Baaz by Anuja Chauhan

Author:Anuja Chauhan [Chauhan, Anuja]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: null
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers India
Published: 2017-04-10T05:00:00+00:00

TEN

Pomfret’s wife, a stringy, battered battle-horse of a lady who spent her peacetime days pottering dreamily about her garden and pretty much letting the younger women run things, has now shaken off her inertia and resumed charge of the Air Force Wives Welfare Association.

‘To prepare you for war,’ she explains with grim earnestness, clad in a smart navy-blue cardigan and a chic grey silk sari that reeks fearsomely of mothballs. ‘Because you’re fighting this war as much as your husbands are, my dears.’

Everybody nods, including Juhi, who is seated bang in the middle of the circle.

‘No weeping!’ says Mrs Pomfret sternly, inhaling through flared, battle-ready nostrils. ‘No whining! Remember, this is real life, not Sangam or Aradhana in which IAF officers die ekdum phataak se, after getting the heroine pregnant. Statistics show that eight out of ten IAF Fighters survive war. So please don’t panic!’

Hai hai, shubh shubh bol, chudail, Juhi thinks resentfully. Eight out of ten, indeed. Your husband survived three whole wars, why won’t mine? Do you think I won’t fast and pray to Laxmi-Ganesh as hard as you did? Cow.

‘Cry as much as you like in your bathroom,’ Mrs Pomfret continues, ‘on the phone to your mother, or here in this strong supportive circle of women – but never let your husband see your tears. Nor your children! Continue with the homework and make sure they brush their teeth twice daily! If you break down, they will too. In the three wars I have lived through with my husband, I have never ever let him see me cry!’

Chalo, main toh already fail ho gayi, Juhi plunges into despair. Raka sees me cry every time he leaves! But it’s not easy for me – if I were married to a miserable, dried-up old stick like Pomfret and there was a chance that he might die during a sortie, I would wander around the house with a stupid grin plastered to my face too. But I’m not married to an old stick, I’m married to Raka, who is handsome and loving and funny and has the most darling gappuchee cheeks and the bravest moustache in the world…

‘Unlike our sisters in the Army, whose husbands fight at the borders, far away from home, we Air Force wives are in a privileged position,’ Mrs Pomfret says. ‘We stay right here at the Air Force Station, and our menfolk fly back home to us every night. Therefore it is not just our duty but also our privilege as Indian Air Force wives,’ Mrs Pomfret waxes eloquent, ‘to be a calm harbour away from the stormy seas of war, which is a navy metaphor, of course, but will serve for us as well. If your man comes back confused and guilty, reassure him that he is only doing the morally correct thing, the patriotic thing, that his nation is counting on him. If he comes back shaken or aching or mentally broken, resurrect him as only a woman can, so that he rises again…’

Juhi’s eyes widen.

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