We reached Dilwalon ki Dilli. Yes, TY duty. He was there for some official work and I was up for all things touristy. He joined me whenever his work permitted. We both were excited for our own reasons. I was thrilled because, in the year gone by, this is only the second city apart from Kolkata that I was visiting. Of course, I have been to other exotic Fauji places in between, however, it is not the same as visiting a place where you are on your own and free. It was almost the second honeymoon for me. Well, my excitement I could justify, but Mr Fauji was excited too. Not just excited but had never seen him this excited in his life before. Rajdhani-effect I guess.

If his excitement wasn’t enough to amaze me, the very day we landed at the capital, he said those illustrious, much-coveted three Golden Words to me… “Let’s go shopping.” (What did you think would I consider as golden words?)

Although now I understand him well to know that he certainly wasn’t trying to pamper me by taking me to shop at the Zaras and HnMs of the world, I still couldn’t decipher his plans.

It was useless to ask him to divulge any details. Trust me; he brings his PoW training into play with me if I try to extract any information from him which he is not willing to share. Howsoever I torture him, he won’t open his mouth.

So, I had no other option but to wait patiently. And before long we were at a market in Delhi Cantt where I could see plenty of stores, but all selling Fauji things only. And then I saw what I had never seen before, Mr Fauji getting choosy and finicky about Epaulets, Ranks, Badges, Ribands (Ribbons), Belts, Scarves, Berets, this material, that material and whatnot. For the first time, I was in the background and he was being a shopaholic.

He tried multiple berets to finalize on one and I could only smile. And then he had to get his Ribands (also called Ribbons) made. If you are not aware, Ribands are short strips which an officer is awarded basis their place of posting particularly the tough ones and some specific achievements. So, each of these ribbons signifies an achievement.

After doing some spot-verifications, Mr Fauji zeroed in on an old Sardar Ji who was making the ribbons (it is made on the spot). I am not sure what qualities did he display except for his warm smile for Mr Fauji to choose him while there were many doing the same thing. Still wondering, but I can hardly predict what goes in this Officer’s mind whom I call husband. So, I don’t venture into these waters which is nothing but unconquerable for a mere mortal like me.

Sardar Ji was more than pleased to welcome us at his table outside a store where he had all the strips on display to choose from. He enthusiastically asked Mr Fauji which all strips were to be included for him. So, looking at this officer who looked like he has just started, Sardar Ji was probably expecting two or three ribbons at max to be included.

But then Mr Fauji began counting. This one, this one, this one, he began picking and Sardarji’s eyes could not stop from getting wider. He also changed his posture from casual to attentive and suddenly he realised, he was into serious business. When Mr Fauji stopped at half a dozen, Sardar Ji who otherwise was quite a chatterbox didn’t say a word and quietly began putting them together. In the meanwhile, I continued to cast my lustful gaze at a Pani Puri cart serving the yummiest thing in this whole wide world, and what I was forbidden to have. I could continue staring shamelessly at people having Pani Puri for the rest of the evening, had Sardar Ji not interrupted my joy of imagining the taste of tamarind in my mouth.

“Here it is.” he raised his head and carefully handed over the freshly made ribbons to Mr Fauji who looked pleased like a schoolboy. After paying and appreciating the old man for his immaculate job, Mr Fauji held my hand to leave (he does such cute things when not in uniform and when we are outstation where no one from Fauj is around. Such occasions are rare though).

Before we could take the first step to return to our car, a sombre voice approached us.  “Kamal ho, Sir Ji.” Sardar Ji probably could not hold his feelings back. “Itne saare ribbons abhi hi le liye? Aap logon ki wajah se aaj hum sab apna kaam kar rahe hain. Hum toh ek din ghar se door nahi rah sakte, aap log toh hamesha door rahte ho. Hamari taraf se Thank You.“

In response, my superstar husband could only smile humbly. He is often at a loss of words on such occasions. He doesn’t know what to say and more often than not he ends up saying, “It’s our duty.” While I, on such occasions want to scream to the world, “See Duniyawalo, he is mine.” I also want to scream to our future children and grandchildren wherever they are, “See, he is your Daddy or GrandPa. You guys better come prepared in this world to do a good job.’

Well, I controlled my outburst and as we turned again to return, Sardar ji rose from his chair and a loud ‘Jai Hind’ rose in the air. His ‘Jai Hind’ got an equally deep and thundering ‘Jai Hind’ from the Officer in response and it caught the attention of the passersby too.

We finally left and I continued to feel the unmeasurable amount of pride which I displayed by calling at least a dozen of family members and friends to narrate the incident to them.

Thank You, Mr Fauji for giving me such immense moments of pride every now and then.

And now that I am writing this, he has spread his shopping on the bed and fawning over his newly acquired treasures. And I imagine him wearing these tiny colourful strips on his chest speaking volumes about the life he has been living…a life which is anything but ordinary.