Getting Home - My Regiment, My Roots

On 1st July 2024, three of us – brothers-in-arms – found our pens moving almost at the same time, as if guided by the same memory. What emerged were three distinct yet connected reflections on what it means to come Home – our Regiment, the Sky Warriors.

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Many tales have been written by many of us but one, which we faujis (Armed forces personnel to the uninitiated) have in common is that we speak with extreme pride when we talk about our first home away from home - Our Regiment or Paltan. And the occasion of the Raising Day of the unit has a special charm. Just being present around on this day - in the Regiment itself - gives me a different kind of high. I have been sitting on it to put it together for more than one year. So here it is - Raw and Personal - for all to immerse yourself in the feelings and memories which rush through us when we get Home - to our regiment - The Sky Warriors. 

As rain attempts to play spoilsport, (yet again - it always rains on 1st of July) I sit back and wonder of the times gone by, of the 1st of July mornings, preparing ourselves for the events of the day and then in the fast forward mode of the 364 days thereafter - year after year.  What is a Regiment? Originating from the Latin word regimen meaning "rule" or "system of order," a regiment is responsible for raising, training, and equipping troops, and often develops a unique identity through its insignia, uniform, battle achievements, and the loyalty it inspires in its soldiers. But is this all that it means to us? No Way!

Regiment for me had only one meaning - Home, since even what we called home with the wife and the kids, be it a small room in the mess or a 3BHK with a covered garage and a lawn around, was a part of this larger Home itself. 

The rush for PT in the morning, running hard so that one is not singled out for being a shammer, the sense of power one feels when one at 3 years of service is the senior most dining member having breakfast in the mess with three other youngsters waiting for you. The same power collapsing instantly when the Battery Commander walks in, deciding to have breakfast with us that day. The Puri Sabji, the hastily cooked roti and at times runny Dal, one goes to *Taste* in the cookhouse (we used to call it langar then) in the pretence of checking. However, the main reason being we loved the fawning over by the BHM and the cookhouse commander and just to hear the men sitting in floor having their rushed lunch saying “खाना खाओ साहब ।” (Have a bite Sahib) and showing their plate with an additional blob of ghee brought from their homes - that was Home for me.

The typical smell of engine oil in the MT (Mechanical Transport) park, the sideways glance of a couple of guys who want to talk to you about their leave, the Career Planning chart and the file covers in Battery colours, the sense of pride the day one signs a mail to RHQ (Regimental Headquarters) as a young Captain, the flutter in the chest when called by Adjutant saying "CO wants to meet you", the sense of immense pride one feels when you are carried off the field after winning an inter battery handball competition, the rum one downs in a barakhana just because the OPR (short for Operator belonging to the team which manages communications) JCO says “एक OPR-ओं की तरफ़ से साहिब“, (one on behalf of the OPRs) the थम कौन आता है (Halt ! Who goes there - the standard warning) at night when you are checking guards and the loud Jai Hind or RamRam from the shadows as yet another of your men recognises and wishes you - that was Home for me. 

The immense pressure in your head taking a long convoy to Bhadariya Lathi for firing, hoping for an accident free ride, the rapid boom of the L70 guns, the resounding cheers when a round *actually* hits the sleeve towed by a Canberra, sharing the luxury of a 180 pounder tent at 48 degrees under the sparse shade of a Kikar tree with a brother officer, the CEME and ADM (Administrative) inspections and the nights spent in the office, preparing for that - that was Home for me.

The stars get added to your shoulders and along with it come different responsibilities, officers and men come and go, you move in and out and back in like a *खोटा सिक्का*, (bad penny) and the wife and kids join you - that was Home for me and them too .

And one day it is all over. The Olive Green uniform one donned from the day one got commissioned along with the brass one carried on one’s shoulders has to be worn for the last time, then hung in a cupboard and one bids goodbye with the fading sounds of “He is a jolly good fellow”. - That was leaving Home for me.

But you know what, you may go away but the Home remains for you to return year after year with open arms and a warm embrace, with newer and younger and eager faces for whom you are part of Regimental history only, waiting to say Jai Hind Sir.

This year my Home is looking even better than ever before - the CSD could compete with any retail store outside, the movie with recliner seats and popcorn and a whisky served inside, the colourful buntings and shiny brass stands, the brand new set of crockery and the tastefully done up kids playroom in the officers mess reminds one of those days when we had a broken down projector, a stereo system with dual tape recorder gifted by a generous Army Commanders wife, the ‘Tasla’ lights furtively fabricated by giving two bottles of rum to a welder- and then one realises that the Home has come a long way. 

The Home always shining in all its glory - thanks to the stupendous effort of the officers and men who have been there before, during and after your transitory presence.

My Regiment - My Home - Long Live The Sky Warriors

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This is my telling - full of memories that never seems to fade. But mine was just one heartbeat of that day. Others too had their say – voices that add colour, laughter, and gratitude. I will bring those in the next part.

Getting Home - My Regiment, My Roots - Part II ---->