The domestic area of the airbase stood isolated, surrounded by verdant Punjab farms stretching to the horizon. We were newly wed in the 1990s, and it was going to be my young wife’s first rendezvous with the north Indian winter. Our ground floor quarters was on the fringe of the military housing facility and every morning, she would watch the winter sun, the giant red orb, rising over the boundless bounty of lush greenery across the barbed fence. And when the mist melts away, the sighting of a peacock on the hedge, warming its luxuriant plumage, could make her day (she had never seen a wild peafowl before).
A few days later, an old Sardarji appeared and asked if we would like to do some farming in the vacant area near our quarters. Farming was an exclusive privilege of the ground floor residents, and the previous occupant of the house was a good Kisan family. He said he could help us prepare the soil bed and sow, and suggested we go for onion, cauliflower and cabbage. The old man was a diligent poor Punjabi peasant with no demand on wages but with a strange request for sambar-rice at noon, which first unnerved my wife who was just about picking up her culinary skills. Within a couple of weeks, our horticulture garden with lovely green shoots came alive and my wife turned into a sambar specialist, particularly the Malabari version with grated coconut. Our little garden looked like a natural extension of the larger affluent farms over the fence. I learned the ropes of tilling and picked up a new hobby, and I still carry on with it.
For our rural communities, farming is not entrepreneurship. Their happiness, sorrows, traditions, family functions, and festivals are all related to their vocation. By the same token, it is often said that for soldiers, the uniform is not just a job but a way of life. Patience is an integral part of both professions. A soldier is always reminded, “The more you sweat in peace the less you bleed in war.” Likewise, a farmer never gets the result immediately. The earth has to revolve around the sun and the seasons have to change for the harvest. The mercy of rain gods is paramount for the outcome.
Both soldiers and farmers take extreme pride in their professions. It is true that their work provides a livelihood for them. It is easy for others to ask a farmer to shift to more profitable occupations but for farmers, as do the soldiers, a transition is not always easy. Even when they realise their labour of love is painful, they don’t count their losses and give up, even as the world outside calculates net benefits. The answer to the puzzle lies in experiencing and not explicating.
harichitrakootam@yahoo.com
