Memories from the 1971 War

Dad !

I was very young during the 1971 war—too small to fully understand the gravity of the times, but old enough for the memories to leave a lasting mark. My father was in the army, posted in Jalandhar, and we lived in a house close to the air force base.

Nights were tense. The air raid siren would inevitably sound, and we’d quickly take shelter in trenches near our home. I remember how frequently my father was on emergency duty at the military hospital, sometimes gone the entire night. Through my child’s eyes, the rifle fire looked like bursts of colored light, almost surreal. Massive aircraft often flew low over our house, their presence both awe-inspiring and ominous.

Oddly enough, we were never truly afraid. The strong, reassuring presence of my father—and many relatives who were also in the armed forces—gave us a sense of security amidst the chaos.

Two incidents from that time remain etched in my memory.

One night, a group of Pakistani paratroopers mistakenly landed behind our house, intending to target the airport. They began firing, but were swiftly and decisively neutralized by the Sikh Regiment.

Another time, my father had been on duty the whole night and was delayed returning the next day. While we waited, the army dhobi came by and spoke to my mother. He mentioned that a notorious Pakistani general had been captured. According to him, this man was known for horrific brutality—he would tie captured Indian POWs to railway tracks and run trains over them. My father, who was in charge of the interrogation, confronted him. The general refused to speak—until my father ordered that he be taken to the tracks and threatened with the same fate. That’s when he broke and started confessing everything.

The dhobi concluded the story with a touch of grim respect, saying, “We were all disappointed when Saab chose to send him to a high-security jail instead of giving him the same fate he dealt our men .”