They say things have changed now, but there was a time you could tell a fauji family from a mile. They always had a holdall (which held ALL the stuff that remained invisible till the last minute); depending on the ages of the members, there was the potty, a bucket and mug, one green plant grabbed at the last minute when the hubby was not looking and, in the earlier days, a kerosene stove. Often, a piece of driftwood, which did not fit anywhere else.
The inexplicable things about the Air Force is that we always travelled by train on postings. And, the last few hours before departure was always like being in a free fall.
One man decided he was going to buck the trend. He planned to the last detail, determined to avoid panic at the station. The ensigns were strategically placed; each in charge of one piece of luggage for optimum speed and efficiency while loading the luggage on the train, as it stopped in that station for two minutes only. The train arrived, the luggage was loaded and all went well till the train chuffed off. Then it dawned on the man that his wife was left behind on the platform behind a huge painting!
Rani Sokhey remembers how an officer was given a warm send-off by his merry colleagues who managed to get him to the station in time. When he woke up, many hours later after a deep rum-induced slumber, he found he had been put on the wrong train. No matter how well-planned we were, we usually found ourselves running on platforms clutching things to our chest. Farewell parties always happened after the household effects had left, and there was always an official mementos were given to the officer and a Ladies Club one given to his his wife. These were always curiously shaped and impossible to fit into any of the suitcases. I remember running on the platform holding my daughter in one arm. The other held an oval pedestal with a horse with outspread wings, a potty hooked to my little finger and my son hanging on to my elbow. That was the same posting when we forgot to pack a brand-new water filter. I was willing enough to take it with us, but Raju was vehemently opposed to it. “I am going there as a Commanding Officer. I will NOT step off the train clutching a water filter!”
But, over time, the Air Force wife assumes a certain sangfroid. Like Deepali Dixit. She says, “We were travelling from Bagdogra to Kalaikonda and had to change trains in Calcutta. So, there we were on the platform, boarding the onward train. My husband and I with two sons in tow…We got into the train when I realised it was like a local; there was no loo. So I got off to use the loo in the long-distance train opposite. When I returned to the platform, the train bearing my family and possessions was just vanishing from sight…” Deepali had just Rs. 10 with her. She bought herself a copy of Stardust, a fruit cake and waited for the next train. The same Deepali did not bat an eyelid when the jonga they were travelling in broke down.
“Everyone got off, picked up a piece of luggage and started running towards the station. Passersby also picked up the extra luggage and ran along with us to the train!”
Crate Expectations
Life in the Air Force was not just about leaving a place; it was also about arriving at the new station to accommodation that ranged from lean-tos to three-bedroom-and-a-study homes. If the family was big, we got two rooms in the mess; each with a bathroom. Only one bathroom was used and the other became the kitchen. “In Bagdogra, I put a plank from a packing crate over the WC and that was my counter. I tried to ignore what was beneath. I hung money plants over the flush chain to camouflage it. We have given squadron parties from such kitchens. In fact, the Garrison Engineer (sometimes a civilian) visited us to find out how I had converted it,” says Deepali with some pride.
Neela Dhar remembers how in Tambaram, Chennai, “Living quarters was barely a room. And it was bare. No cupboards, nothing. So I divided my fridge crate into two. The top half held my saris and below were my masala dabbas and kitchen utensils.” Neela’s tryst with boxes is abiding. deep and abiding love for her boxes/trunks continues. Every posting saw her push together two or four boxes together to be used as a dining table, another for the microwave and one more as an ironing board. Jimmy and Anna Thomas too made trunks to order so that when six of them were put together, they were the size of a double bed. Only they miscalculated the height and needed a footstool to clamber on!
Boxes ruled our life. Nanhi Mann remembers the excitement of proudly painting her husband’s new rank and their new destination on their trunks when their posting came. She also remembers how every time she had to pack them her husband would rush off to play golf with a senior! officer!
I remember our first posting after marriage. Raju and I dusted our hands after sending the truck off with our meagre collection of trunks. As we were saying our bye-byes to the rooms, a cupboard swung open and my blood ran cold. It had unopened wedding gifts, (mostly whistling milk cookers and iron boxes), bed sheets, curtains, table cloths, files, wedding albums…Raju still wakes up in a cold sweat.
There are more posting stories. The one about the truck that was washed away in the Brahmaputra, or the time the luggage that reached Sarsawa instead of Sirsa. Once, we sent off the truck to one destination only to receive a signal that the posting was changed and that we should head elsewhere. But, we survived.
We have given away our boxes and now the memories make us laugh. But, at the time all we could think of was catching that train.
And oh yes, not forget the potty.
