The Civilian

The Armed Forces are a strange family. If you are not a part of it, you end up finding them stuck up, and in case you are one of them, everyone else is …well …a Civilian!
I’ve been out of the cantonment since the past five years and it seems like the most altering period of my life. The realisation struck me today, when I entered the Armed Forces Medical College (AFMC) in Pune. Over these years I have transformed from a typical ’fauji’ kid to ..a Civilian. I am no longer Gp Captain So n So’s daughter, but just a journalist.

The first strike was at the AFMC gate. I marched forward thinking I had some kind of a connection with the forces and it was almost my right to be allowed inside. Previously, every time I entered the cantt, my dependant’s card was flashed and I would gain entry into the prohibited area, outside which, a board read “Trespassers will be prosecuted. Photography is strictly prohibited.” It was always an overwhelming sense of pride at being able to enter this ‘secret’ place where lesser mortals had no place.

Today, it was I the lesser mortal that was denied the ticket to secrecy. Only a phone call to the commandant let me in. Second, was when I entered the administrative head’s office. The smart lady officer happened to know my father very well and the conversation began. I was referred to as ‘ma’am” instead of my name. I referred to her as Gp Capt So n So, instead of a simple ’aunty.’ It was strange. To my photographer sitting besides me, everything was going perfect. I was striking the conversation well and he would get his perfect shot.

For me, it brought back a shot of images, from NDA to Suratgarh to Hashimara to countless other places and finally Delhi, where I began this journey of losing affiliation to something I was so proud of being associated with. For Gp Capt So n so, who even knew my father, the person sitting in front of her was just another journalist, a civilian who wanted her work done. The conversation remained strictly professional. For all the while when I was churning inside trying to understand my disentanglement with the esteemed force, my entire arrogance of being the girl from the armed forces seems to be ending. Who says we are a casteist society?? If there is anything know as caste, it must be synonymous with profession.

At the end of the day, my photographer got the best shot, I left the Armed Forces Medical College, detached from the services. My services background had been camouflaged by my civilian stature. I don’t know whether I m sad, but it’s a revelation.

The art of letting go...

I like clean floors, clean kitchen slab, I don't like (and I love to show my dislike) tilted cushions, clothes on the floor, clothes on the bed, ruffled hair, un-bathed people, un-ironed clothes, hair in the bathroom, un-lifted WC seat, people talking during a movie, munching sounds while eating, clumsy eaters, slow workers, incessant callers, motor mouths, late comers, liars, exaggerators, walking into the house with shoes on, over confidence, attention seekers, constant cribbing, animal haters.............

I am admittedly a control freak. My boyfriend tells me so, so does my mother, my sister, my friends, my colleagues, my boss and my neighbour……

So this week, I have decided to work on myself a bit. I start by allowing a stranger to drive my car. I hope she can use the problematic clutch......Arrrg.....I SAID I'M TRYING!!!