Fauji

The average age of the Army Man is 23 years.  

He is a short haired, muscular kid, who under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. He is not old enough to buy a beer in the capital of his country, but old enough to die for his country.

He's a recent college graduate,pursued some form of sport activities, drives a rickety bicycle, and had a girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left for IMA, or swears to be waiting until he returns.

He listens to rock, hip -hop, bhangra, gazals and a 155 mm howitzer.

He is 5-7 kilos lighter now than before because he is fighting the insurgents or guarding the icy Himalayas from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn.

 

He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time.

He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.

He digs foxholes and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march. 

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation because he is taught to die when asked to die and ask not why.

He has two sets of combat dress: he washes one and wears the other. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own wounds. 

If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you, if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons. He can save lives or take it, because he's been trained for both.

He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all.

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.

He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in a combat.

He feels every word of the Jana Gana Mana vibrates through his body, while he notices people around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hands from their pockets, or even stop talking. People find it abnormal when he stands erect in the public during the national anthem. He doesn't find it disrespectful but rather takes pride in doing so.

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Just as his Father, Grandfather, and Great grandfather did, he is paying the price for our freedom. 

A tricolour, somewhere in his uniform,

A tricolour, he holds high,

A tricolour he unfurls with pride after every mission.

Sometimes he comes home wrapped in one.

Beardless or not, he is not a boy. 

He is our nation's Fighting Man who has kept this country free and defended our right to Freedom.

He has experienced deprivation and adversity, and has seen his buddies falling to bullets.

                                                                  

He is the Fauji of this country.

JAI HIND




                                                                                                                        Written by
                                                                                                                        B. Sai Kiran.


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