Most children are asked as to what they want to become when they grew up. Somehow that privilege eluded me all my life. But, if I were asked, I would have told them that I never dreamt of becoming a doctor or an engineer as most children are encouraged to dream by their near and dear ones. Nor did I want to become a lawyer or a politician.

It was the olive green uniform of the Indian army that haunted my ambition. I was so fond of soldiers that I held them in awe and admiration. I wanted to be one of them when I grew up.

In the mornings before going to school around 8 am and in the evenings after returning from my school around 6 pm, it used to be a daily ritual with me. I would anxiously wait for the huge wall clock that could have put the Big Ben to shame, to strike 8 in the morning and 6 in the evening. And, then I would grab my little sister’s hand and the two of us would rush to the road where army trucks belonging to different battalions would arrive one after the other and soldiers would disembark from them.

Our motivation for this ritual was very simple. It gave us immense pleasure and a sense of satisfaction when the drivers of the trucks in army uniforms would return the salutes we offered them with our tiny hands.

I wonder what those army drivers must have felt when they found two tiny tots at the kerb saluting them religiously day after day. I do not know how they felt but it gave us an overwhelming feeling of patriotism when we offered our solutes to the men who defend our borders.

Life has its ways. And, I could not fulfill my dream. Today, I may be a little too old for the army to consider me for any position in the army. But, even today, when an army truck or an army jeep passes me, I find it difficult to control my urge to pull out my hand from my pocket and solute the occupants of the vehicle!