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Journalism of Courage
It is the second day of my first official tour from AIR. Our two-member coverage team is at an army establishment in Pachmarhi. 8220;Have you called home today?8221; the boss is very concerned. Home, read husband, is not unduly so. His is a tour-heavy job. 8220;Hey, you called yesterday. Don8217;t worry about home8230; focus on the job. Looks like you don8217;t have much to do8230; any good-looking guys there? No? The army is slipping up8230; ha ha ha!8221;
The husband can afford to laugh. He8217;s complacent in the knowledge that his short-sighted, absent-minded middle-aged wife of 15 years wouldn8217;t be looking at the 8216;guys8217;. But there was this beautiful man once8230; and from the army too.
In the midst of protocol, pace practice and police dogs, I suddenly noticed the president8217;s ADC. A very quiet man. Yet he stood out in the crowd, in demeanour, in deportment8230; I remember telling the husband late that night how at a glittering function with many stars, his was a light that shone brighter still.
A small news item on November 13 last year brought him back to mind. It said that he had died in action in Jammu and Kashmir. The very same day President K.R. Narayanan, whom he served as an ADC for four-and-a-half years was being given a state funeral.
Major Gopi Singh, 35, I learnt, was not only a topper at the National Defence Academy, he was also a published writer and poet. That day at work there were tributes and requiems aired for the president. The major died unsung.
I have the snaps somewhere.
Of me handing over the CD 8212; 8220;not directly to the President8221; 8212; to the ADC. I don8217;t really need to see the pictures. In the scrapbook of the mind, his image is neatly pasted with the caption 8212; A Beautiful Man.
