Born into a Fauji family , my earliest memories date back to the late 70s when Dad was posted in North Sikkim. He was a Deputy Commandant then with the Assam Rifles”The Oldest & the most decorated ParaMilitary Force of India” estbd in 1835.

As a company commander he was stationed at an outpost ,at Lachung (a beautiful tourist destination today ) alongwith a Doctor & a few hundered troops  gaurding the borders at about 9600 feet. Lachung has been described as the “most picturesque village of Sikkim” by British explorer Joseph Dalton Hooker in his Himalayan Journel (1855).Its was a trading post between Tibet & Sikkim before the Chinese occupation of Tibet in 1950.

Life for a 4 year old was a complete bliss.
Waking up to a thick carpet of snow (upto 4ft) blocking the doors, getting started every morning would be a fun exercise. The snow had to be removed and then the doors would open to a bright new day !

Our abode was the PORTA CABIN , insulated homes to brave the sub zero temperatures.The furnishings of a Fauji household those days was the perfect example of innovation at its peak.  Our moms used to make setties out of the black painted, steel fauji boxes with Dads name n rank written on it  with a to and fro destination which kept changing with each posting. Written with white paint and numbered to know which box contained what ! These boxes were a part of every Fauji household as  we moved lock ,stock and barrel every 3yrs to a new location ,on transfer.
These boxes had a very important role to play , hence were adorned with  soft cotton mattresses and then draped with beautiful hand embriodered sheets  and cushions strewn around  adding to its beauty &  comfort  .The two safety pins on each side  of the box held the fort like two tiny gaurds ,at ease only when the sheets were to be washed resuming duty  on the new cover as alert as ever.
Not a single crease would be tolerated by this Fauji housewife!

Then came our daily ritual. The mornings started with hot milk in a huge steel glass (life for a Punjabi is meaningless without milk but I hated it ) the glass looked like a missile to me those days. Gulping that down ,we were covered in  layers of clothing , hand knitted woolen gloves &  caps with a pigtail popping out and my favourite red gumboots .Balancing the tiara on the horns,with the trail of the poncho the tiny miny devil in me was now  ready to take on the world !

The older siblings being packed off to the Hostels those days ,the younger ones would have a field day at home.No work only play !!!

Climbing trees, giving mini heart attacks to mom ,playing with our Naga hound Tommy , jumping ecstatically covered in snow , visiting Daddy in office ,who needed these gadgets anyway (pun intended)
I was the only kid for most time of the year but never lonely.
Nature nurtures you !

Evenings would be visits to the Apple orchards with mom and dad. The memory is so well placed in my heart ,of trees laden with fruit and a beautiful stream of the Teesta river passing by. As I playfully jumped around ,trying to lift my tiny frame to pluck an apple ,the stream would flow along gurgling with happiness intune with the innocence of the 4yr old ,as if silently encouraging to leap higher the next time!
We would come back home with crates of apples each time once they ripened. Till then the light greens , a few sour bites and a few jumps were enough to cheer me up .
 
I was my  Daddy’s tail and  followed him everywhere  remember  the Pug …oh ! That came decades later .
I remember the visits to the local village headman (The Gaun Bura as he would be called) who would lovingly garland me with strings of CHURPI ( traditional  cheese made out of Yaks milk in the Himalayan region ).What more could a little girl ask for ! The queen walked carefully with the heavy strings of responsibility to finish them by the time they are due for the next visit .

Then came the much awaited time of the year ,the hostelers coming back home for vacations . I would wait for my elder sister ~My Window to the world, My 1st Google !!!

She was poised, calm ,sophisticated with the finesse  of a convent education quite emminent in her mannerisms & here I was all covered in mud ,with cuts and bruises all over and just learning my A B C… I looked upto her, She was my Ideal. I had so many questions and she had all the answers . As I said she was my 1st Google !!!

She was my Santa coming home each year but no clause attached ! My box of goodies would include popsicles, chocolates and the phantom cigarette candy (kids my generation would know ),NP chewing gums, Gems ,the milk toffees that would stick to your teeth forever and what not.

Vacations were the best time of the year as I had my Santa  pampering me spoilt. So the drill now was to dress  us both  in the same outfits, a trend parents loved to follow those days . With hot milk keeping our bellies full we would hop skip our way to the lawn which was a step lower than the house. There a swing waited ,with open arms welcoming us for this season of acrobatics ,as excited to reach for the clouds as the two sisters. As I was the little one I was made to sit and my sister would stand , with a strong jerk to her knees she would push it with all her might & with each swing we climbed higher and higher cutting through the chill in the air kissing our cheecks turning them apple red …

(I can still hear the chirpy  laughter in the air as I write this )

The next would be a short tea break , fresh orange juice for us though , (oranges were in plenty there)squeezed into our pretty pink Tea set ,adding a little salt and red chilli powder and sip it as gracefully as if having the most exclusive silver tips! To this day I dont know why we added the chillie powder but my google said so and so be it !

There stood a dainty boulder in the middle of the lawn , evesdropping and smiling at the two sisters giggling away to glory , waiting to give us a ride.It felt like Alladins carpet to me for I could see the world once atop the dainty boulder.

There I got my first brush with music. My sister had a diary with the latest numbers penned down in colourful ink. It is here on my Alladins carpet,I got introduced to Boney M… with “Brown girl in the ring tra la la la “….becoming like an anthem for me ,yes, that is the 1st song I ever learnt! Then followed the whole play list “There lived a certain man in Russia long ago,…. Rasputin ” so on n so forth!!!

I was always fascinated by the tinsle town of Bombay ,Mumbai ,now even as a 4 yr old. So now came the ultimate moment of my life. We would stand up on the solid rock and my sister would point at a certain direction and say,”There,thats where Bombay is, can you see it “? I would crane my neck, strech it to the last nerve ending and shake my head , a little dejected .I thought it was my tiny frame standing at a few feet that I couldnt see so far. She would try again & after a few untiring attempts I would exclaim,”Yes ,Yes I can see it now “!!!That was the elder sister who wanted to give me the moon, she would do anything to bring a smile on my face. She did all she could as a 10yr old to make my sweet little dream of seeing Bombay from my Alladins carpet come true .

As the setting sun would whisper,”mom’s  waiting” we would sprint as fast as our legs would take us  and reach home huffing and puffing. After a wash and slipping into our flannel  nightsuits we would gather around the Bukhari .The evenings were spent with mom and dad,playing antakshari or
Or some indoor games. Learning while having fun was how the families spent time together.

Today life has become so easy, The whole world is just one click away .
Our times things were different.We wanted something , we asked for it and waited,patiently! Shopping didn’t happen just like that ,anytime anywhere.That happened when Dad would travel to Gangtok on a temporary duty some 125kms away .So all you would do was wait for him to come back home ,it could take a few days or weeks .

I am reminded of one such incident.So I got a brand new badminton racquet. I went to the kitchen to show it to the staff working ,we would lovingly call them Daju ( big bro) .There was a bucket of water lying there so I dipped my racquet to wash it clean.Now I had to dry it ,so I placed it on top of the small bukhari in the kitchen and in a jiffy all the gutterings were gone….All I had now much to my utter shocked tiny existence was an empty circle with a handle. I sheepishly walked back to mom with tears swelling up told her the great feat I had just achieved. Today when I look back I can understand how frustrated she must have felt,but she did not get upset, instead smiled as though she was quite expecting this calmly said ,”don’t worry, now you will have to wait for daddy’s next trip ! I feel bad today ,because they had bought me the latest one, the wooden ones were too heavy for children so this new plastic one was the latest in town ,it was a parrot green racquet I loved and lost in a moment. The next line to follow as always was,learn something from ur elder sister ,an example I loved to , but stumbled quite often ?

In the evenings ,the centralised generator would run for a few hrs and then the alternate lighting would be up , that of the Petromax ( pressurised paraffin lamp with a bright white light ) and kerosene lanterns.The evening drill was something I loved to watch every single day. I would be in the kitchen watching daju religiously wipe the glass lamp shades humming softly. In between he would raise it up as if asking me to inspect the sparkle . Once I nodded in affirmation he would happily fix them back still humming his fav number.

Lo and behold ! There were two stars each night sparkling next to us.
The silver of the moon splashed on the white carpet outside and in the bed the night sung lullabys to this 4yr old snuggled into her love and dreams of Bombay ,the bukhari kept the chilli winters at bay and the lantern n petromax duo brightened the path of her dreams.

When the whole world has been taken by surprise ,paralysing people with fear there in one corner of the planet sits a Lady smiling to herself as she sips into her evening cuppa tea..

Life in a developed world is  moving at a supersonic pace  ,goals & aspirations being the only stimuli ,humans have mutated into machines ,reaching the top with dead souls ,screeching and tearing the silence are the wails of the living dead, one slip up ….& suddenly it all stops !

Who is she I wonder ,oblivious to the wails n woes of the world around ?

As I move closer ,I am pushed back a 100 yrs into the times where humans lived with emotions pumping blood into their veins and hearts singing in glee!

I am pushed into nature ,untouched and pure.

I stand gazing into the  vastness, watching  life cohabiting with no threat from either sides. ..& there I see her !

Living in the most magnificent heritage bungalows ,reminiscent of the British love for grandiosity is the Chai Memsahab.

Tea having become an integral part of her being ,she has aced the art of living in harmony with nature.

 Plantations being away from the mainland often call for “being prepared” for the rainy days. This art has been passed down for generations now that makes the Chai Memsahab’s  Inventory , fully loaded and self sufficient!

Toiling at the fields,braving the harshest of weather, socked the man comes home smiling as the chimney whistles announcing his arrival. The pantry is all decked up for the evening with goodies lined up in order. There’s euphoria in the kitchen with the tongs and spoons  and the staff crafting a yet another masterpiece for the evening.

“There’s a hearth in the home

There’s fire in my belly “…sings the Planter gleefully as he pours himself a drink .

Food and loads of food is what makes a planter happy.Homegrown, fresh ,organic food is what the Memsahab provides each day ,day after day.

Winters, the happiest and the busiest time for a Chai Memsahab and her fleet of helpers who grow,store and preserve for the coming months.The  vegetables ,the sauces and the purees ,the juices,the squash and the fruits  ,you name it …its there !

There is another aspect to a Chai Memsahab’s larger than life persona. Somewhere hidden beneath the perfectionist is a young girl learning to walk on the tight ropes of dustoor (norms) and duties and proving her mettle when the time comes.

Her home becoming her entire existence, merging into the four walls,she forgets her own identity.

As years pass  by ,she masters the art  to redifine her existence .Isolated ,miles away from the cities & the hustle and bustle she cushions her dreams in the solitude of her
gigantic home.She nurtures her thoughts and reignites the passion of her soul.The enigma around her creates the Chai Memsahab as a self reliant , steel willed woman who has braved a world that no longer existed for the world that did !

Quarantined she has been for years now,I understand.

As I get up to leave, I hear the love birds chirping , the geese in the impeccable  whites escort me to the gate . The monkeys  like a skillful trapeze artist wave  holding on to a branch  bidding me farewell.

As I drive through the canopy covering the driveway I am humbled by the richness of life that still exists in this part of the world.

The trumpet blows creating a symphony with the soft crumbling of the dried leaves ,the jumbos  walk past swiftly,reinforcing  in me the belief that life exists in harmony and we humans are just a tiny part of the vastness.

As the world struggles to maintain its  sanity in isolation

the smile remains….unfazed.

Today I feel compelled  to write about ABUSE ,a term many have heard/know of but seldom understand.I see a lot of people intrigued by your life,they want to know, the tingling in their tastebuds to build up another gossip session is too intense.
We live in a society where we judge others by our own parameters.

This is an appeal to all such people,if someone you know is struggling and you wish to help ,which one must , 1st and foremost learn that there are certain Do’s n dont’s to follow.

1.Never judge their story wearing your rose tinted glasses.They might be doing their best to cope with the difficult situation.

2.Never tell the victim (a woman here ) that it’s NORMAL for men to do that & that the victim hurt their male ego. And if you are a woman yourself ,you are equally responsible for building a wrong narrative for others to follow.Two wrongs do not make a right.She might be dealing with a huge emotional setback in life ,trying to come to terms with it and your insensitivity will increase her pain of being disregarded by her own female friends which she must have thought would empathise with her situation.
Incase, the victim is a man,for God’s sake,Never make fun of him ,imposing the so called defination of him being a super human.A man can be equally sensitive ,kindhearted ,emotional and be Abused.For them its even more difficult to open up.So if they do, give them a patient hearing .By being insensitive towards him ,cracking jokes of him being dominated by a woman , you are being an ally to the abuser ,knowingly or unknowingly.

Hear them  out it is You who wanted to help .

3.Never say,”If its so bad why dont you just leave”?First learn what ABUSE”is.If it was so easy any sane person would never continue living such a tormented existence. All you can do is listen .Once the victim feels understood , the confidence starts rebuilding ,slowly try and help them to get a hold of their life.

4.Always remember ABUSE messes up the most intelligent people with the strongest minds.By the time one realises ,they are too deep into it.
There is a survival mechanism in the brain and the nervous system that betray our intellectual mind when coping with an abusive relationship.The brain freezes ,Yes ~thats the defence mechanism at work to save the person relive the pain from the repeated abuse.

5.Victims are not stupid people.They are dealing with one of the most terrifying experiences from the closest of human bonds that are suppossed to actually protect them and be their support system.

6.Oh!if it’s so bad ,how can you be so happy,dressed so well all the time?
You are saying,a Victim has to cry out aloud,in tattars to prove he/she is abused?
The victim has a right to steal a few moments from life and smile,don’t you think so?

7.After one has shared their story with you,which is always keep in mind,an extremly difficult step and needs a lot of courage to speak up,your close proximity to the abuser proves you are nullifying the victims pain right then and there and justyfying the ABUSE !

8.Next time you want to be a Messiah in someone’s life ,make sure you know what you are dealing with.You may be the reason the agony of a sufferring,tired ,battered soul increases manifolds.

Daisyraj Singh ?