The Party

The Party

By: Debaprasad Mukherjee

The descent felt like a: what should I say- a cakewalk, a relief, a gasp of fresh air, an amount of remorse- or a mix of everything! 21000 feet of walk on snow in stages with blistered feet within those snow boots, the heavy show outfit, the blizzards, the crevasses- had made me reach the Siala Post, my place of work as an army doctor, to serve my force at Siachen Glacier. It was an ordeal to treat the troops over there for last four months. It was an unique experience that can only be understood once you’re through it.

So the feelings described at the outset felt justified. I flew back by a helicopter to base camp, collected my things following a few formalities, a quick grub, and I was flying on my way to Leh.

A night’s stay at Leh Transit Camp, then an army jeep dropped me at my Div. HQ, Nimu. Another day’s journey was to take me to my battalion head quarter at Kargil. I was eager to meet my old mates of 11 Garh Rif. After a few days I would take a leave to go home. I deserved it.

At the dinner in officer’s mess I was planning my journey next morning in a happy frame of mind. It was interrupted by Col. Srivastava, the in-change of the medical division over there.

“Capt. Mukherjee, supposing you stay back tomorrow for a party?”

It was a shocker. Not that I hate parties, but I didn’t want to waste a single day before I could meet my battalion.

“Must be some stupid birthday or marriage anniversary,” I sniggered.

Under normal circumstances an in-charge of a station would be cross, but this was no normal circumstance. Siachen returnees were seen with respect. It’s the highest and arguably the toughest battle field in the world. In addition, I feel there’s an element of pity also comes into play. My skeletal figure at this point was evidence enough.

“Gen Hardeep Singh is visiting us with family. The party is in his honour.” He explained patiently while staring at me, in a understanding manner though.

It was April, and families of officers were allowed. In last few months I had almost forgotten how a female looked like; but even the prospect of meeting a few families in the party didn’t appeal to me.

“Can’t I be excused, sir?” I pleaded.

“Well, I’m not in a position to force you, but I’d request you to be my guest tomorrow.”

I considered. Apart from being a senior officer Col. Srivastava was middle aged compared to my barely twenty-seven. In addition, Maj. Gen. Hardeep Singh was the GOC of Northern Command. I decided to stay back the next day.

The evening party was grand, and suited to fit the stature of the GOC. Only I looked out of place with my uniform and whiskers amongst a group of sturdy clean-shaved officers. Only the Sikh officers had their facial hairs on according to religious background. All were with their suit and neck-tie on though.

Along with other officers I was introduced to Maj. Gen. Hardeep.

“Nice meeting you, Captain Mukherjee. It’s an honour to serve in Siachen. You’re the people who make Army proud.”

All the eyes turned to me; in appreciation and curiosity. I took it in its stride. These were in expected lines maintaining military courtesy.

But his next words came unexpected. “Brig. Nutiyal was speaking highly of you.” The burly Sardar fashioned an appreciative smile from underneath his waxed moustache.

This was news to me. True that Brigadier Nutiyal got stuck at our post for a period due to inclement weather, he saw me work with the troops, he discussed food and calorie requirements for them over there, and we exchanged some personal topics as well; but that was nothing to talk about, especially to a GOC. A captain is too small a fry in army echelon to talk about in higher levels.

Brig. Nutiyal was in overall charge of the entire Siachen operation- Op Meghdoot. His words mattered. The appreciation in the eyes of the beholders increased manifolds. The senior officers took the responsibility of filling my wine glass and threw a barrage of questions, from relevant to silly, at me.

Is there a separate water point where snow is not trodden? How effective is the projectile firing? Was there an air attack at your post? Did you sleep and eat properly? Is it true some people lose their heads due to altitude? How many pulmonary oedema happened in your time? Does your pee freeze? And so on.

They were all seasoned officers. Their interest in me were temporary, but I answered sincerely as I sipped my drink.

“Why Doc, we’re also dying too know of your experience in Siachen. Won’t you join the ladies?” A well clad lady in her thirties interrupted our cosy chit chat.

A senior officer winked at me. “It’s your time Mukherjee. Go ahead.” As I was about to leave, he called me aside and whispered. “A few young girls are there as well. Don’t neglect them.”

I looked around. Only three youthful girls and two young lads, presumably children of senior officers, were gossiping in corner near the lady wives.

I used to be a bit sceptical about young girls, but not under the influence of a couple of pegs. I advanced towards the ladies nonchalantly  

“Oh Doctor, you’re so young! It must’ve been difficult on your parents’ part to bear with your stay at Siachen. Where are you from?” was the motherly eruption from Mrs. Satnam Kaur, wife of the GOC.

In spite of class differences I feel the mothers all over are built of the same material. I answered hhe and rest of the ladies’ queries patiently and respectfully. They asked about the toils of life over there, the sufferings of the troops, the food served and many other things.

There was a concerned mother or sister beyond every painted face. It made me sober about my concept of party women.

But there was no escapade from the young brigade. “You must talk to our children. Let them have a lesson of their lives from your unique experience,” suggested the lady of the house. “Moreover, we oldies might be getting on your head,” she suggested with a smile.

Arpreet Kaur, the daughter of the Maj. Gen, looked in her early twenties, and was leading the young brigade that looked a little junior to her. The youngest was a boy in his teens. He was about to appear in his final school exams. He was Shantanu, son of Maj Patil.

“Hi uncle!” he said cheerfully, “You’re a real hero.”

I smiled in response. Everyone cheered.

Arpreet looked thoughtful.

“What’s the matter, young lady?” I asked with the confidence obtained from my liquor.

She turned at me with her sharp features and round specs.

“I don’t think I can call you uncle. I’m doing my masters in psychology.”

A young girl not calling me uncle is a boon. But I remained uncomfortable because of her probing large eyes.

“You can call me Deb if you like,” I tried to look smart.

“Not that fast, Doc.” She was smarter than I thought.

“Even Doc is not bad.” I was no creeper either.

“Well, it really doesn’t matter,” she snubbed, “you must be proud of your achievement.”

It was uncalled for. I controlled myself. “Not in the sense you mean, maybe. I’m proud to have served my country and my troops, but I don’t take it to be a personal glory.”

“Your body language is not conducive. You were enjoying every accolade that came your way. I could notice it.” There was a rebuking smile on her face.

It was disturbing. Yet I kept my cool. “You’re going to be a good psychologist. But don’t depend too much on your books. There are chances of being wrong.”

Arpreet smiled naturally for the first time. “May be.”

“The dance floor is ready,” someone announced, “please come with your partners.”

Almost all proceeded towards the dance floor inclusive of children. I didn’t move. Neither did Arpreet.

“Not married, I guess,” smiled she.

“Your psychology came alright this time,” I relaxed.

“Won’t you dance?”

“I’m no good at this.”

“Neither am I,” she expressed. “Should we talk?”

“It’ll be a pleasure.”

“Tell me frankly, did you opt for Siachen?” she asked in a mellow voice.

I thought over it. Actually I didn’t. In fact I cursed myself when my deputation to the place came. But I won’t let myself down. And as I got more entangled to the life of the troops over there I found myself to be a part of them.

I told the same to Arpreet in no uncertain terms. Even I surprised myself as I saw describing her the death of a young soldier under helpless conditions.

She wept silently. Then she held my hands and said, “You know Deb, most of us are like that. We be matured through our experiences.”

“There seems to be a deep rooted pain in you,” I said tenderly. I no more had anything against her. “I’ll not force you to tell anything.”

“But telling it might take the load off my heart. It’s about Jaydeep, the boy I loved. He died, all of a sudden, a year back. I never told my parents about him.” She wiped her eyes with a hanky. “Sorry about confiding in you, but I thought you’ll understand.”

“I do, Arpreet,” I squeezed her hand, “take me to be a friend of yours.”

She nodded solemnly. I never had a girlfriend thus far. It was surprising how quickly you can have a true one.

“C’mon Doctor. Have a dance. You can dance with my daughter.”

I never knew when Maj. Gen. Hardeep approached us. He was too tipsy to notice the tears in her daughter’s eyes. “You’re the toast of the party. The night belongs to to you.”

Amongst a huge hurrah we two got to the dance floor, and both of us performed miserably. Yet cheers were on.

We dined together, quietly. No one disturbed us. “Don’t think we’ve a chance to meet further,” I said at length.

“Neither do I,” she sighed. “But isn’t it good in a way? I enjoyed my moments, and let the good moments be short.”

I smiled. “I can foresee a great psychologist in the making. And yes, I agree with you.”

It was years back and I’m an old man by now. Yet I cherish the short closeness with Arpreet. And of course, the memory of how an apparent nobody like me became the star of the party, albeit for a single evening!