<p>During the early 1940s, when British India had its involvement in the then-raging World War II, the situation at a particular stage warranted the implementation of ‘air raid precaution’ (ARP) to acquaint citizens with disaster management techniques in the event of an enemy attack. </p><p>My father was then the chief ARP warden for Bengaluru, covering all civilian and cantonment localities. Each locality was placed under a zonal warden who was trained to guide the people under his charge regarding the actions to be resorted to as soon as the emergency sirens, which were mounted on the area police stations, wailed with their rising and falling notes to signal an air attack.</p>.<p>Nearly 25 feet long, five feet deep, and three feet wide trenches were dug in all the open fields of the city, and people were instructed to take shelter inside them as soon as the siren went off. </p><p>Those in their vehicles and buses were to abandon their vehicles and rush to the nearest trees (which were aplenty in the Garden City then) and lie still under them, face down, to protect themselves. At night, all street and house lights were turned off to hide the city from enemy bombers.</p>.<p>We, in primary classes then, were immensely thrilled by the whole concept and impressed by the frequent implementation of this exercise with all the seriousness necessary. </p><p>One evening, while five of us were playing in the nearby field, the emergency siren started wailing, and, as instructed, we at once ran and dived into the nearby trench where, to our horror, we were greeted by a 4-foot snake that had probably fallen there a couple of days before!</p>.<p>As we were frantically trying to climb out of the trench, the zonal warden, known for his strict adherence to rules and regulations, passing by in the police patrol jeep, spotted us and at once signalled us with wild shaking of the baton to get back into the trench. He wasn’t making the slightest effort to understand the situation, which we were frantically trying to convey! </p>.<p>For nearly an hour we helplessly kept scrambling about inside the trench, jumping over the slithering snake that was also desperately trying to escape. The long ‘all clear’ siren, which at last came as music to our ears, ended our ordeal as we practically flew out of the trench.</p>.<p>My father was alarmed to learn of our dreadful experience, and he promised to get all the trenches inspected immediately. After a thoughtful moment he said, “Just imagine the plight of our brave soldiers who have to crawl with their heavy weaponry in unknown hostile terrains to fight the invading enemy, staking their precious lives to ensure that our country is safe and we sleep in peace!”</p>.<p>At that moment, a deep sense of pride swept over us, and we felt that our trench ordeal was, after all, not that horrendous!</p>
<p>During the early 1940s, when British India had its involvement in the then-raging World War II, the situation at a particular stage warranted the implementation of ‘air raid precaution’ (ARP) to acquaint citizens with disaster management techniques in the event of an enemy attack. </p><p>My father was then the chief ARP warden for Bengaluru, covering all civilian and cantonment localities. Each locality was placed under a zonal warden who was trained to guide the people under his charge regarding the actions to be resorted to as soon as the emergency sirens, which were mounted on the area police stations, wailed with their rising and falling notes to signal an air attack.</p>.<p>Nearly 25 feet long, five feet deep, and three feet wide trenches were dug in all the open fields of the city, and people were instructed to take shelter inside them as soon as the siren went off. </p><p>Those in their vehicles and buses were to abandon their vehicles and rush to the nearest trees (which were aplenty in the Garden City then) and lie still under them, face down, to protect themselves. At night, all street and house lights were turned off to hide the city from enemy bombers.</p>.<p>We, in primary classes then, were immensely thrilled by the whole concept and impressed by the frequent implementation of this exercise with all the seriousness necessary. </p><p>One evening, while five of us were playing in the nearby field, the emergency siren started wailing, and, as instructed, we at once ran and dived into the nearby trench where, to our horror, we were greeted by a 4-foot snake that had probably fallen there a couple of days before!</p>.<p>As we were frantically trying to climb out of the trench, the zonal warden, known for his strict adherence to rules and regulations, passing by in the police patrol jeep, spotted us and at once signalled us with wild shaking of the baton to get back into the trench. He wasn’t making the slightest effort to understand the situation, which we were frantically trying to convey! </p>.<p>For nearly an hour we helplessly kept scrambling about inside the trench, jumping over the slithering snake that was also desperately trying to escape. The long ‘all clear’ siren, which at last came as music to our ears, ended our ordeal as we practically flew out of the trench.</p>.<p>My father was alarmed to learn of our dreadful experience, and he promised to get all the trenches inspected immediately. After a thoughtful moment he said, “Just imagine the plight of our brave soldiers who have to crawl with their heavy weaponry in unknown hostile terrains to fight the invading enemy, staking their precious lives to ensure that our country is safe and we sleep in peace!”</p>.<p>At that moment, a deep sense of pride swept over us, and we felt that our trench ordeal was, after all, not that horrendous!</p>
