Lost one more friend in the battle field. All I could
do is to pen down a small poem as a tribute to a brave officer with whom I
worked alongside in SPG, Sh. Indrajit Singh , Dy.Commandant who was killed in
an IED blast after an alleged delay in medical help. Another C.R.P.F constable Sh.Dilip
who was seen pleading in front of the visual
media for medical assistance even after a lapse of over two hours was indeed
shocking. All this shows the deplorable state of affairs prevailing in CPMFs as we are nauseatingly over-dependent on the “OTHERS”
in our force who are least bothered about what is happening out there. They are just enjoying the vast privileges , recognition
and the kingly treatment they are getting out of the strict discipline and much
famous hospitality acumen of this great force
which they couldn’t even dream of getting in their own cadres.
No doubt, the valuable life of Sh. Inderjit Singh could have been saved if a proper and responsible system existed in our organization. The authorities failed to provide timely medical assistance to a brave officer who was just there as per the orders of them to protect the nation from the evil hands of insurgents. What contingency arrangements have they made to tackle such an eventuality? If they could send such large troops to an area which is vulnerable, what was the problem in sending other safety measures? Who cares? They are just bothered about their postings and hence making the politicians happy. Now who is answerable to the bereaved family of this service officer?
It's high time to get rid of these elite parents and have our own parents who care us, who are acquainted with their kids and genuinely bothered about their future. Let's pray to god.
This poem just sums up my sentiments. If I succeed in getting the message of this poem across to someone in authority, I will feel obliged.
As I just can’t make myself really detach from being called a CRPF man, where I lived a life, the lines written here are not from the soul of an ex-fauji, but a fauji himself.
No doubt, the valuable life of Sh. Inderjit Singh could have been saved if a proper and responsible system existed in our organization. The authorities failed to provide timely medical assistance to a brave officer who was just there as per the orders of them to protect the nation from the evil hands of insurgents. What contingency arrangements have they made to tackle such an eventuality? If they could send such large troops to an area which is vulnerable, what was the problem in sending other safety measures? Who cares? They are just bothered about their postings and hence making the politicians happy. Now who is answerable to the bereaved family of this service officer?
It's high time to get rid of these elite parents and have our own parents who care us, who are acquainted with their kids and genuinely bothered about their future. Let's pray to god.
This poem just sums up my sentiments. If I succeed in getting the message of this poem across to someone in authority, I will feel obliged.
As I just can’t make myself really detach from being called a CRPF man, where I lived a life, the lines written here are not from the soul of an ex-fauji, but a fauji himself.
WHERE THE REFUGEES RULE
A home is not a home where the parents rumble
And clans fighting and loathing at each other
And a state is not a state where the refugees rule
With loyalty to one flag and sneer at the other.
With grace we harbor
them as such is our rule,
And keep them as our lords, and they misrule
When in the woods we fight a deadly war,
Sitting in the townships they teach us how to score.
In they come as glorified asylum seekers,
For a short sojourn in the world of peace keepers.
Unsought, unpleasant, they heave their fortunes,
And leave the force with full of fake laurels.
No where in uniform they display our mark
Nor do they know what squarely is our work
Instead they boast their cadre and smirk
And if anything goes wrong, they simply would lurk
.
They disguise as they are not different from our own
Fact is that we are aliens in the world of their own
Unsatisfied shall we remain for ever as a con
Feeling the agony of servitude and gloom
As long as they remain as our imposing lords
For ever shall we live as those unhappy hordes
And as our obligations would repel us from rouse
And we shall remain as mute as a mouse
To see if we will
ever live a life of our own,
Being with our own men who feels our mourn
How long shall we wait, I don’t know but reckon
And grudgingly depart to the world of woebegone
When In the woods, you continue to surge,
My brothers, they will suck and remain at large.
Still keep the flag high, no matter what they say.
That’s our right that no one can deny.
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