Dear Primus inter pares,
I write to you to draw your attention towards my plight—the plight of an anonymous soldier. If you want to know my identity, I am anyone among those numerous guardians of the Indian territorial boundaries, who are entrusted with 'securing the Indian borders'.
Whenever I don the drab, I am hailed by the Army media campaigns through the words 'jeena to aise jeena' (life should be lived like this); when I put on the pristine blues, the Air Force declares that I 'touch the sky with glory'; when I wear the whites, the Navy avers that 'I have an ocean of opportunities'. What happens when an unfortunate accident cuts short my life and my aspirations? The political class clamours to issue brief and eloquent statements praising my bravery for having made the 'supreme sacrifice'. My national-flag-draped coffin earns gun salutes, medals and scrolls are conferred upon me posthumously and a road or a school or a petrol pump is named after me. I understand that insurance money and other such consolatory mechanisms cannot compensate for the loss of a human life, and yet, it is expedient in the name of economic efficiency to put a monetary value on a soldier's life. But what then? What after the flames on my pyre die down in the memories of the people? Life goes on, and everybody moves on. I wouldn't have wanted it to come to a standstill, but shouldn't there be an effort by the political class to reduce such tragedies?
When I applied to join the defence forces, I understood that there was a risk involved. Yet, my desire to get a respectable career got the better of my fears. While I was alive, I had spent precious moments with my course-mates in the services. We had been through thick-and-thin, and I witnessed a level of camaraderie that I might not have expected, had I been a civilian. After I've passed away, they do not have a recourse if they want to re-live those moments. In the call of duty, I took bullets to my chest, I flew in coffins in the skies, I met watery graves. Yet, the political dispensation seemed to act at a snail's pace in the areas in which it was required to act. When I say this, I refer to the delayed defence acquisitions and technology transfers, ageing fleet of ships and reducing squadrons. I ask of you: who is responsible for stifling me? Should I take to task the bureaucratic red-tape for throttling my trachea? Or should I ascribe this to a paralysis of political will? When the 5-year term of a Lok Sabha M.P. gets over, all that (s)he loses is a parliamentary seat and the parliamentary privileges attached to it. The taxpayer loses a lot of money which had been incurred on procuring defence equipment and on the training imparted to me for protecting him. The nation-state loses, perhaps, a human resource. I LOSE MY LIFE while guarding the Westphalian borders.
The Air Force Act, 1950, the Army Act, 1950, and the Navy Act, 1957, lay down that my freedom of speech and expression through publication in any form in any medium of communication is restricted. Thus, I cannot speak out my plight to the people without express authorization from the Central Government or from any of its representatives. It surely must be imperative in the interest of national security to do so, but what about the political representatives who are supposed to act on my behalf in front of the citizens whom I am required to protect? And am not I a citizen of my own nation-state, whom the State is supposed to look after?
I do not demand an explanation or a verbal response from you: I've had many in the past. What I need from you and your ministers is concerted action that would prevent my future avatars from getting routed due to systemic lapses. This would be the biggest tribute that I can ask for.
Your sincere guardian,
Anonymous Soldier
