An Evening in the Winter of ‘71
Our school bus was late that day. The winter timing in the school was from 8:30 in the morning to 4:30 in the evening. The school bus used to take us around a good part of Delhi and drop us at our stop at Shakti Nagar only after an hour or so. The onset of winter meant that it was dusk by the time we returned home.
As the bus turned from Azad market to Pul Bangash my eyes were riveted on the long goods train passing underneath the old bridge. The goods train was carrying an unusual load that evening. The open wagons of the goods train displayed big field guns being ferried on the tracks leading to Punjab, bordering West Pakistan.
For past 6 months or so there were news items about skirmishes in the regions bordering erstwhile East Pakistan. In the north India we were getting used to the war time civilian drills, the foremost amongst which was to switch off the lights in the evening - called blackout, whenever a hooter sounded. We would then wait patiently for the second hooter after which we could switch on the lights.
That evening I reached home past 6.00 PM and was struggling with my school homework when the hooter sounded. Our wait for clearing hooter was inordinately long that evening. More than an hour passed but we did not get the signal that the blackout period was over. Around 9.00 PM our neighbor Mrs. Chopra told us, “You people better have your dinner. The blackout is going to continue. The airport at Srinagar has been bombarded!”
I still recall the events preparatory to an imminent war. In the neighboring schools Z shaped trenches had been dug out to provide safety in the event of any arial bombings.
The war drills enrolled enthusiastic civilian volunteers who would rush up to any house emitting lights from windows or doors. Many a times our newspaper shields on the window glasses and ventilators would fail in their duty and we would be asked to switch off the lights. We had a candlelight dinner that evening.
In the morning the news was all over. Pakistan bombers had attacked five airports in India. India retaliated by bombing seven airports in Pakistan. Very soon India and Pakistan were officially at war.
We had blackouts every evening till the war continued. One night I woke up in my sleep hearing the loud noise of a plane flying at low height. I called out to my mother and found that she also had woken up. We spent some anxious moments till sufficient time had passed assuring us that all was well.
My Nani in Bihar enquired my relatives how far Delhi was from Pakistan, and whether it was within the air strike range of Pakistan.
Soon the war was over and a new nation Bangladesh was born. The newspapers and magazines were full of war stories and became a staple diet for us. As I look back those times I am reminded of a school debate before the war broke out. I was the only person who had spoken against war.
Our school bus was late that day. The winter timing in the school was from 8:30 in the morning to 4:30 in the evening. The school bus used to take us around a good part of Delhi and drop us at our stop at Shakti Nagar only after an hour or so. The onset of winter meant that it was dusk by the time we returned home.
As the bus turned from Azad market to Pul Bangash my eyes were riveted on the long goods train passing underneath the old bridge. The goods train was carrying an unusual load that evening. The open wagons of the goods train displayed big field guns being ferried on the tracks leading to Punjab, bordering West Pakistan.
For past 6 months or so there were news items about skirmishes in the regions bordering erstwhile East Pakistan. In the north India we were getting used to the war time civilian drills, the foremost amongst which was to switch off the lights in the evening - called blackout, whenever a hooter sounded. We would then wait patiently for the second hooter after which we could switch on the lights.
That evening I reached home past 6.00 PM and was struggling with my school homework when the hooter sounded. Our wait for clearing hooter was inordinately long that evening. More than an hour passed but we did not get the signal that the blackout period was over. Around 9.00 PM our neighbor Mrs. Chopra told us, “You people better have your dinner. The blackout is going to continue. The airport at Srinagar has been bombarded!”
I still recall the events preparatory to an imminent war. In the neighboring schools Z shaped trenches had been dug out to provide safety in the event of any arial bombings.
The war drills enrolled enthusiastic civilian volunteers who would rush up to any house emitting lights from windows or doors. Many a times our newspaper shields on the window glasses and ventilators would fail in their duty and we would be asked to switch off the lights. We had a candlelight dinner that evening.
In the morning the news was all over. Pakistan bombers had attacked five airports in India. India retaliated by bombing seven airports in Pakistan. Very soon India and Pakistan were officially at war.
We had blackouts every evening till the war continued. One night I woke up in my sleep hearing the loud noise of a plane flying at low height. I called out to my mother and found that she also had woken up. We spent some anxious moments till sufficient time had passed assuring us that all was well.
My Nani in Bihar enquired my relatives how far Delhi was from Pakistan, and whether it was within the air strike range of Pakistan.
Soon the war was over and a new nation Bangladesh was born. The newspapers and magazines were full of war stories and became a staple diet for us. As I look back those times I am reminded of a school debate before the war broke out. I was the only person who had spoken against war.
posted by haute potato at 1:42 AM
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