My Brother with a bloodied nose:
They asked him who he was and he said,
With poise and utmost grace.
A flying pilot of the Indian Air Force.
Battered, bruised, but with a proud face.
If only the general public could,
Muster a milligram of the same poise.
And realize that their war drum beating.
Is a ridiculous dangerous noise.
My brother with a bloodied nose,
He stood there firm and tall.
And smiled in the face of his captors.
And taught us the biggest lesson of them all.
That bravery is not ordered online,
Does not ship overnight on Amazon Prime.
- Varun Ram Iyer
Poignant words, words that make us step back to think, where are we headed. The Wing Commander Abhinandan Varthaman strode into India across the Wagah border head held high, back straight as an Officer and a gentleman in the true sense of the word should. In the 60 hours, he spent in captivity that is what he exuded a ram rod spine, whether he was being interrogated with blindfolds or over a teacup. A ramrod spine, courage, grace, and poise. As Indians, we are proud of such sons, who hold our nation on their broad shoulders, who defend us with their broad chest in the way of those who try to bring us to harm. Abhi, as he is called by his buddies, has expressed his desire to be back in the cockpit of his fighter at the earliest, in spite of having suffered an injured spine on account of the ejection and damaged ribs at the hand of his captives.
But it is this spine and poise that asks us- are we deserving of heroes as him who stand stoic for us, unquestioning of our fallacies. Pulwama bloodied 40 families on Valentines Day, where the blood of our soldiers smeared the nation red as we talked of love. There was a rage. There was a stifle quest for retribution maybe. But while we were playing couch warriors, armchair generals, how many of us actually tried to know that Naseer Ahmed is actually from Kashmir, Vasanth Kumar is from Kerala, Maneswar Basumatari is from Assam or Sanjay Rajput is from Maharashtra. How many of us know that Uttar Pradesh lost as many as 12 sons to the blast. So the question arises when the patriotic fervour dies down do we remember those who lay down our lives. How many of us remember Tukaram Omble from 26/11, or Saurabh Kalia whose mutilated body bears reminder to the atrocities of war.
Are living room patriotism and candlelight vigils the only due of our heroes or do we need to make ourselves more deserving of their sacrifices. The question might be what is deserving of these heroes. Let us be gentlemen in truest forms like these chaps of the uniform. Let our thought and action be above reproach, let us be Caesar’s wife, when we stand up in front of these men of uniform. True to their ways of duty before self, let us put our duties in our own professional world above our self so that we deliver in the same coin as our heroes do in our own way.
Ours is a nation of emotion, and while the emotion is high we are susceptible to words and action, and forget once the emotion ebbs. So the challenge is to maintain these emotions and our actions and contributions going even when time starts taking a toll and emotions start to ebb. Our social and political leaders have a crucial role in this. But it is the greatest misfortune of our nation that at such moments when we need them to be statesmen, they turn into posturing opportunists. While the nation was grieving the departed of Pulwama, or glued to the telly seeking news off Abhi, our politicians were working there sources to disseminate information into the public domain so that they could gain mileage out of it.
India doesn’t doubt its sword arm -the armed forces, but it is a sorry state of affairs that the Central Nervous system that leads the arm, the polity is in much doubt. Headcount is not claimed by the sword, which incapacitates and gets on with its business. The head count is claimed by the polity to beat the drums of war to suit itself or cries itself hoarse questioning the numbers if they are on the other side. The person on the street believes the forces, but emotional people are easily swayed and sandwiched by the rhetoric and made to take sides one side or the other. And when you chose one side the other side brands you as bhakt or anti-national. Do our heroes deserve this kind of a fragmentation of the nation that they protect with their own lives on the line?
As the drums roll for war, we as a nation need to live up to the armed forces who spend their lives on the edge of the sword, away from their loved ones so that we and ours may be safe. Jingoism and living room strategies of war have t be shelved for realities, where those who put their chests in the line of fire for us feel that what they protect is worthwhile and that we who they protect do not take them and their sacrifices for granted. Most important of all we need to show these brave heroes that we are worth their blood and toil.
In summation as I saw Group Captain Abhinandan wait on the other side of the border, poised for the cross over, I was overwhelmed with pride at his valor, was humbled looking on his countenance marred by the scars and swellings on his face gifted by our neighbours, yet calm. As I read about his professed desire to get back in is cockpit I am astounded by his passion, but then what more do you expect from a man whose father is an air marshal, mother a doctor who has worked in various conflict zones and wife is herself a retired squadron leader in the air forces. He is a man who is in a mission to live the credo of the air forces-“Nabah Sparsham Deeptam”, touch the skies with glory. We can only hope to bask in his glory and strive to be worthy and in our hearts, there is only one word for my brother with a bloodied nose-SALUT.
