As I wake up to a bitterly cold 16 December morning it takes me back to 16 December 1971.
Our formation has move from Kalimpong to Lungthu, in west Bengal, guarding the Jalapala pass from any ingress by the Chinese.
Lungthu with the Chinese just a stone throw away with the battle raging down below with its rarefied air, deficient of oxygen, its intense cold, the bleak landscape its mountain sides denuded of the trees by years of illegal falling by the troops positioned there for cooking and heating, all combined to create an atmosphere totally alien to us dwellers of the planes. The sensation was particularly strong and overpowering at night with the full moon appearing unusually large the stars so near and shining bright in the thin clear air of the night. The stark wilderness bereft of any human or animal being in the near vicinity that late made one aware of some supernatural power some where very near.
Normally, at that height, we would wake up to a bitterly cold morning, albeit to a clear sky with the early sun bathing the surroundings in a golden hue.
This day, however was different, the daybreak came not with bright sun-shine but with a severe storm raging in its full fury, it was more like a tornado with the corrugated tin-sheets from various structures around getting uprooted from their moorings by the force of the wind and flying around like unguided missiles. Coming out of my hut I was buffeted by the strong gusts of the wind, crouching low and struggling against the wind force I slowly made my way to the mess for breakfast. However, the mess was in a mess with soot every where. No breakfast could be served that morning as the strong gusts of wind flowing in and out of the kitchen made it impossible to light the stove.
Down below in the planes of the then East Pakistan birth of Bangla Desh had taken place and the post-delivery calm prevailing. It was all quiet once again after days, months and years of killings of the locals prolonged fighting by the Mukti Bahini and a short fight with Indian forces when 90,000 odd of the Pakistani Army had surrendered to India Armed forces.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
REMOTE
As I recline on the three-seater, watching the India -West Indies Test-match, live from Jamaica, I have the satisfaction of having full control of my gadgets with the plethora of handsets within my easy reach: the cordless hand set, the mobile, the remote for the AC, those of the DVD player, the digital STB of the cable and importantly that of the TV, giving me full control over the vast array of the cable channels.
Looking back at the good old days, when we brought home the black and white, 13 Valve TAXILA, that would light up like a Christmas tree on switching on. It had only one control, to control the only TV channel those days , the channel Four, for fine -tuning.
Life was simple: the TV was switched-on promptly at six in the evening in the TV owning houses, suffusing the colony with the haunting signature tune of DD and reluctantly switched off at 11 in the night when DD went of the air. Sunday was the Movie day and no social visits were encouraged: those unfortunate who landed, unannounced were greeted with baleful eyes by both the elders and the children, as the TV, then having the pride of place in the drawing room had to be switched off, to enable the polite conversation.
The perceptive, sensing the unease and freeze in the environment, soon left. And with the movie resuming on the promptly switched on TV, the relief all around was palpable.
Post retirement disposable money brought in the Videocon Colour TV with its remote: remote the new symbol of power, of the powerful in the house, with the hand set in hand, controlling the channel that had to be watched.
Soon we got a land line, on medical grounds as the wife was under treatment for a heart condition, and a cordless instrument to go with it from our visit to our daughter in New York.
The Mobile era was just dawning with instruments costing Rs 40,000 each and a tariff of Rs 16 per minute, affordable only by my son and available to me on as required basis.
The widow AC, which was acquired because of wife’s illness and for her to battle the Delhi summers, was manually controlled. However, the Split in the drawing room brought along it’s own remote: now we had four handsets to play around, soon to be joined by those of the DVD player and the Cable Digital STB.
The old AC eventually met a slow death and was replaced by a made in China remote controlled Voltas’.
By now, more affordable, I had also acquired a mobile, no big deal, and so had the two housemaids, the washer-man the vegetable-seller and even the cycle-rickshaw -puller.
With five hand sets to play around, each with a tendency to get misplaced, especially the mobile, of them at least two fall to the ground from my lap every time I get up: the advent of technology had made life more complicated and not simpler.
Moving from room to room with the cordless, getting all the exercise I need, yes now I have full control of my gadgets, of the TV, hopping from channel to channel wondering as to what is playing on the next, on the AC, constantly fiddling with the fan and temperature control, trying to find the optimum combination to keep the power bill in control, of the mobile, busy deleting the innumerable SMSs’ each pushing me for buying, selling or cajoling to do some favour.
Yes life was indeed simpler till the handsets came.
Looking back at the good old days, when we brought home the black and white, 13 Valve TAXILA, that would light up like a Christmas tree on switching on. It had only one control, to control the only TV channel those days , the channel Four, for fine -tuning.
Life was simple: the TV was switched-on promptly at six in the evening in the TV owning houses, suffusing the colony with the haunting signature tune of DD and reluctantly switched off at 11 in the night when DD went of the air. Sunday was the Movie day and no social visits were encouraged: those unfortunate who landed, unannounced were greeted with baleful eyes by both the elders and the children, as the TV, then having the pride of place in the drawing room had to be switched off, to enable the polite conversation.
The perceptive, sensing the unease and freeze in the environment, soon left. And with the movie resuming on the promptly switched on TV, the relief all around was palpable.
Post retirement disposable money brought in the Videocon Colour TV with its remote: remote the new symbol of power, of the powerful in the house, with the hand set in hand, controlling the channel that had to be watched.
Soon we got a land line, on medical grounds as the wife was under treatment for a heart condition, and a cordless instrument to go with it from our visit to our daughter in New York.
The Mobile era was just dawning with instruments costing Rs 40,000 each and a tariff of Rs 16 per minute, affordable only by my son and available to me on as required basis.
The widow AC, which was acquired because of wife’s illness and for her to battle the Delhi summers, was manually controlled. However, the Split in the drawing room brought along it’s own remote: now we had four handsets to play around, soon to be joined by those of the DVD player and the Cable Digital STB.
The old AC eventually met a slow death and was replaced by a made in China remote controlled Voltas’.
By now, more affordable, I had also acquired a mobile, no big deal, and so had the two housemaids, the washer-man the vegetable-seller and even the cycle-rickshaw -puller.
With five hand sets to play around, each with a tendency to get misplaced, especially the mobile, of them at least two fall to the ground from my lap every time I get up: the advent of technology had made life more complicated and not simpler.
Moving from room to room with the cordless, getting all the exercise I need, yes now I have full control of my gadgets, of the TV, hopping from channel to channel wondering as to what is playing on the next, on the AC, constantly fiddling with the fan and temperature control, trying to find the optimum combination to keep the power bill in control, of the mobile, busy deleting the innumerable SMSs’ each pushing me for buying, selling or cajoling to do some favour.
Yes life was indeed simpler till the handsets came.
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