A Soldier’s Pride
By: A Bagsful Of Stories
Tags: Soldier, Inclusivity, Love Letters, Self Reflection

10th February 2040, 1:54 a.m. Today, I want to take you on a trip to the future. It’s the year 2040. The moon and I, just as old pals do, are chit-chatting. It’s almost 2 a.m. I thought of keeping the moon company by reading to her a collection of personal letters. These were precious letters written by the people serving the nation on our borders to their loved ones. I stumbled upon a letter titled ‘Meri Shaan’ (My Pride) by the publishers and I was instantly intrigued. The publishers had even managed to scan the dried daisies the soldier stuck to the letter when they scanned it. Valentine’s Day is in four days and all you can see is the colour of love, on screens and otherwise. It all seemed like a plan the moon had already made with her friends, the stars. I began reading…

29th November 2025— Dras, Kargil.

Meri Jaan (To my love),

Today was a beautiful day. The sun was out in all its glory and I couldn’t help but notice the rainbow-coloured rings around it. I completely forgot what they’re called. And thus, I invoke my little scientist to come to my rescue and tell me what they’re called so I can tell everyone in the camp. They reminded me about all the colour you have added to my life. How have you been, meri jaan? Did you see the sun too? Your conference is on the 8th na? I’ll hopefully be able to call you once before that to wish you.

Courtesy: Military.com

It’s been over two months since Zahir was shot. I still miss all the Kashmiri songs he would sing for us. And just today, as we went to the village to meet some girls and talk about the work we’re doing, I was reminded of how fondly he would talk about Nabila on the way back. I wonder how she’s doing. Have you been in touch with her? He’d always look at mogras and start telling all of us a story about how colourful her choice for jhumkaas was. It’s been calm since. No firings. No encounters. No emergencies. Our training has gotten intense though. Been waking up at 4 a.m. every day. Our drills have been doubled. Col. loved Zahir. He’s pledged that he doesn’t want to same fate for any of us.

Speaking of Zahir and Nabila, I saw daisies the other day while we were in the village, repairing a broken bridge. Reminded me of you. Purple and soothing. I managed to pluck a few and stick them to this letter. Sending a small part of my surroundings for you, meri jaan.

And now I want to address the elephant in the (your) room. I want to start by saying sorry for walking away rudely. I knew it was the last time we would meet each other, but I just felt that you weren’t understanding that this posting is an important one and I couldn’t have done much to move elsewhere. But I do get it, you’ve been moving with me for nine years… Only for me to be moved somewhere else again. I’m glad you chose to stay in Ranchi though. I couldn’t see your heart aching any longer for making at least some place ‘home’. I respect your decision and for that, I am proud of you.

Speaking of the amount of pride I have in you building our nest single-handedly, I also want to say something I haven’t said often. I’m proud of how far you’ve come. From cribbing every day about being a research assistant to actually being one of India’s top physicist, you have come a long way. Remember those days when we met outside Natural’s Ice Cream and you had started hating coconut ice cream because Prof. Bundela loved it? Hahaha! You’ve always cribbed about people and realised only when it’s time to move that, “they’ve toh taught me a lot! I’m so glad I worked with them. ” And look at you now. I read the paper you mentored Shagun for. She’s probably said more about you in her Acknowledgements than I ever have (:P).

Sorry thodi handwriting change ho gayi, it started raining while I was writing…

Speaking of rains, do you remember the day you were so adamant about celebrating our anniversary that you insisted we go on a date. Every place was flooded, but you wouldn’t budge. My black umbrella saved the day. And upar se, you wouldn’t even let your clothes get wet. And look at you now. All grown up and so accomodating. A girl who wouldn’t adjust for a date moved 11 cities for me. I wonder how many papers of yours might have I disrupted. You never said a word. And for that, I want to thank you, meri jaan. You knew how much I wanted this and tried your very best to make the most of the time we had together while I was there. I know I wasn’t easy to deal with, but you covered up for me and anchored the ship. You made me pause, slow down from the imaginary race I was engaged in and just soak in the smell of freshly baked cookies and lemongrass-waali chaai. Sach bataau toh, shayad I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for you. You knew what being a soldier meant. What it meant for me, for you, and for us. You still stood strong and made me believe it was possible. I miss you, meri jaan.

I miss the beej-less (seedless) watermelon you’d cut for me and the Spanish omelette every day. More than that, I miss that beautiful smile. Thode grey hair aa rahe hain, but still not bad (:P). You should stress less, meri jaan.

I am proud of you. Proud of how you handled this and proud of how much you chose to grow. The only thing that sits next to my pride in serving the nation is the amount of pride I feel when I talk about you. And that’s why, I want you to know that you are my shaan, meri jaan.

I’ll be looking at the moon at 10:30 p.m. for the next 15 days every day hoping to see a reflection of you. The day you get the letter, go to the terrace and see the moon, I’ll know you’ve read it.

I love you Samera. See you very soon.

Lots of love (and pride, today),

Bharti

I was left speechless. The moon and I only stared into eternity that night. Such was the power of love that hit us that night. A love that had no colours, and yet was as colourful as a rainbow. I bet none of you readers would have thought we would be reading a love letter addressed by Bharti, a soldier to Samera, her partner, a physicist. With that, I hope for a 2040 when stories such as Samera and Bharti’s become the norm. When we stop assuming a soldier has to be a man and love, between a man and a woman. One where a soldier’s pride isn’t just in their service, but also their identity and who they love. I hope for a future when Bharti and Samera live freely, chat, laugh, socialise, and play with you and me and at the same time succeed at whatever they want to do.