loveswetha@rediffmail.com
1

Vivek Pradhan wasn't a happy man. Even the plush comfort of the First

Class

air-conditioned compartment of the Shatabdi Express couldn't cool his

frayed

nerves. He was the Project Manager and entitled to air travel. It was

not

the prestige he sought, he had tried to reason with the admin guy, it

was

the savings in time. A PM had so many things to do!

He opened his case and took out the laptop, determined to put the time

to

some good use.

"Are you from the software industry sir," the man beside him was staring

appreciatively at the laptop.

Vivek glanced briefly and mumbled in affirmation, handling the laptop

now

with exaggerated care and importance as if it were an expensive car.

"You people have brought so much advancement to the country sir. Today

everything is getting computerized."

'Thanks," smiled Vivek, turning around to give the man a detailed look.

He

always found it difficult to resist appreciation. The man was young and

stocky like a sportsman. He looked simple and strangely out of place in

that

little lap of luxury like a small town boy in a prep school. He probably

was

a Railway sportsman making the most of his free traveling pass.

"You people always amaze me," the man continued, "You sit in an office

and

write something on a computer and it does so many big things outside."

Vivek smiled deprecatingly. Naivety demanded reasoning not anger. "It is

not

as simple as that my friend. It is not just a question of writing a few

lines. There is a lot of process that goes behind it." For a moment he

was

tempted to explain the entire Software Development Lifecycle but

restrained

himself to a single statement. "It is complex, very complex."

"It has to be. No wonder you people are so highly paid," came the reply.

This was not turning out as Vivek had thought. A hint of belligerence

came

into his so far affable, persuasive tone.

"Everyone just sees the money. No one sees the amount of hard work we

have

to put in." "Hard work!" "Indians have such a narrow concept of hard

work.

Just because we sit in an air-conditioned office doesn't mean our brows

don't sweat. You exercise the muscle; we exercise the mind and believe

me

that is no less taxing."

He had the man where he wanted him and it was time to drive home the

point.

"Let me give you an example. Take this train. The entire railway

reservation

system is computerized. You can book a train ticket between any two

stations

from any of the hundreds of computerized booking centers across the

country.

Thousands of transactions accessing a single database at a given time;

concurrency, data integrity, locking, data security. Do you understand

the

complexity in designing and coding such a system?"

The man was stuck with amazement, like a child at a planetarium. This

was

something big and beyond his imagination.

"You design and code such things."

"I used to," Vivek paused for effect, "But now I am the project

manager,"

"Oh!" sighed the man, as if the storm had passed over, "so your life is

easy

now."

It was like being told the fire was better than the frying pan. The man

had

to be given a feel of the heat.

"Oh come on, does life ever get easy as you go up the ladder.

Responsibility

only brings more work. Design and coding! That is the easier part. Now I

don't do it, but I am responsible for it and believe me, that is far

more

stressful. My job is to get the work done in time and with the highest

quality. And to tell you about the pressures! There is the customer at

one

end always changing his requirements, the user wanting something else

and

your boss always expecting you to have finished it yesterday."

Vivek paused in his diatribe, his belligerence fading with

self-realization.

What he had said was not merely the outburst of a wronged man, it was

the

truth. And one need not get angry while defending the truth.

"My friend," he concluded triumphantly, "you don't know what it is to be

in

the line of fire."

The man sat back in his chair, his eyes closed as if in realization.

When he

spoke after sometime, it was with a calm certainty that surprised Vivek.

"I know sir, I know what it is to be in the line of fire," He was

staring

blankly as if no passenger, no train existed, just a vast expanse of

time.

"There were 30 of us when we were ordered to capture Point 4875 in the

cover

of the night. The enemy was firing from the top. There was no knowing

where

the next bullet was going to come from and for whom. In the morning when

we

finally hoisted the tricolor at the top only 4 of us were alive."

"You are a..."

"I am Subedar Sushant Singh from the 13 J&K Rifles on duty at Peak 4875

in

Kargil. They tell me I have completed my term and can opt for a land

assignment. But tell me sir, can one give up duty just because it makes

life

easier. On the dawn of that capture one of my colleagues lay injured in

the

snow, open to enemy fire while we were hiding behind a bunker. It was my

job

to go and fetch that soldier to safety. But my captain refused me

permission

and went ahead himself. He said that the first pledge he had taken as a

Gentleman Cadet was to put the safety and welfare of the nation foremost

followed by the safety and welfare of the men he commanded. His own

personal

safety came last, always and every time. He was killed as he shielded

that

soldier into the bunker. Every morning now as I stand guard I can see

him

taking all those bullets, which were actually meant for me. I know sir,

I

know what it is to be in the line of fire."

Vivek looked at him in disbelief not sure of his reply. Abruptly he

switched

off the laptop. It seemed trivial, even insulting to edit a word

document in

the presence of a man for whom valor and duty was a daily part of life;

a

valor and sense of duty which he had so far attributed only to epical

heroes.

The train slowed down as it pulled into the station and Subedar Sushant

Singh picked up his bags to alight.

"It was nice meeting you sir."

Vivek fumbled with the handshake. This was the hand that had climbed

mountains, pressed the trigger and hoisted the tricolor. Suddenly as if

by

impulse he stood at attention, and his right hand went up in an

impromptu

salute.

It was the least he felt he could do for the country.

PS: The incident he narrates during the capture of Peak 4875 is a

true life incident during the Kargil war. Major Vikram Batra

sacrificed his life while trying to save one of the men he commanded,

as victory was within sight. For this and his

various other acts of bravery he was posthumously awarded the Param Vir

Chakra - the nation's highest military award

Cheers

Anu

From India, Madras
scare_crow
2

ARTICLE is good anu....gr8 work done....YOU have conveyed a lot through this simple story......hats off to you :) regards scare_crow
From India, Mumbai
Pallavi
2

hi ppl, such articles always leave me speechless. there r so many things tat start going on in my head that its difficult to put it into words. Regards, Pallavi
From India, Pune
crkumar
Let view this incident detached from emotions ...
Every man defending his country takes a solemn pledge and has the welfare of the people in mind and priority for his own life at the last. The Captain / Commandant has been given lot of training and inputs by the army. In pure utility terms, who is more beneficial for the country alive.
This is just a thought to trigger further thoughts and it no way belittles the sacrifice of the noble soul in defending another noble soul.


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