PVC at Badgam-Srinager

The Saga of Valor – Our PVCs 

The Badgam Battle

What is the true meaning of the word ‘Heritage’? It is something we own because of our privilege of having been born at a particular place or nationality. It also means legacy, bequest or birthright. The object of heritage can be an artifact or natural object or a heroic deed by a ‘Brave-Heart. The prior two are likely to perish at the hands of ‘Time’ but the last one never dies or fades, it just shines or dazzles till eternity. Along side our pre-independence revolutionaries, we have a proud record of brave soldiers who threw all personal safety and self preserving interest on the wind and kept their tryst with death to preserve the sanctity and ‘izzat’ of our motherland. We should never forget that very foundation of our nation rests on their ‘ultimate’ sacrifice. We have the privilege of addressing ourselves as “We, the Indians!” only because of their sacrifices and valor. No country in the world can ever dream of such an eternal illustrious heritage, matching the string of our 21 PVCs. The leader of this dazzling streak is I.C. 521 Major Somnath Sharma. PVC.
Major Somnath Sharma was born at Palampur located in Kangra Hills of Himachal Pradesh. There are two tiny areas at either end of our country, which can boast of their outstanding traditions in soldiering. One is Coorg down South and other is Kangra valley up in the North. Both have produced chain of fine generals and brave fighters, who have humbled the Death in their final moment of sacrifice.
Major Somnath was born on31 January 1923. He was the elder son of Maj. Gen. Amarnath Sharma and was commissioned in the Kumaon Regiment in 1942 and fought in II World, on Burma Front in the Aarakan Operations against the Japanese. In November 1947, this seasoned soldier was destined to repeat his valorous performance, yet once again against marauding tribesmen, hired by our erstwhile brother – Pakistan, in J&K. This was the final bowing- out act, by this brave Gladiator.
After our Independence on 15th August1947, Sardar Vallabbahai Patel, as our first Union Home Minister, got down to merger of the existing 565 Princely States into Indian Union. It was an onerous task involving all three approaches –mild, strong and severe. With Vallabhbhai’s tactful handling of this challenging and Home Secretary V.P.Menon’s thorough follow-up, this task was completed in 40 days, barring five states – Hyderabad, Junagarh, Mangrol,Manavdar and J&K. First four were land-locked in Indian Territory and here rulers were Muslims whereas the citizens were of Hindu majority. J&K, on the other hand, was surrounded by Pakistan and though the rulers were Hindus, the majority of its citizens were Muslims. This seeded the ambition of remaining as an independent entity between India and Pakistan in the minds of the King Hari Singh and Sheikh Abdulla, the most prominent leader and grand-and father of present Chief Minister of J&K.
Pakistan on the other hand kept on giving pin-pricks of minor intrusions and skirmishes for which the state government issued routine protests and reminders. While this was going on, Pakistani rulers, headed by Mr. Jinnah installed an ambitious and experienced strategist, Maj. Gen. Akbar Khan to usurp by guile and force. Hari Singh and Abdullah, oblivious of the reality, kept on dithering over signing the

deed of accession. The State and India paid very heavy price for this ‘greed of the few’ which will unfold itself in the narrative that follows.
Akbar Khan launched swift and ferocious “Operation Gulmarg”, which was preceded by pre-emptive capture of Domel Out- Post by cunning and treason. He subverted the loyalties of the Muslim soldiers of the State Army, who killed their Hindu colleagues on the Night of 21st October 1947 and opened the gates of J&K state to the marauding tribal looters who were officered and directed by the Pakistani Officers, in civil garb. This was as per the plan of Akbar khan, which was hatched and worked out in details at Rawalpindi, in GHQ of Pakistan Army. (It is indeed surprising to see this ‘ one track minde- dness of the Pakistan Army generals, which continues even today.)
The marauders reached Uri after the arrival of Brig. Rajendra Singh of the State Army, who had gone there with only 200 soldiers and blown up the only bridge that existed, on the highway. Pak Army Engineers put another temporary bridge but it delayed their rush by another twenty four precious hours. Brig. Rajendra Singh was killed in this action.
The tribal marauders reached Baramulla and indulged in total savagery for 72 hours. They were out of control of Pak Army officers, conducting the operation. They looted every house and raped every woman, they came across. They even raped nuns of the local church, murdered them and deposited their bodies in the church well. They annihilated 5000 to 7000 locals, working in shifts, for 72 hours. It is now that the King and his confidants woke up visualized the doom’s day that was fast approaching. Rape of Baramulla had given them jitters. Sheikh Abdulla forced Hari Singh’s hand the sign the Instrment of Accession on 26 October 1948 and J&K became integral part of India. However we had to pay very heavy price for this dragging of feet by the King. By then J&K had lost 1/3rd of its territory to Pakistani thugs and the Indian Army the precious blood of its gallant warriors.
Those days Northern routes, which now are in Pak territory, were mainly used for trade and other traffic. Road through Jammu, Udhampur, Banihal and onward to Srinagar was in a bad state and was unfit for swift movement of troops, equipment and heavy weapons. The criticality of situation left only one option of airlift open to the Government of India. At this stage, they performed a miracle. With mustering in of the Dakotas(DC-3), belonging to private air traffic companies, they managed to airlift 1st Sikh Battalion, who on landing at wee hours on 27 October 1947, immediately deployed protecting the air field and blocking all major approaches to Srinagar and thwarted enemy’s major movement on main Baramulla- Srinagar Axis, by putting a road-block near Pattan. This forced the raiders to split in smaller parties and reach Srinagar, their ‘Jannat’, through probing attacks from flanks.
161 Infantry Brigade comprising of 4thKumaon Battalion,1st Punjab Battalion and 1st Kumaon Battalion with 13 field Regiment of the Artillery and 7th light Cavalry landed on the busy airport in next three days. Seasoned, Brig. L.P. Sen was in charge of the operations. Our Indian Civil Aviation deserves a battle honour for this out standing service, replete with the risk to the lives of their resilient and hardy pilots.

Maj. Somnath Sharma along with his D Company of 4 Kumaon landed at Srinagar air field on 31 October 1947 and was immediately dispersed to reconnoiter and establish in the areas around the North of Srinagar. Only a few days back, Maj. Somnath had fractured his hand while playing hockey in the unit but on his insistence of not staying away from his troops while proceeding to battle front, he managed to accompany them as their commander with one hand in plaster.
On fateful day of 3rd November, Major Somnath and his D Company were part of a fighting patrol, which was sent to the North of Airfield in the Area of Badgam. The patrol established its ‘firm base’ at Badgam by 0930 hrs and extensive patrolling was done till mid-day. As no enemy was traced in and around Badgam, at 1400 hrs, two companies were withdrawn to Srinagar, leaving D company behind to remain in position till 1500 hrs. At 1435 hrs, D company came under fire from a portion of Badgam village. Fearing loss to civilians’ lives Maj. Somnath did not engage the target and immediately put his Brigade Commander in picture. Almost at the same time, large force of enemy, estimated around 700 in strength, came up from a depression in the West and attacked D Company with intense fire of small arms, mortars and heavy machine guns. Accurate enemy fire at close range took heavy toll of D company, trapped in this unexpected and sudden fire. This development now posed a serious threat to the area of vital importance – The city of Srinagar. Disregarding his personal safety, Maj.Somnath kept on running between his sections guiding and cheering them up in their tryst with death. He also laid cloth panels on ground to direct fire of IAF planes on to the enemy groups and clusters. The company held on for six endless hours against the heaviest odds.
With enemy reducing the firing capability of his company, Maj. Somnath, with his right hand in plaster, set himself upon the task of refilling the emptied LMG magazines and handing them to the light machine gunners. While he was thus engaged, enemy mortar shell fell on the stock of ammunition near him. His last message to the Brigade H.Q., shortly before he was killed read thus,” The enemy are only 50 yards airfrom us.We are heavily outnumbered. We are under devastating fire. I shall not withdraw an inch but will fight to our last man and last round.” These inspiring last lines from the Colossus of Courage have now become Indian Army’s heritage possession and folklore which is passed from generation to generation. Maj. Somnath stared straight in the face of death for some precious hours and waged a ferocious battle against heavy odds. Commander 161 Infantry Brigade was able to reinforce the airfield area by moving 1st Punjab from Magam to Humahom, which is between Badgam and airfield, thereby warding off the threat to the forever. This became possible only due to the bravery and sacrifice of Maj. Somnath Sharma, upholding the best traditions of soldiering. He was awarded the First Param Vir Chakra Medal for his supreme sacrifice, leadership and devotion to duty, displaying an out-standing example of courage and fortitude.

1. It still remains a mystery as to why Brig. Rajendra Singh of J&K State forces made a dash to Uri only with 200 soldiers on that fateful night of 22 October 1947, when there were 2000 soldiers available in Srinagar Garrison. Had he taken a sizeable strength and fought a defensive battle at Uri, it might have changed the course of future events in J&K.
2. Maharaja Hari Singh was advised to merge his kingdom with either India or Pakistan, as his independent existence was not viable and could have attracted confrontation of various interested powers including Russia and heavy weights from Europe. It was a historically acknowledged strategic area. However, myopic Raja was seeing the dreams of turning his kingdom into another ‘Switzerland with its international neutral and immune status.’ He did not wake up to the reality for over two months, despite frequent border incursions by Pak Army that was watching his reactions. He stopped playing the fiddle of his wavering mind when hoards of terrified refugees from Baramulla told of their ghastly experiences at the hands of tribal looters and bandits, who were hired by Pakistan to usurp entire J&K, through a proxy war. Panicked and disillusioned king then signed the Instrument of Accession, without any further ado on 26 October 1947
3. Param Vir Chakra – Medal and Its Maharashtra Connection.
Pt. Nehru desired to institute an equivalent of Victoria Cross medal for recognition of valor and sacrifice of our war heroes. He directed Gen. Atal, then Adjutant General at Army HQ, to go ahead with the task. Mrs. Savitri Khanolkar, wife of Vikram Khanolkar, an Indian Army officer (erstwhile Eva Yuonne Linda Maday-de-maros, born to Hungarian father and Russian Mother) was entrusted with and executed this task. Coincidentally, the first recipient of the coveted award that she designed, was none else than her own son-in-law. Maj. Somnath Sharma was wedded to Miss. Khanolkar, daughter of Vikram and Savitri Khanolkar.
The medal is a circular bronze disc 1.375 inches(3.49 cm) I diameter. The state em blem appears in the center, on a raised circle. Surrounding this, four replicas of Lord Indra’s Vajra.(All powerful mythic weapon of Gods, that was made from the bones of Sage Dadhichi, which he himself had willingly donated). The decoration is suspended from a straight swiveling suspended bar. It is named on the edge. The medal has an image of Bhavani Sword of Chatrapati Shivaji the Great, on its reverse, with words Param Vir Chakra, engraved in English and Devnagari scripts.
4. We can not just overlook the great feat valor and supreme sacrifice by Lt. Col Ranjit Rai, the CO of 1st Sikh Battalion. He, along with his battalion, was airlifted, in a swift action and was landed at Srinagar Airfield, at dawn, on 27th October 19, within 12 hours of signing of the Instrument of Accession. For next 72 hours this was sole presence of the Indian Army in J&K. Flood-gates had already been opened for the savage raiders and Col. Rai was given the task to stall their movement ahead, till the arrival of the brigade. He took positions in the Area South of Baramulla but had to fall back under pressure to occupy more formidable defendable position near Pattan. He did so with a tactical perfection but at the cost of his life. He became martyr and rallied forth by his courage, his Paltan held on and stalled the Raiders’ onslaught till 161 Infantry Brigade came and reinforced them. Lt Col Ranjit Rai was awarded first Maha Vir Chakra for his outstanding bravery and devotion to duty.

Pune- My lost Paradise - Food Culture

In this serial, I am just putting together my rambling thoughts. I have not decided any planned sequence for the episodes contained in it. It is devoid of any preconceived pattern. This is because I just want to sit back and muse over the memories of the bygone era. Today I am going to touch upon the food culture of Pune and its stunning evolution over past five decades.
Well before!940, the famous Marathi writer, Mr. N.C.Kelkar, who was given the title of “ Emperor of Literature” ( Sahitya Samrat), visited a famous hill station in Himalayas. He went to have a close look at the magnificent peak, gloriously visible from the near by view point. He was amazed to see the real awesome display of the mighty Himalayas. Can you imagine how he expressed this unique experience? He wrote that the divine Himalayas with snow clad peaks reminded him of ‘the spiced rice ( masale bhaat) with shredded fresh coconut spread on it.’ I think that this quote has immortalized itself as an early proof of the mindset of food loving Puneites. This culture still continues to thrive. Pune has innumerable eateries, food stalls, food carts and street vendors, right from Five Star to third class status, and their number continues to grow like a wild fire, further revealing the mind boggling truth that each one of them is just thriving, in its own category. Like a confirmed drunkard instinctively making a bee line for a pub, the Puneites get mesmerized when they see and smell a food joint and unfailingly come back homes with bulging tummies and empty wallets.
During World War II days, the Irani restaurants made their entry into the food crazy town of Pune. Very quickly, they established their roaring practice, with their inimitable tea, maska pao and keema. These joints started appearing in popular novels and detective thrillers as meeting places of hero-heroine, investigating sleuths and dreaded criminals, all sitting in different cabins, of course, called ‘family rooms’. Local Marathi restaurants were quick to pick up this concept of ‘family rooms’, which gave total privacy to the occupants, except exposing their feet, through a slot below the door, yet offering important clues to an indulgent and careful observer, through the partial glimpse of clothes and the body language of the movements. I will control my further temptation of dwelling further on this matter as it may offend my age group, who were the ‘heroes’ of those yester years and no one likes revelations of such sensitive secrets and never ever before the grand kids.
Badshahi Boarding Lodge near the SP College and Poona Guest House on Laxmi Road are the old stalwarts who have braved many a storms and even today continue as land marks in food and hospitality industry. In Fifties of the last century, there used to be queues of hungry customers, during meal times, in front of these eateries. Services were available both on monthly and daily payment terms. There used to be special menus on weekend days, when the customers used to literally hog the unlimited food, offered at normal low rates. I remember to have accompanied my friends at such treats, then coming out with discomforting overdose of lunch or dinner and proceeding to a cold drink bar to have an antidote of a fuzzy drink.
The Poona Coffee House on Deccan Gymkhana JM Road and Café Good Luck on FC Road were two restaurants, where today’s top politicians and ever green (but unfortunately old) matinee idols of yester years’ Hindi screen used to spend their endless idle hours. Both have lost their shine and luster, yet make me nostalgic, whenever I enter their worn out doors.
Shetty’s ‘Vaishali’ and ‘Roopali’(RV) were later trend setters and a whole generation of Pune foodies grew old under their roofs and trees on the backyard. Many overweight husbands, put on strict regime of low calories’ diet by their loving wives, survived the ordeal and cam out unscathed only because of their implicit faith in RV. I am sure those affected husbands have not leaked out the secret, in their ‘weaker mowas indeed ments’ and now promptly have passed them on to their sons, ‘the presently affected generation’.
Without a reference to the ‘Bhel’ hand carts in Sambhaji Garden and out side Bind Garden, this food chapter will remain incomplete. ‘Pushkarni Bhel’ near Vishram Baug Wada was indeed five star amongst its ilk. My mental taste buds water even today when I remember that spicy, sweet ‘n sour and heavenly Pushkarni concoction today.
Now just the last word! One Nagpurkar, who started a saree shop in Sadashiva peth, closed it down and started a non-vegetarian shop in the die hard area of Puneri Brahmins. He was the pioneer and now the area is teeming with chicken and mutton biryani shops. The whole new generation prowl and raid these eateries but the follow the mantra of ‘wait until dark’! I call it as a cultural pushover through gastronomic revolution!

Sharad Pitre.
11 Oct 2009

Pune-My lost Paradise -.Loitering Around.

In the Fifties and the Sixties of the last century, Pune used to move at its own leisurely pace. During day hours, there were no speeding trucks tearing across the city streets, though present trade activities, which are being carried out from the Market Yard area were undertaken from the heart of the down-town area of Ganesh Peth. There were lot of bullock carts plying in the trading areas which had almost spotless zero accident record, excepting an odd accident when an absent minded pensioner may have strayed in the path of the oncoming loaded cart, resulting in poor animal of burden getting panicky and scattering its load on the road, thereby attracting bye-passers for a free road show.
At personal level, bicycles used to be the most popular vehicle and Pune had the national distinction of having maximum number of bicycles plying on the roads, then. All popular brands from BSA to Humber and Hercules to Hind were available in the well-stocked shops in the city and in Camp market. There used to be tax charged on the bicycles and lapse on the part of the cycle owner used to bring smile on the face and warmth to the pocket of the traffic cop, affectionately called as Mama by the public. This pet name still stands. There was also the rule of compulsory light on all cycles, plying at night and offending cycle owners used to deftly find the roads and bypasses, where Mamas were not on the beat. Further, renting of cycles was a roaring business in those days and each lane had a shop where best maintained and spotlessly clean cycles were available, on hourly and daily rental basis. I still have not solved the riddle as to how these shop owners protected their machines from thieves and cycle lifters, with their sloppy methods of records and total trust based transactions, in vogue. I think the answer lies in the high moral levels then prevailing amongst the common citizenry. I must thankfully confess that my most of the trips to the scenic spots in the radius of fifty kms, around Pune, were undertaken on the rented cycles, which I ruthlessly used, in those bygone years.
Amongst automated two wheelers, Lambretta and Bajaj scooters were most popular and in great demand. One may not believe it now when any two wheeler is available, at the show room and will be delivered before the payment cheque is separated from the book that in those days, it used to take months for a delivery of a scooter and for out of turn allotment one had to produce a recommendation letter, usually supported by a medical certificate. Sounds quite silly but that was the order of the day. However, the safest and most comfortable vehicle, both in fuel consumption and cost, was Luna. My opinion holds good even today. Wish Luna makes its come back today, as I feel it the best suited PT( personal transport) in Pune in present chaotic traffic conditions.
However, the honour for the supreme chaos of traffic and concentrated dose of pollution in city weather goes solely to ‘The Mother of all Transports’- the PMT. Over the years it has not changed its basic traits, even a wee bit and has worked untiringly towards turning this ‘Pensioners’ Paradise’ into one of the most polluted city of our nation. Its services were woefully inadequate, unreliable and commuter hostile, right from the day one. This resulted in each household having assortment of at least three vehicles, which thickened the pollution in the air and established a national record of auto accidents. If we had a good and efficient public transport like one in Chennai, Pune would have been a different city today. Instead of our city fathers (and mothers) visiting some indigenous posh hill stations or Germany, in quest of ‘knowledge’, they would have enlightened themselves immensely, had they visited Chennai or even Mumbai and studied public transport systems over there. Time is not gone even today. We should bid good bye to PMT, in whatever form it is today, and hand it over to some company that will give some profit share. We should stop considering it as a status symbol and get rid of this white elephant, without further trials to ride it profitably. At least, over five decades of trials should be considered enough for learning this elementary lesson.
I have avoided an elaborate reference to auto rikshaws, with the sole motive to avoid running into a storm at the end of this article. I still feel, Tongas would have been better than them. We have lost a great heritage vehicle in their disappearance. They would have brought a different identity to Pune, had they continued. I wish at least a part of Pune readopts them, reduces pollution and adds charm to their locality by the association with those noble animals. May be a wishful thinking but none the less a comforting idea indeed!

Sharad Pitre.
12 May 2009

Pune - My Lost Paradise - Camp

In Fifties, my one of the most favourite destination was the Camp Area. Then it had that lingering charm of British Cantonment. The shops on the Main Street were very tidy and decked up, as compared to their local cousins in the down town area, to receive and lure the customers strolling on the footpaths, frequently glancing at the wares displayed in the show cases. I used to reserve my complete evening, sometime, for window shopping, followed by some hearty snacks at a Irani Restaurant and finally signing it off with a movie at West End. Now they have remained in my reminiscence as intoxicating hours, with that old over-powering scent.
Irani restaurants, wherever they were situated, had a signature of their own. They all had white marble topped tables, mostly hexagonal, with smoothened and polished edges. The chairs were high backed, delicate, with round bottom and glossy black polish. Every where, the furniture was so look alike that it looked as if it was produced by only one firm. The layout of all these Irani joints was always uniformly same and to top it all, at all restaurants similar looking owners, planted themselves at a high desk, at the entrance, on the right, commanding a good view of the customers’ tables. They used to shout out the supply orders, which invariably included their specialty of “Pav-Maska”. Their crispy mutton samosas as well as Keema or Bheja fry were preferences of many a food connoisseur. No statement on an irani restaurant will be complete without a special reference to their tea. It had a unique taste, to which, I was hooked on to. The cups were large and the quantity was copious. Even today, when I spot an irani restaurant and get a cup of tea, there, that unmistakable flavor lingers. This brand establishment can only be compared to Dosas of Shettys, from South Canara. Amongst all Irani restaurants then existing in the Camp area, Café Naaz was my most favourite. I still cherish those wonderful hours spent over there. Occasionally, I dream of those spotlessly clean Irani eateries, where a portly and kind owner shouts an order for my tea, ”Chhokra, apne saab ke liye pav maska aur malai lagake chai lao, jaldi”
The final destination of visit to Camp used to be “West End”. Those days it was in its original shape and looks, where I have seen many a Hollywood movies. Those were all time classics, which I still remember vividly. The cinema hall was a single storied structure, with a huge pebbled open space outside. In one corner, there was a typical western style open coffee bar, which used to serve tasty snacks along with coffee, during interval time. Being in open area, surrounded by huge trees, it was indeed a pleasure to sip a steaming cup of coffee, during interval in cool summer evenings, in those bygone days. Neither that cool comfort of sitting amidst trees nor that charming ambience of unpolluted era of Fifties will now ever return in that cemented spot, where once that charming “West End” stood. Another added ‘bonus’ attraction in visiting the West End was those pretty and beautiful young damsels who used to flock over there in their Sunday best. Compared to the city girls, they were miles ahead in fashion, who used to dress and do their hair styles, taking tips from the Hollywood actresses. I do not see their ilk, nowadays, when I visit the Camp area. God alone knows as to where those stunning beauties have vanished and I strongly feel that the present young generation has certainly lost a great inspiring sight!
Though Cantonment Board has certainly done better to preserve the heritage and old ambience of the Camp area, as compared to the Pune Municipal Corporation in the area under their jurisdiction, yet the time has taken its toll. West End is gone and so are many Parsi and Bohra mansions. Old lodge, opposite West End, where once British Officers stayed, now in ruins, is presently sheltering ghosts and stray animals. It still reveals its grand structural proportions, through its mute and broken tall walls. However, the redeeming feature of this passing current of Time is that old “Capitol” Cinema Theatre, now “Victory”, still stands proudly opposite Kayani Bakery, steeped in historical glory, showing latest movies to cine-lovers. It is here that Freedom Revolutionary Mr. Anant Kanhere had exploded a bomb that had shaken the British power in London.
One still comes across some old classic Parsi dwellings, with decorative protruding balconies with colonial signature, during the round-up of the camp area. Grand palatial bungalow, of an old IES officer, still stands in its pristine glory, with rare African Boab and other exotic trees, as silent witness to the grandeur of that was the landmark of that wonderful bygone era. Old charm still lingers on, making its palpitations felt to the visitors, who go there in search of the past glory. I only wish, this ‘Feeling’ remains alive forever!
Sharad Pitre.
16 April 2009

My Tryst with Pune.

Pune- My Lost Paradise - Part i
I am associated with Pune for past fifty nine years. It is the city, I loved most. I fell in love with this magnificent place in May 1950, when I stayed here, first time, for an enchanted long spell of nearly two months of my school term break. I found it to be the place of great heritage, culture and pristine charm. Today, in this concrete jungle buzzing with mad traffic and deafening sounds, where ugly looking muscle men stare at you at every nook and corner, through their political birthday posters, I detach myself, go far from the madding crowd and sit alone in the cool shade of my quiet garden, thinking of those bygone days. My mind rushes backwards at a crazy speed and starts searching for those lost footprints on the sands of that golden era.
A bird gives away a sharp and shrill trilling note and I jump a few years in my dream sequence. It again restarts after that short interruption. I am coming back to Pune from Kashmir on my annual leave. Few years have passed in between and now I am a commissioned officer in the Indian Army. My train arrives early in the morning, before scheduled arrival. I come out of station and waive towards the nearest Tonga, the horse carriage. The interior of the carriage is artistically decorated with brass and silver metal filigree work, which is well polished. The seats are soft and well padded. There are brass handles to hold and retain your balance during fast and bumpy ride. The carriage horse is a magnificent specimen which is well groomed. After I install myself firmly, the driver orders his animal and the joy-ride begins. I pass through lanes and by lanes of Rasta Peth, where ladies are busy in cleaning the frontage of their homes, followed by sprinkling of water and decorating the cleaned areas with white and coloured Rangoli. The mild scent of the joss sticks burnt in their worship rooms is pervading the entire stretch of the road. The Tonga takes a sharp turn and emerges on Laxmi Road. What a fantastic start of the day it is! No wonder it is engraved on my mind like a beautiful rock painting in a cave, which is still fresh after five decades. Soon familiar faces emerge out of doors and windows of the wada, my sister’s abode. The children come out running to greet me as for them I am a VVIP with nobody from my category in this entire lane. My sister comes out, all smiles. I enter the house, bow down and pay my respects to the elders in the traditional manner. They bless me and I settle down in the kitchen for a steaming cup of tea. This used to be the sequence of my arrival, every time I visited Pune.
This shocking reality derails my mind from the happy trend of thought in the serene ambience of my cool and picturesque garden, amidst little birds, dancing and waltzing amidst the foliage. I again pick up the thread and saunter in the premises of the Pune Railway Station. In my idle hours, I used to come to this wonderful spot and have some mouth watering snacks in the

restaurant on the first floor, adjacent to retiring rooms. Two buttered slices of toasted bread with two cutlets and a big cup of filtered coffee used to complete the fare. It was a clean spot with meticulously dressed waiters serving and waiting on you. The entire station used to be spick and span. There was mirror like cleanliness over here, with round the clock cleaning activity in progress. Even the staircase brass-covered railings used to be cleaned with metal polish daily, with a burnishing bright finish. No wonder, on the Platform No 1, Poona Station Master used to proudly display the Zonal Trophy for Best Railway Station, in a special showcase, for a number of years Now gone are those trophies, taking those painstaking station masters along with them. Now what remains behind is the present dirty and filthy station, managed by disinterested and sloppy staff. From Enquiry Counter to Station Superintendent’s office that magic touch is now missing. What now remains behind is so overpowering that I am now forced to beat a hasty retreat during my trysts with that place, which fascinated me once.
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Much is left to be covered on this passionate theme of mine. At a later date, I will write about all that is lost and left behind in this flow of time, I owe it to my beloved Pune.

Sharad Pitre. 05 March 2009.

My Tryst With Pune.- Past Days

I am associated with Pune for past fifty nine years. It is the city, I loved most. I fell in love with this magnificent place in May 1950, when I stayed here, first time, for an enchanted long spell of nearly two months of my school term break. I found it to be the place of great heritage, culture and pristine charm. Today, in this concrete jungle buzzing with mad traffic and deafening sounds, where ugly looking muscle men stare at you at every nook and corner, through their political birthday posters, I detach myself, go far from the madding crowd and sit alone in the cool shade of my quiet garden, thinking of those bygone days. My mind rushes backwards at a crazy speed and starts searching for those lost footprints on the sands of that golden era.
A bird gives away a sharp and shrill trilling note and I jump a few years in my dream sequence. It again restarts after that short interruption. I am coming back to Pune from Kashmir on my annual leave. Few years have passed in between and now I am a commissioned officer in the Indian Army. My train arrives early in the morning, before scheduled arrival. I come out of station and waive towards the nearest Tonga, the horse carriage. The interior of the carriage is artistically decorated with brass and silver metal filigree work, which is well polished. The seats are soft and well padded. There are brass handles to hold and retain your balance during fast and bumpy ride. The carriage horse is a magnificent specimen which is well groomed. After I install myself firmly, the driver orders his animal and the joy-ride begins. I pass through lanes and by lanes of Rasta Peth, where ladies are busy in cleaning the frontage of their homes, followed by sprinkling of water and decorating the cleaned areas with white and coloured Rangoli. The mild scent of the joss sticks burnt in their worship rooms is pervading the entire stretch of the road. The Tonga takes a sharp turn and emerges on Laxmi Road. What a fantastic start of the day it is! No wonder it is engraved on my mind like a beautiful rock painting in a cave, which is still fresh after five decades. Soon familiar faces emerge out of doors and windows of the wada, my sister’s abode. The children come out running to greet me as for them I am a VVIP with nobody from my category in this entire lane. My sister comes out, all smiles. I enter the house, bow down and pay my respects to the elders in the traditional manner. They bless me and I settle down in the kitchen for a steaming cup of tea. This used to be the sequence of my arrival, every time I visited Pune.
This shocking reality derails my mind from the happy trend of thought in the serene ambience of my cool and picturesque garden, amidst little birds, dancing and waltzing amidst the foliage. I again pick up the thread and saunter in the premises of the Pune Railway Station. In my idle hours, I used to come to this wonderful spot and have some mouth watering snacks in the

restaurant on the first floor, adjacent to retiring rooms. Two buttered slices of toasted bread with two cutlets and a big cup of filtered coffee used to complete the fare. It was a clean spot with meticulously dressed waiters serving and waiting on you. The entire station used to be spick and span. There was mirror like cleanliness over here, with round the clock cleaning activity in progress. Even the staircase brass-covered railings used to be cleaned with metal polish daily, with a burnishing bright finish. No wonder, on the Platform No 1, Poona Station Master used to proudly display the Zonal Trophy for Best Railway Station, in a special showcase, for a number of years Now gone are those trophies, taking those painstaking station masters along with them. Now what remains behind is the present dirty and filthy station, managed by disinterested and sloppy staff. From Enquiry Counter to Station Superintendent’s office that magic touch is now missing. What now remains behind is so overpowering that I am now forced to beat a hasty retreat during my trysts with that place, which fascinated me once.
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Much is left to be covered on this passionate theme of mine. At a later date, I will write about all that is lost and left behind in this flow of time, I owe it to my beloved Pune.

Sharad Pitre.
05 March 2009.

Dad , This one is for you! So start Blogging!