A Soldiers Daughter Remembers Kargil War

It was summer 1999. Kargil War was raging high in the Himalayas. My humble 4G home in Chennai still smelt of breakfast— parathas and pickles. We heard a sharp call, "Children!" and we shuffled into the dining room expecting maybe a scolding or maybe a family chat. But what I saw, I'll never forget in my entire life. My father was standing by the door in his full uniform. That sight alone made my stomach drop. I'd never seen my father return home at 10 in the morning. Usually foggies leave early at 7 with the birds and return in the afternoon. But there he was, standing like a monument, clean-shaven, boots polished, crisp uniform. And then, in the most tender voice, he said, "I have been called." "I am going." His eyes were unreadable. There was no explanation, no promises, no Arnold Schwarzenegger style "I'll be back," no "I love yous," not even a hug. You see, something in my father had already shifted, and my strict, silly, even frustrating dad had become something else. My achan, my father, had become a soldier of Mother India. And then he did something that I am beginning to understand only now. He took out his handkerchief and pressed it to his lips and looked at me as if he was asking for forgiveness. In that moment, my young adult brain thought he was asking for forgiveness for the silly stupid things he did, like finding all my Milson Boone's collection of romances and tearing them up and tossing them into trash. He said it was nonsense that would destroy my brain. Watching Arnold Schwarzenegger movies back to back at the loudest volume possible. Sprinkling my face with his aftershave water so he could wake me up at Brahma Muhurta. He would say, "Wake up early and be somebody!" Today I understand that he was really asking sorry because he couldn't be there to watch me thrive, to wear sindoor in my hairline, to play with his grandchildren who were to come. In that humble home by Air Force Station Tambaram, that day. There was no drama, no tears, no hysterics, because Amma stood by his side like a mountain. She did not say a word. And then he left, just like that. And the silence swallowed the room. Days passed like years. On July 26th, Kargil War was declared a victory, and the nation exhaled. Soldiers began to return back. But not all. A coffin wrapped in the Indian tricolor came to our neighborhood, and we stood in grim gratitude. It could have been our father. It could have been anyone's. In times of war, men like my father activate an ancient code in their DNA, the code of the kshatriya. They are not a father to one single family. They are parent protector to the entire nation. They don't detach because they are unloving. Their hearts expand to take in all of you. They willingly walk into fire so that you and I can peacefully continue our way of life. Father returned. He was among the last wave of soldiers on standby before the war ended. Today, he continues to serve the nation with his charitable activities in his village. His organization has won statewide awards for their impact on the community. To the men like my father and to the women who stand beside them, salute hai aapko.