The train is running late. ‘‘That means we’ll reach Jammu at 9 am tomorrow,’’ says my husband as he sits down after arranging the luggage. Our daughters are excited about visiting the place, especially the older one since she was born there. ‘‘I wonder if it is the same as you describe it,’’ she muses.Her words take me back 22 years, when I was travelling for the first time to Jammu with my husband of just a few days. He was posted at the air force station there. As a civilian with no defence background, I was very nervous. ‘‘My friends will come to the railway station to receive us,’’ my husband had informed me, as the train was approaching Jammu. He had gone on, ‘‘We are a huge gang of eight to ten bachelors — a very friendly group!’’ I had to remind him at that point that he was no longer a bachelor!We had got down at the platform in the early winter morning. There was no sign of his friends. It was only after a good half hour that we sighted a group of youngsters, all dishevelled and sleepy-eyed, rushing towards us.They were apologetic about coming late and after the initial round of introductions, had explained how the person who was to wake them up had let them down. Their warm approach immediately put me at ease. My husband borrowed a scooter and we drove to the mess — my first home after marriage.Since my husband was the junior-most, he was generally regarded as the ‘baby of the unit’. We got a very warm welcome from the officers and their families there and I was really thrilled with the way the wives of our friends and senior officers pampered me.Gradually, my husband got busy with his job. But I was never alone thanks to the numerous invitations I received for breakfasts or coffee mornings or for sessions at the local ladies’ club. They gave me friendly advice and even some short cuts on how to rustle up tasty meals. Thus, it was in Jammu that I received my initial lessons of being a defence officer’s wife.Jammu was also the station where I received the greatest joy of my life — the news that I was to become a mother. During my pregnancy the unit women looked after me very well. We, like all first-timers, were very nervous and got panicky each time our little one even sneezed. Our neighbours, sensing our plight, made sure to visit us regularly with plenty of sound advice.After two years, as I found my groove in Jammu, our posting orders came. I was very upset but there was nothing that could be done. Gradually I got used to the idea of a nomadic existence as a family. We have seen many places. And now, after all these years, we are going back to Jammu again.The train jerks and stops and I come out of my reverie. It’s half past nine in the morning. I get down from the train, half expecting to see a bunch of sleepy-eyed youngsters there to receive us. No, there is a couple instead, with a beautiful bouquet for me. It dawns on me then that I am no longer the wife of the ‘baby of the unit’.
