TILL WE MEET AGAIN

The young candidate shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his right hand. His elbow seemed to be crooked, and the candidate did not want the interviewers to notice what seemed like a deformity. This was after all an interview for the civil services, and impressions were important.

The candidate could not afford a suit for the interview and so he borrowed it from a friend, a friend with a deformity, a crooked arm. It was 1959 and that was the best he could do.

“What are your hobbies?” asked one interviewer

“Boxing, Sir” answered the young man, all of 22 years.

And so, the interview went on. The young man was conscious that he was focusing too much on his “crooked arm”, and not enough on the interview.

The young man passed with flying colors and soon training commenced.

IPS. 1960 batch. Madhya Pradesh Cadre. That would become his identity for the rest of his life.

It was late in 1962 when the news of our military reverses started trickling in. Yes, we lost that war, but the Indian Army did not surrender. Many fine young men lost their lives. They died where they fought. In those deaths, there was glory. Far away from the brutal war, in Central India, the young man was heartbroken.

1994
BSF House
8 Lodi Estate, New Delhi

We sat in the shade of the verandah, the massive lawns sprawling in front of us. It was March and the summer was creeping in. I had just been commissioned from OTA and after my leave, was expected to join my unit in Suratgarh.

Papa was lost deep in thought.

“The humiliation was too much to bear”, he said, his mind going back to the winter of 1962.

“I was young. I did not know what to do. There was so little information. It was 1963 and I was posted in Madhya Pradesh. There was a message from Delhi. They were asking for volunteers to become a part of some new force being created. The message did not say what this force was, but it was clear that this force was being created to fight against the Chinese”, he said.

When the young man again asked what the name of the force was, he was told that it was “sometimes referred to as Establishment 22”. The man at the other end of the phone didn’t say very much.

The young man reached Chakrata, and training started. The officer cadre was overwhelmingly from the Indian Army and trained by the CIA and Green Berets. The Special Frontier Force did not pull punches. Training was brutal and incessant. There was no respite. And then there were the Tibetans, who seemed superhuman in the mountains. These were the initial birth pangs of Vikas.

“How did you survive the training?” I asked, having just come out of the hellfire myself.

“I was a village boy. I had labored in the fields, got water from miles away and walked 14 kilometers to school. I managed,” he answered with a smile.

My father was that rare IPS officer who did parachute jumps with “my Tibetan friends”. There are no police officers in SFF now. There haven’t been any for a long time. But those were different days.

And so, it was…

My father served in ITBP for a significant part of his career. He was company commander, adjutant, quarter master, Commandant, DIG and finally Director General of the force. I was born in 1972 in Joshimath, when he was Commandant 2nd Battalion, ITBP.

In 1992, he was DGP Madhya Pradesh Police. In 1993, he took over as DG ITBP. Later, he was DG BSF and held additional charge of DG NSG. He retired in 1995. In 1996 he was appointed Advisor to Governor UP, a Cabinet Minister equivalent position.

For the next 20 years, he worked with ICRC.

He was invited by a few political parties to join them, but he never did. Papa could never understand politics.

The last days…

Father tested positive for Covid in November 2020 but recovered. He had kidney issues, a heart problem and diabetes. At the age of 82, he would insist on driving to Noida Gold Course for the weekly game of golf. Many an evening passed by on the bridge table, with his batchmates for company. In 2021, everything changed.

Not a single month in 2021 passed by when he was not hospitalised. Even when he was physically weak, he was mentally strong. He refused to give up. He was soon undergoing dialysis thrice a week. It drained him but he always had a smile on his face. I don’t remember father complaining even once, about anything. Always stoic, he kept the pain and trauma to himself.

I remember clearly. It was 23rd February, and I was traveling. I received a frantic call from home. Papa had collapsed and the doctors at Apollo Hospital, Sector 26, Noida were trying to revive him. I immediately cut short my trip and rushed back to Delhi. When I landed, I was told that they had shifted him to Apollo, Delhi. Apparently, during dialysis on 23rd February, there was an electrolyte imbalance that caused a stroke. By the time he could be taken to the hospital, the oxygen to the brain had been cut off for about 8 minutes.

Papa had slipped into coma.

We prayed every day, hoping for a miracle. In the third week of March, we shifted father to Kailash Hospital, Noida. It was closer to home and would give us more time to spend with him. The neurologist said that he was not hopeful. Maybe if we spoke to him, there would be a reaction, but it was a very slim chance.

There were days when even the tiniest movement of fingers or the blinking of the eyes became a cause for celebration. The doctors told us that this was not “purposeful movement”.

On 9th April, back from her morning ICU visit, Ma said “Your Papa’s fingers are turning blue”. It was like a punch to the guts. Subconsciously, I knew that the end was near.

On 10th April, Papa began to VT. His pulse rose from 82 to 240 and then came back to normal in ten to fifteen seconds. This happened over a dozen times in the space of an hour.

At 3:42 pm, Papa left us. I was inside the ICU at that time.

Thank you…

The Arya family will remain eternally grateful to all the doctors and medical staff who took care of Papa when he was critical. Dr. Sanjiv Jasuja, Nephrologist at Apollo, was our guiding light. More than a doctor, he was like an elder of our family. Dr. Sameer Tawakley (Apollo Noida), nephrologist, supported us all throughout and we are grateful to him. Dr. Pawar, Cardiologist at Apollo Noida, thank you.

Mr. Raj Raina, CEO at Apollo Noida, and Dr. Saurabh Gupta at Apollo Noida went out of their way to support the family. Dr. Gurpreet Kaur at the dialysis center took care of my father and for that I will always be grateful. Ram Lal Ji carried out the dialysis on Papa, and he always did so with care and affection. Thank you, Sister Jyothi, for taking care of Papa in ICU Apollo Noida.

At Kailash Hospital, Noida our family’s gratitude to Dr. Mahesh Sharma who told his team of doctors that they should consider patient on ICU bed number 20 as his own father. I also thank Dr. AK Jain of critical care for taking personal care of Papa in his last moments.

All the people mentioned above fought their hearts out. There are many more whose names I have not mentioned and to each one of them, the family is grateful.

Thank you, Shri. Pankaj Kumar Singh (IPS), DG BSF for the fitting farewell.
Thank you, Shri. Alok Singh, (IPS) CP Gautam Budh Nagar, for being there with the family.
Thank you, Shri. Sanjay Arora (IPS) DG ITBP.
Thank you, Shri. Sudhir Saxena (IPS) DG MP Police.
Thank you, Shri. Love Kumar (IPS), Joint CP, GB Nagar.
Thank you, Uttarakhand Police, for the curtsey extended at Haridwar.

Lt Gen SS Mishra Sir, Col Rawat Sir, Andy, Padmaja and Kishan Singh saab, your presence meant the world to me. We are joined by an umbilical cord. Meri paltan…meri izzat…mera ghar. No amount of gratitude is enough.

SS 57, thank you. I will not say much except that you proved again and again that “Coursemate” is not just a word. It is a commitment that must be honoured. You honoured it. I am proud to have a hundred brothers.

When Ma told me on 9th April that my father’s fingers were turning blue, I thought of how Mahadev and Prabhu Shri Ram’s images were always depicted in blue. Maybe blue is the colour of divinity.

Papa is with Mahadev now.

Major Gaurav Arya (Retd)