Half Man, Half Boy

The average age of the army man is 23 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer in the capital of his country, but old enough to die for his country.
He's a recent school or college graduate; he was probably an average student from one of the Kendriya Vidyalayas, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a rickety bicycle, and had a girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip -hop or bhangra or gazals and a 155mm howitzer.
He is 5 or 7 kilos lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting the insurgents or standing guard on the icy Himalayas from before dawn to well after dusk or he is at Mumbai engaging the terrorists. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march. He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. His pride and self-respect, he does not lack. He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of combat dress: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his water bottle full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own wounds. If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life - or take it, because he's been trained for both.He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.
He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed to do so.
He feels every note of the Jana Gana Mana vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hands from their pockets, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful. Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is your nation's Fighting Man that has kept this country free and defended your right to Freedom. He has experienced deprivation and adversity, and has seen his buddies falling to bullets and maimed and blown. And he smiles at the irony of the IAS babu and politician reducing his status year after year and the unkindest cut of all, even reducing his salary and asking why he should get 24 eggs a week free! And when he silently whispers in protest, the same politician and babu aghast, suggest he's mutinying! Wake up citizens of India ! Let's begin discriminating between the saviours of India and the traitors!
- Flt. Lt. Rajiv Tyagi (Rtd.)

breaking free

Goodbye to u n all your dreams
all i want some to call my own
a dream that i can live n share
make my mistakes n learn from them
offer no more those gilded shackles
i am free to dream n intend to be so
to dream a dream of cobwebs of life
to dream a dream of pain and joy
a dream full of distress
a dream full of love
a dream that explains why i exist
a dream that shows me way through the mist
that's all i want a dream to dream
a dream to call my own
a dream to call my own
so now m breaking free n belong to my own...

lonely

I tread alone when i can walk with you
i perceive the sorrow n i know its true
never imagined to be a loner
but loner i am by choice n care
too long i cried not to be left alone
but there were you all deaf n drawn
i don't need you to hover around
just need you to listen to my inner turmoil
why should i trust a second time
when i know its not worth a dime

All people dream, but not equally.Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind,Wake in the morning to find that it was vanity.But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people,For they dream their dreams with open eyes,And make them come true.