If you have come looking for Sardarji jokes, let me tell you this is the wrong place. This blog is about Sardarjis all right… but it is about some among the brave troops of my husband’s battalion (Sikh Regiment) who came into our family’s life as sahayaks (helpers/orderlies) and enriched our lives in their own little ways.
When I alighted from the Punjab Mail at Ferozepur railway station (that was in 1983), there were a few of them to receive their Saahib. After smartly saluting him, they turned to me and said,
“Sat Sri Akal Memsahib”
As a south Indian setting foot in Punjab for the first time, I was clueless what that was and also what should be said in reply. The newly appointed Lord and Master, who I was accompanying for the first time, had conveniently (grrrr…..) forgotten to instruct me on the intricacies. So, very diplomatically, I inclined my head in reciprocal greeting. I am sure their first impression was therefore that I was a typical nose-in-the-air uppity Memsahib. Umm….no, not really. I am just joking. Who would really think that about the five foot nothing little thing, trying (really hard) to tip the scales at 40 kilograms and smiling …ahem… so disarmingly in spite of the nervousness about new surroundings? Anyway, that early morn in Ferozepur Cantonment railway station was my first introduction to the troops of my husband’s unit and in the following days I learnt of their greeting and what my response ought to be.
Soon, the L & M and I were settled in our living quarters which was a single room bachelor’s accommodation. Ravinder Singh, the sahayak, was, hold your breath, a Malayalam-speaking sardar. This was a boon to me, who was not yet ready to converse in Hindi. With Ravinder Singh, who could not only speak but also read and write Malayalam, I did not have to. I got the exact things I wanted from the market without attempting to speak a single word in Hindi. But the others in my husband’s unit didn’t think this was a good idea at all.
“How is Ma’am going to learn Hindi this way?” asked fellow officers of the Lord and Master. A valid point, hunh?
Besides growing up on a staple diet of Hindi films that trickled down south, not to mention the songs I was crazy about, I also had Hindi as my second language in college. So, I understood the language pretty well and understood what was being spoken. But, being the cautious person I am, I was unwilling to try it out without first testing the waters as it were. In the meantime, I stuck religiously to English when I spoke to the officers and their families. Ravinder’s help was sought when it came to dealing with the maid etc. But worse luck! Ravinder Singh’s annual leave came up. So Baldev Singh, who knew not a word of Malayalam, came to take his place. Now I had to brush up on that Hindi of mine, and real fast too.
When I returned to the Regiment after the birth of my putar (son), Baldev Singh was there to receive us. The tall and hefty Baldev Singh and my first born bonded pretty well. In the evenings Baldev Singh would take him out for a jaunt. An amusing sight to behold was the little first born holding on to bunches of hair from his flowing beard with his tiny fists as if hanging on for dear life. People remarked on it. In fact it was a constant source of amazement to Mrs. S that my little feller was not afraid of the huge sardar in his beard-and hair-left-open avatar in comparison to her own children who were scared of their father in a similar avatar.
Baldev Singh’s constant refrain to my putar was, “Hum isko Sardar banayenge!” (We will make him a Sardar!) The funny thing was that my first-born did not like the monas as the sardarjis called the men with their hair cut. The other non-sardar orderlies tried to win the little one over. But he bawled his heart out if someone other than a sardar took him in their arms.
Captain J, a young officer of our Unit, tried to entice the first-born with, “See I am a Malayali. You come to me!” That did not work either. He was a big fan of sardars and only sardars. I remember him sitting in his pram one day and bouncing up and down, making gurgling sounds, to attract the attention of the messenger (who was a sardar, naturally) from the office, who, was waiting for my husband to finish reading the file he’d brought. The man stood straight and serious just outside the front door, a true soldier. But, after a while of gurgling on the baby’s part, the poor man gave up and unwound from his stiff stand to bend down and talk to the baby and take him in his arms.
Major G was our neighbor from the same unit as the L & M. He stayed in the apartment above ours. One day I saw Harpal Singh, his orderly, arrive on his cycle. As I wanted to send something over to M, Major G’s wife, I called out to him and asked,
“Upar jaa rahe ho kya Harpal??” (Are you going upstairs)
I wanted to make sure he was going upstairs and not to his own room behind the block on the ground floor. Harpal Singh was a sardar with a permanently careworn face. He looked at me with his sad face, shook his head and replied,
“Nahi Memsahib, nahi!” (No Ma’am)
Having said that and looking sadder than ever, he calmly walked up the stairs to the apartment above. I was flummoxed, to say the least. What did he mean saying nahi (no) and then promptly doing just the opposite?! I decided to investigate the matter further. I went to the lawn, looked up at the balcony and yelled,
“M!!!!!”
M came out. I outlined to her what had happened. She was puzzled too. She called Harpal Singh and asked him,
“Tum ne Memsaab se kya kaha??” (What did you tell Ma’am?)
“Memsaab ne poocha to maine kaha mai upar nahi jaa raha hoon.” (Ma’am asked if I was going up and I said no, I am not”
“Tum upar hi to aaye ho!!” (You have come upstairs)
“Nahi, Memsaab to upar jaane ki baat kar rahi thi” (No, Ma’am was talking about going ‘up’), he said.
What was that again?! And then it struck us both at the same time, making us double over with laughter. In army parlance, upar means exercise or forward area where the troops are stationed. When the unit is in the exercise area, the families generally send letters, and goodies like, cakes, sweets etc to the men. We are constantly on the look out for any officer or jawan making the trip. Harpal Singh all along had thought I had wanted to know if he was going upar (forward area), so that I could send something or other across to my husband. Seeing us laughing helplessly, the truth (gradually) dawned on him and he grinned sheepishly saying,
“Maine socha…” ( I thought..)
This story was told and retold a number of times among those in our unit and was a source of amusement to all.
All sardars are known to have green thumbs. Agriculture is a passion with them. We had an excellent vegetable garden behind our house in Ferozepur. Each successive helper worked hard in maintaining it. This was something the sahayaks loved doing without any prompting from anyone. They just approached me for the cash when it was time to buy seeds or manure. There were cabbages, cauliflowers, chickpeas, carrots, beetroots, lettuce, garlic, spinach, spring onions….in the winters, and lady’s fingers, brinjals, cucumber et al in the summers, all fruits, …..errrr rather vegetables, of their voluntary labor.
The neighbors’ sahayaks always checked what the sardarjis were doing and always took the cue from them in sowing seeds at the right time. Once Jaswinder Singh who came as replacement for Baldev Singh, decided it was time to plant lassun (garlic). The neighborhood followed suit. Some of them were doubtful if the time was right; but yet others brushed it aside saying, if the sardar thought it was the right time, then, right time it was. Needless to say, following Jaswinder’s example resulted in garlic-crop-failure in the neighborhood that year.
(To be continued…… here)
Usha said:
Hugely entertaining, and informative 🙂 The Punjabi I really like, that my FB keeps telling me, is “Tussi Great Ho Ji” 😛 😛 !
It really is amazing isn’t it, the way the little ones surprise us with the way they bond with others? 🙂 We’ve always known them, the Sardarjis or Khalsas as FB says as really passionate and hardworking people too!
Waiting to read the rest of it 🙂
Shail said:
It was a wonderful experience being part of the Sikh Regiment, Usha. BTW, when home on leave and a Sardarji was spotted somewhere in the crowd among the Mallus, my little one used to go, ‘Amma, Amma, look! A Sardarji!’ 😆
Deeps said:
that made for a thoroughly enjoyable read,Shail. The ‘upar jaarahe ho’ story in particular. LOL!
I know how famous the sardarji jokes are..hence your first line does convey a lot. its worth mentioning that sardarjis are known to one of the most affectionate and kind-hearted people.
Eagerly waiting to read the next post 🙂
Shail said:
That was one funny incident Deeps. I was totally perplexed when I saw the man walk upstairs after telling me he wasn’t going upstairs! 😆
DeeAnne said:
pulls up a brick and sits, patiently waiting the next.
Amazing what one can find if one looks past the jokes, no?
Shail said:
Hope I haven’t made you wait too long DeeAnne, precariously perched on that brick! 😉 Yes indeed, one finds a lot more when you look past the superficial jokes. I wonder about the Irish too, because there are a lot of jokes about them.
Phoenixritu said:
Dont make us wait tooo long!!
Shail said:
🙂 I hope it wasn’t a long wait.
Basanta said:
Very informative and interesting! Waiting eagerly for the next part.
Shail said:
Thanks Basanta. Now come and read the second part! 🙂
Sraboney said:
Please hurry up with the second part…
Shail said:
🙂 Done!
MRC said:
😀
1983 you say…just missed you by 10 years!Now I wonder which house are you talking about…
Shail said:
Ohh were you in Ferozepur as well?? 🙂 The bachelor’s accommodation was at Gog barracks, somewhere in the vicinity of the MH. The quarters… hmm, will have to check with the L & M!
Kunal said:
Lovely read…
Waiting for the next installment of this series 🙂
Shail said:
Thank you. Well, your wait is over! BTW. How are the sudokus coming along Kunal??
B K CHOWLA said:
It is a great community.
Sardaranda jawab nahin.
Shail said:
Yeah, they are 🙂 Jawab nahi is right.
Indyeah said:
Shail! If only I could explain to you the way I have been smiling all this time. Nay… grinning while reading this post.
The nostalgia that has overwhelmed me:)
Very few places on the net where I can find pieces of that army life of yore(so to speak) and I LOVE this post.
You have written it in a manner that makes one instantly connect to the post. Or is it me?:)
Your first born is then half mallu and half Sardarji I gather? 😀
Cute to read about his fascination with only sardarjis.
PS:-eagerly waiting for the second part.:)
(((hugs)))
Shail said:
Ahhh Indy, I know just how you feel I guess. 🙂 Do check my reply to Usha above. My FB was a real sardar fan. Once while the the whole family, including his grandparents and Uncle and aunt, were shoping in a big textile store, he saw a sardar (probably some official posted down south) and came running weaving through the shopping crowd saying loudly and clearly, “Look look Sardarji!” embarrassing us. 😛 😆 We used to say, other than his Dad he liked everyone else to have their hair tied up and a turban! We even wondered whether he’d bring a sardarni home. 😆 😉
Hugs back to you.
Indyeah said:
ROFL!!! 😀
Solilo said:
Shail, this was a nostalgic read. Waiting for Part-2.
BTW I find the concept of orderlies very British and unnecessary. Army should scrape it, no?
Shail said:
Thanks Soli. Hope you enjoy the next part too.
Yeah the concept of orderlies is something from the British days. The way it is misused by most of the families it definitely needs to be scrapped.
Indyeah said:
I agree Sols and Shail ..the orderly thing and the way it is misused irritates me.
balvinder said:
Shail, your post took me back to my own tenure at Jalandhar cantt from 1984 to 86. Though our troops were dogras but the faux pas that often transpired between them and the members of our sikh family were actually the practical humour in uniform. That cultivation in the back yard of officers’ quarters sound so familiar. My parents often came and stayed with us from our nearby village and my mother guided the sahayaks how to grow vegetables etc. One evening we were all watching the healthy crop of caulifloweres from our fist floor terrace and jeet instructed the sahayak to harvest the produce next day to distribute amongst the neighbours and also treat us with delicious stuffed pranthas of cauliflowers. Next day morning must have been the saddest day in the life of our sahayak.The vegetable crop was missing as a heard of neighbour hood cows had attacked the kitchen garden during the wee hours. So next time our sahayak was careful enough to erect a thorny fence around the kitchen garden before sowing any seeds.
waiting for the next post.
Shail said:
Wow, you were close-by while we were at Ferozepur and then Pathankot.
That must have been really sad, to lose all the fruits (vegetables) of your labor. But I guess the cows must have felt just the opposite!
Hope you enjoy the next part too 🙂
Indyeah said:
@Balvinder Sir and Shail love reading the Defence stories from both of you:)
Sorcerer said:
Nice read..
bring out the next
Shail said:
Thanks Sorcerer, and its done!
Pingback: The Sardarjis (continued) | Shail's Nest
nalini hebbar said:
came to read this one from the second…good I came…really enjoyed the army tales…always intrigued by the life of our army families.
Shail said:
Thanks for stopping by Nalini. I loved army life 🙂
kirti said:
shail,
since I am late here , i am already assured of next part (no waiting required).
better late than early!
You are such a charm when you tell a story!
your grandchildren will adore you for that.this is my bhavishyavani.
Shail said:
Thank you! In a way I guess all that I write (the memoirs, that is) is for my children and my grandchildren 🙂 I hope you bhavishyavani turns out to be true! 🙂
Indian Homemaker said:
‘Upar jana’ also means ‘going to heaven’, i.e. dying , I thought he looked so sad because he thought you asked that 🙂
Shail said:
Ooops, that’s true! 😆 But, the sadness on his face was his natural expression! 😛
Bob Hoff said:
I like the military stories you write. In your experience did you ever meet military wives of higher officers who thought that THEY too held their husband’s rank?
I am saving part two for the morrow. Thanks for sharing and writing so well.
Bob
Shail said:
That’s a good question Bob. In the army, it is said 😉 😉 the wife’s rank is one above that of the husband’s. So when the husband is a Captain, the wife will be a Major. 😀 😆 Of course this is said in jest. But I know what you mean. I have met plenty of them who thought they wore the stars too.
anrosh said:
great stories
Shail said:
Thanks Anrosh 🙂