Niazi Connection

I was still wet behind the ears in the Army in 1971. That was an eventful year. The world came to know a Niazi. Lt Gen AAK Niazi, East Pakistan Army Commander, who ignominiously surrendered to the Indian Army. Usually, when an Army surrenders to its opponents, there is some dignity and respect. In this case, it was not so. But that is a matter of serious study and essay, and that is not my realm.

Much later, rather recently, the world and I come to know about another Niazi, who was referred as such by Vidisha Maitra, First Secretary in India's Permanent Mission to the UN. She was hauling the Pakistan PM over the coals in the UNGA. Till then he was known only as Imran Khan. She reminded Imran Khan Niazi about the shamed General and his atrocious activities. She ominously connected the two Niazis. Underneath her soft feminine tones was a solid menacing undercurrent. But that story too is another serious matter and hence not in my domain.

I do not have any connection to the latter Niazi, except that I knew him, like you, as a good cricket player. But I had a connection with the former one, unlike you.

During 1971 I was in the Station Workshop in Shillong. I was busy going to Shillong Club for my TT and Billiards and things like that. There were also numerous picnics to the very many scenic spots in the region. You must note that I was just one score and three years old then. When I got time off from such fun-filled activities, I did manage to do justice to my posting too I suppose, for I was not dismissed from the Service. It was then that the war happened, and the Niazi in question surrendered.

Three things of the surrendered Gen Niazi reached my Workshop. A pistol, a Toyota car and a Benz car. We were supposed to maintain the latter two in proper running condition.

Pistol

Gen Niazi had handed over this personal pistol, his personal weapon, to Gen Aurora as a symbol of his surrender. My Workshop was tasked to make a wooden box for the pistol, which was to be retained as a souvenir inside. In the Workshop, we had all kinds of tradesmen, and so the carpenters had a very prestigious job, for a change. A shining smoothly finished box was made with a recess for an exact fit of the pistol. The inside of the box was lined with a red velvet cloth. Not a nail was visible. Not a bulge was visible. The box was just thick enough, but sturdy and lightweight since it had to house a pistol and so the total weight was not to be unwieldy. Our Armourers cleaned and serviced the pistol to battle worthiness, which was our fundamental job anyway: to maintain all equipment in battle worthiness.

All said and done, the smooth shining box with the glistening pistol inside was handed over to the local Formation Commander, a Maj Gen. "Well done", he said with an Officer-like handshake. Now for us, the simple junior Army folk, that was equivalent to a Padma Bhushan. For us, that was the reward. At best it could be followed by a beer – a Padma Vibhushan!

Toyota

That car was quite a cute one. Quite tiny. I wonder any of you have ever come across a three-gear car. That was one. Like our old Vespa Scooter, one I owned at that time. Before you give me a dressing down, when I say three gears, it is three forward and one reverse, okay? Of course, the old Willys CJ3B, now a vintage jeep, had similar gears and a 4x4. But that was not car, but jeep.

I made her my own. Fortunately, my Officer Commanding (that is different from Commanding Officer! Idiosyncrasies of the Army?), a Major, a Parsi, who was as old as my father at that time, was benevolent enough to allow me that indulgence. I took this car all over; to the Club, to Happy Valley where we had friends in the Assam Regimental Center, to the picnics to Barapani etc. And, even just for spins into the verdant interiors of Shillong, with my friends piled on always. Such a darling of a brown car.

Benz

The Benz, on the other hand, was not to be touched. But when my OC was not in the Workshop, I sat inside, felt the luxury, fiddled around with the controls, looked around under the bonnet, gunned the engine, and in general, familiarised with her. We kept her, as the cliché goes, in showroom condition.

One day I asked the OC his permission to take the car for a small round. He declared that if I could find the reverse gear position, I could. I lied to him that I would try. In my fiddling around, I had already found it. It was a little tricky due to certain turns and shifts. He came with me and watched. I acted as if I was struggling, but without prolonging the drama, for I didn't want him to fail me too soon, I shifted the lever into reverse. He smiled at the smartness of his progeny and said: "You can take it, but just once". I took along the mechanic who was in charge of the car, went right up to Happy Valley and came back. The mechanic, who was my Guru anyway, was beaming with pride, perhaps because I, his disciple, didn't smash or even scrape the car in my adventure. Driving that Benz ended with that one trip.

Later, all these three items were taken to HQ Eastern Command as souvenirs or war trophies, if you will. After all, they had executed the surrender in Dec and were the senior Formation. The local Gen who had done most of the operational planning for almost the entire year and who hoped to keep these as trophies for his own HQ, must have felt like the proverbial squirrel who lost his nuts!

And I, an idiot by definition, who never thought of brownie points or of the future, failed to take some snaps in my crisp cotton Uniform, next to these war trophies. If I had, I could have got even with my grandchildren now!

Recently someone sent me a clip of a short film, a third rate one, through the ubiquitous and can’t-do-without WhatsApp, in which the surrender was depicted. Being utter nonsense in every way, to wit, a fat, short Gen Niazi and a thin, tall Gen Jacob, it irritated me no end. But then this nostalgia came to the fore!