Jawan Quotes

And so I returned to that city in which, in those last hours before reunions, Shaheed and I saw many things which were not true, which were not possible, because our boys would not could not have behaved so badly; we saw men in spectacles with heads like eggs being shot in side-streets, we saw the intelligentsia of the city being massacred by the hundred, but it was not true because it could not have been true, the Tiger was a decent chap, after all, and our jawans were worth ten babus, we moved through the impossible hallucination of the night, hiding in doorways while fired blossomed like flowers, reminding me of the way the Brass Monkey used to set fire to shoes to attract a little attention, there were slit throats being buried in unmarked graves, and Shaheed began his, "No, buddha -- what a thing, Allah, you can't believe your eyes -- no, not true, how can it -- buddha, tell, what's got into my eyes?" And at last the buddha spoke, knowing Shaheed could not hear: "O, Shaheeda," he said, revealing the depths of his fastidiousness, "a person must sometimes choose what he will see and what he will not; look away, look away from there now." But Shaheed was staring at a maidan in which lady doctors were being bayoneted before they were raped, and raped again before they were shot. Above them and behind them, the cool while minaret of a mosque started blindly down upon the scene.

It must be said here that ‘Bharat Mata ki Jai’ is not an attribute of patriotism, but of deep patriarchy. Extreme mother-love is a camouflage for extreme misogyny. Over the past few years in India, the nature of the violence inflicted on women during rapes, riots and caste retributions is of an order seldom witnessed before in any part of the world, except perhaps, in Bosnia during the civil war, or in the Congo, or in Sri Lanka during the final moments of the pogrom against the civilian Tamil population there. From the barbarity of the jawans of the Assam Rifles on Manorama Devi, to incessant mass rapes by soldiers in Kashmir, to the graphic and horrific brutalities (that were videotaped) on even pregnant women in Gujarat in 2002, to the Nirbhaya case in Delhi, there is no evidence to prove that devotion towards an abstract ‘Bharat Mata’ translates into even a semblance of affection or respect for real flesh-and-blood women. Indeed, here it is only literally the flesh and blood that seems to matter. Add

I forgot the maid who works in my P.G. and struggles to make money, every day, who is in fear that one day her cruel husband will find her out eventually and beat her and her son to death. I forgot that auto driver I met on my way to M.G. road metro station, and who wanted to be in the army but gave up study due to the financial crisis. I forgot that security guard I met at IIT Delhi, and who was forced to leave the study and marry at the age of 15. I forgot those little kids I generally encounter at Railway stations and trains selling packets of pens @ Rs.25 per packet. I forgot that 75 years old ricksha wala I met in sector 23 market with only one eye and high power lens I forgot that washroom cleaning staff at my office who always welcomes me with a broad smile. I forgot the dead body of that martyred soldier I saw at the Kashmir airport, laden with garlands of marigold and people shouting," jawan amar rahe!" I forgot the scream of that pig near my office when a thick rope was brutally tied in its nose and it was forcefully taken by some people on a bike. I almost forgot everything!

the rush of adrenaline overcame indecision, fear and nervousness. The paralysing cold seeping into his bones was replaced by the heat of blood coursing through his veins. As the tracer bullet came flying past, lighting the place with a deadly cocktail of shrapnel and fire, Manoj stood up, tall and brave, his slight frame coiled like spring, his face a mask. Through the scream of the wind, he roared at those of his men that were fit to fight, ordering them to follow him through the hail of bullets. Like a colossal god with invincible powers he walked into the curtain of shells and bullets. He didn’t look back even once to see who had followed his final command but if he had he would have been a satisfied man. All his Gorkha jawans who could pick themselves up and walk were right behind him, their khukris gripped firmly in their hands.

Wong Jawa ilang jawane.

The Astral Warrior About thirty years ago in Siliguri district, a jawan named Harbhajan Singh went missing. His body was never found. A few days after his disappearance, some officers who had gone for a trek in the same area reported that they had gotten lost in the forest and Harbhajan had suddenly appeared and helped them find their way back. But Harbhajan did not come back with them, he remained in the forest. Since then, there have been similar reports of people, including civilians, who get lost in the forest, or face some difficulty there. Whenever they pray to Harbhajan Singh to come and help them, he comes. Year after year, the same story is repeated. Now, if so many people talk about how they have been helped, I don’t think it can be false. This is how Harbhajan became Baba Harbhajan Singh. Incredibly, he is still in the roster of the Indian Army. Not only that, his colleagues offer him food every day, and they say the food disappears, the bottle of water also gets empty. Like other Army officers, Harbhajan gets his promotions, now he is a JCO. Every year, he goes home on leave too. The GOC of Siliguri personally goes to his shrine, takes his chappals and photograph to Siliguri railway station and places his chappals and photograph in the train coach. These are then carried to his native place and received there by the commanding officer. After his leave period is over, the chappals and photograph are brought back ceremoniously. The GOC receives them, keeps them at the shrine in the forest, and continues to offer him food. So many people have reported the same story: we were stuck in snowfall, we lost our way, and Baba helped us. And the Indian Army respects this fact, although he doesn’t show up for attendance! Col. Rakesh Aima

According to Ommaney, prior to their departure Zinat Mahal had been squabbling loudly with Jawan Bakht after the latter had fallen in love with one of his father’s harem women. He also began using the family’s now scarce financial resources to bribe the guards to bring him bottles of porter: ‘What an instance of the state of morals and domestic economy of Ex-Royalty,’ wrote a disapproving Ommaney to Saunders. ‘Mother and son at enmity, the son trying to form a connection with his father’s concubine, and setting at nought the precepts of his religion, buying from, and drinking, the liquor of an infidel.