<p>It was soon after the Chinese aggression in 1962, and I was just a few years into my Air Force career, posted at Palam, Delhi. A sore throat landed me in the hospital, where I shared a ward with twenty war casualties from the Chinese aggression. As the only mobile patient, I made it a point to visit each bed, introducing myself and striking up conversations. All the other patients had suffered severe frostbite, with some undergoing amputations. I asked one of them to describe the pain. “It’s like keeping your fingers or legs in the fire,” he replied, wincing at the memory. The burning sensation still lingered.</p>.<p>By 8 pm everyone had finished dinner and the nurses had finished giving medicines. The stern-looking matron came to the ward and announced that lights will be put off at 10 pm. But as soon as she left, the ward transformed. Patients got out of their beds and seemed to follow a well-practised drill. Groups were formed on nearby beds. Cards and small bottles of ‘Roger-Uncle-Mike’ appeared as if from nowhere, and the night was filled with jokes, anecdotes, and camaraderie. I even held cards for a patient with a bandaged hand.</p>.<p>The next morning was a flurry of activity, with nurses, breakfast, and doctors’ visits. But by 10 am, the ward was quiet again. This time, instead of cards, the patients engaged in lively gup-shup about their hometowns and families. It was interesting to know about their hometowns in the far corners of the country and their wives looking after the children independently.</p>.<p>Just then, the matron announced a VVIP visit. In an instant, the patients were back in their beds, blankets tucked in, and slings in place. The VVIP arrived with his entourage, accompanied by the commanding officer of the hospital. The patients, so full of life a minute ago, presented a picture of wounded soldiers with severe injuries. After a brief visit, a short chit-chat with a few, and photographs taken, the VVIP left, and the ward returned to its lively atmosphere. The instant transformation was amusing.</p>.<p>I was discharged after two days and bid farewell to each and every patient. I admired them for their resilience. I never heard them complain or feel dejected. They had taught me the valuable lesson of accepting the unavoidable and moving on.</p>.<p>As Jim Wadsworth said, “Adversity is a part of everyone’s life. There’s no escaping it. What determines the outcome is how we choose to react to it. If we let the waves toss us about, we sink. If we skilfully ‘ride the waves,’ we can ride on to our destination and live a life that’s ‘Powered by Adversity.’”</p>.<p>These soldiers, who had braved the harsh Himalayan weather and were severely injured, were a testament to that spirit. Despite their injuries, they were not depressed but accepting and moving forward.</p>
<p>It was soon after the Chinese aggression in 1962, and I was just a few years into my Air Force career, posted at Palam, Delhi. A sore throat landed me in the hospital, where I shared a ward with twenty war casualties from the Chinese aggression. As the only mobile patient, I made it a point to visit each bed, introducing myself and striking up conversations. All the other patients had suffered severe frostbite, with some undergoing amputations. I asked one of them to describe the pain. “It’s like keeping your fingers or legs in the fire,” he replied, wincing at the memory. The burning sensation still lingered.</p>.<p>By 8 pm everyone had finished dinner and the nurses had finished giving medicines. The stern-looking matron came to the ward and announced that lights will be put off at 10 pm. But as soon as she left, the ward transformed. Patients got out of their beds and seemed to follow a well-practised drill. Groups were formed on nearby beds. Cards and small bottles of ‘Roger-Uncle-Mike’ appeared as if from nowhere, and the night was filled with jokes, anecdotes, and camaraderie. I even held cards for a patient with a bandaged hand.</p>.<p>The next morning was a flurry of activity, with nurses, breakfast, and doctors’ visits. But by 10 am, the ward was quiet again. This time, instead of cards, the patients engaged in lively gup-shup about their hometowns and families. It was interesting to know about their hometowns in the far corners of the country and their wives looking after the children independently.</p>.<p>Just then, the matron announced a VVIP visit. In an instant, the patients were back in their beds, blankets tucked in, and slings in place. The VVIP arrived with his entourage, accompanied by the commanding officer of the hospital. The patients, so full of life a minute ago, presented a picture of wounded soldiers with severe injuries. After a brief visit, a short chit-chat with a few, and photographs taken, the VVIP left, and the ward returned to its lively atmosphere. The instant transformation was amusing.</p>.<p>I was discharged after two days and bid farewell to each and every patient. I admired them for their resilience. I never heard them complain or feel dejected. They had taught me the valuable lesson of accepting the unavoidable and moving on.</p>.<p>As Jim Wadsworth said, “Adversity is a part of everyone’s life. There’s no escaping it. What determines the outcome is how we choose to react to it. If we let the waves toss us about, we sink. If we skilfully ‘ride the waves,’ we can ride on to our destination and live a life that’s ‘Powered by Adversity.’”</p>.<p>These soldiers, who had braved the harsh Himalayan weather and were severely injured, were a testament to that spirit. Despite their injuries, they were not depressed but accepting and moving forward.</p>
