador. (Please remember that during those days the car gears used to make a lot of noise).
As the car started, Dasaunda heard a lot of noise and asked the driver with alarm, “Oye ki kar rehan hain?”
Driver: “Sarkar gear change kar reha haan.”
Dasaunda Singh (Remembering the advice his cronies gave him): “Haraamzaade, mere saamne saamne gear change kar reha hain; jadd main nahin hovenga tanh tu gaddi hi change kar dawenga.”
Old Time Joke #5, Flavour of Punjab
Dasaunda Singh plane chadan lagga tanh Air Hostess ne dekhiya ke aisle ch kaafi bheedh hai aur kehiya, “Wait, Sir.”
Dasaunda Singh: Oh madam, huni agge 110 kilo di aurat gayi, usnu tanh tussi weight nahin puchhya. Asin 70 kilo de haan, saada tussi weight puchhi ja rahi ho.
Old Time Joke #6 – Flavour of Punjab
During olden days, a plane had as passengers an American, an Arab, Santa, a lady and her small 7 years old boy.
The plane engine developed trouble and the pilot announced that they may have to jump out, one by one. They noticed that there were only four parachutes for five of them.
When the first call came from the pilot, the American was the first to volunteer; he grabbed a parachute and jumped out saying, “Christ is the greatest.”
At the next call, Santa grabbed another parachute and jumped out saying, “Waheguru tonh wadda koi nahin.”
At the third call, the Arab jumped out saying, “Allah O’ Akbar.”
At the next call, the Pilot announced that the plane had to be abandoned. The mother told her child, “Beta, maine to zindagi dekh rakhi hai; toone abhi shuru ki hai. Tu baaki bacha parachute le aur kood jaa.”
Beta: “Nahin mummy; hum dono ke liye parachute hain kyonki Santa uncle mera basta le ke hi kood gaye the.”
Old Time Joke #7 – Flavour of Punjab
A farmer in our village Urapur near Nawanshahr was accused in the court for having stolen his neighbour’s hens.
He commissioned a lawyer to defend him. The lawyer was a smart-aleck and soon the farmer was acquitted.
I was present in the court to witness this drama (though I was a boy at that time)
Judge: Thuayanoo baa izzat bari keeta jaanda hai.
Farmer (with folded hands, not sure what it meant): Judge saab murgiyan rakh lawaan ke waapas deniya hun?
Continue laughing with the Punjabis; more to follow in subsequent posts.
However big or small we are, whether in the armed forces or not, we have a fascination for foreigners, especially Americans (Read: ‘Is America The Perfect World That We Imagine?’). We Indians may be as far from the American way of life as we can get, but, if we have to give any really good example of humour in the armed forces, we turn to foreigners and especially the Yanks.
I have a group on humour in the Indian armed forces named ‘Humour In And Out Of Uniform’. Take this group for example. I don’t know whether an American Facebook group on Humour In Uniform has even a remote mention of anything Indian (unless it is to show us in a pejorative way) but, we relentlessly put up posts, cartoons, pictures, poems here that show their soldiers, sailors and airmen as the most sensitive fathers, exceedingly respected citizens, braves and perfect in every way; and of course very witty. I started the group nearly two years ago and I have yet to see an equivalent picture of excellent ‘humour’ in the Indian armed forces, of say, a jawan hugging his daughter whilst proceeding to battle the terrorists.
A rare cartoon by RK Laxman depicting the valour of the Indian Jawan
Our fascination takes another shape, ie, to think of their armed forces as supremely powerful and professional. Take this anecdote that has been put up here: ‘A US SEAL is being interviewed on the television. The anchor after observing that they have conducted operations in various countries comments, “So, then you must be knowing a number of foreign languages.” And the SEAL replies, “Ma’am, we don’t go there to talk.”’ Ah, what business-like approach!
Is it simply because we imagine the Americans to be what we ain’t? Or is it because cut and paste of American humour is easily available?
No, I don’t think so. When we had just joined the Navy, the Internet and cut-and-paste were not there. And yet we used to relate the apocryphal incident of our sea-going tug Hathi challenging the USS Enterprise on flashing light, “Which ship? Where bound?” and Enterprise responding with, “I am US Naval Ship Enterprise; and who are you?” When Hathi replied, “I am Indian Naval Ship Hathi”, Enterprise reportedly chuckled and flashed back, “Don’t be funny.” And we were amused to hear of the incident.
Our fascination for foreigners knows no bounds. It is another matter that the 1971 War’s East Pakistan operations by the Indian armed forces are being taught in the war colleges of the West as the finest examples of planning and conduct of war. But, we somehow imagine that the goras know and do things better.
A cartoon regarding Indian Navy’s highly successful anti-piracy operations (Cartoon courtesy: toonwala.blogspot.com)
When I was commanding a missile vessel Vipul, the Local Flotilla was hosting three French ships visiting Mumbai under the command of ALINDIEN, a French naval acronym designing the admiral in charge of the maritime zone of the Indian Ocean, and of the French forces there. Besides other social interactions, it is customary to invite them to play games with our teams.
Now, we have divided games into what we call as troop games such as hockey, football, volleyball and even cricket. But, we do look at games like Golf, Squash-racquets and Lawn Tennis as purely officers’ sports. You don’t have golf courses, for example, in our services where jawans can play.
So, when we invited the French ships to play Golf, Lawn Tennis and Squash Racquets with us, we took it for granted that they would be sending their officers only. In the two venues: US Club Golf Course and IMSC we had arranged for our own officers to have high tea with them. Imagine our discomfiture when for all these “officer-oriented games”, sailors from the French ships landed up and played with our officers in those venues whereat our own sailors are never permitted.
Bending over backwards for the foreigners, including in HIAOOU, keeps our spines erect. I finally told the members of HIAOOU to keep up the good work; the best ten posts eulogizing the Americans and their humour would get free trips (all expenses paid) to the perfect world that we imagine.
Even after this, it is difficult to keep the Indians, ie, us, not to think of putting up posts concerning humour in the foreign armed forces but to concentrate on the Indian armed forces
Not many of our people realise that Google, arguably hand in glove with CIA to spy on foreigners including Indians (as revealed by Edward Snowden), has very little to offer on anything good about the Indian armed forces; if you want to see images of the impressive International Fleet Review conducted by the Indian Navy in 2001 in Mumbai, you would hardly see any pictures. However, if you Google mishap on INS Sindhuratna that eventually led to the Indian Navy Chief resigning, every little aspect of that mishap has been documented.
Cartoon depicting the IFR 2001 at Mumbai (Courtesy: www.amul.com)
I am, however, determined to keep my group Humour In And Out Of Uniform reflecting the best of the humour in the Indian armed forces despite the carpet bombing by foreigner oriented members.
