Army at the fore. Army at the aft. And us in the middle, armed with a Canon...camera and a dictaphone! Journalists at the front? Nah... but the last base camp overlooking the Line of Control in the Uri sector. Racing there was a thrill. However, watching folk step aside for the speeding cavalcade wasn't. Reality struck. The respect was for those in fatigues who have endeavoured to make sure at the cost of life and limb that these folks slept well at night, tend their fields, attend balwadis, and linger in the bazaar to chat up on the latest happenings on the LoC. Daytime in the villages saw no curfew. However, once outside that boundary there was little human activity except for a brave few taking their flock to pasture. Often though there were scamps along the way enjoying the sunny days before autumn and winter curtailed their meanderings. Most stopped to throw a salute at these idolised protectors of the north. It was cute, but painful to realise that at their age they understood a situation that most children are unaware of, let alone have to live through. One noticed however, a very distracting sort of speculation the occasional presence lithesome things provoked! Notwithstanding these observations, being journalists at the LoC had its advantages and disadvantages. At base one could avail of any base bunkers or facilities, however, nothing that would entail danger was permitted. Damn damn damn. No happening photographs... experiences. Arrey yaar, thoda kuch to dekhne de!! The army couldn't risk us being shot at or captured now could they? A bit later, storm clouds gathered. The weather couldn't be reflective of the madness of man now, could it? Then again, who knows... we may be a Nintendo game one of the twelve apostles are thumbing in boredom! Again, neither the locals nor the jawans for that matter, showed signs of discomfort, except to haul in the washing. Here, we take it a day at a time, do we have a choice? Those who choose to, have left. For us this is home and here we stay. Who are you anyway, don't you have better sense than to venture into a place like this. Kya bole...hum patrakar aise hi hote hain!! Pakistan occupied Kashmir was a zoom lens away. Here, Kashmiris on either side had no problems with using highly reflective tin roofs. The Indians weren't gonna bomb them. Didn't seem like the Paks would either. Strange. Folk actually sleep with gunfire and missiles happening overhead. Is it the lullaby that young ones drift off to? How the dickens do you identify kis desh ke hain ye log? All this on a mountain range, idhar se udhar tak was divided...not by God, but by two governments (please note the word "countries" has not been used) that war over a people who seem oblivious to the missiles that occasionally fly overhead. Pak bunkers were as visible as the camp we were gawking from. That wasn't a welcome bit of news. However, being coastal inhabitants, the cold would probably get us before the Paks ever did. The camp went about its business. A jawan painting Lord Ganesh on the mandir wall while another tended to a couple of sheep and chickens running around. A major spoke to a patrol readying to go into the night. It is not wildlife they are after, much as they'd like. These are the chaps we would ideally have liked to accompany. Yeah right...that'd be the day! To satisfy our lust for action, we were shown around the camp's bunkers that had arms and men on standby. The fading light brought the ominous to the fore. Running through from one to the other we were repeatedly cautioned to keep our heads down. Selfish reasons yearned for a shot in the dark. Naturally, this was not to be as we wouldn't be this close if there was a likely hood of such a thing. Skeleton trees immediately outside the walled trenches were testament to the shelling at this camp. Remnants of shells and rockets were shown us while fortifications showed evidence of fire. Curiosity killed the cat. We... were not curious enough it would seem. Not that we'd done anything in the media world for us to be missed... for long. At camp, pen like structures (to keep animals in?) had the top of their fencing fixed with six inch wooden "arrows" that had names and numbers marked under them. Up close and long its line of sight revealed peaks! So it followed that the markings were mountain peak names and heights in PoK. Totally cool man! Suppose in a crowded neighbourhood at the fifth or sixth floor one could use this method to mark happening windows...you reckon? He!he!he! Going down the next day, the quiet of the morning was shattered with a couple of explosions. On the hill opposite us puffs of smoke were visible. Our return trip gave us a fair idea of what dirt track rallies are about. Phew!!! The city was a bore after that. Even thought we didn't experience any happening stuff at LoC, nothing compares to being almost at the front!! Jewella C Miranda was the first woman to photograph troop activity near the Line of Control. EARLIER FEATURE: On The Cusp of Conflict
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