"Please…please, can you get me out of here?” pleaded the gaunt old man. The tall flight lieutenant nodded, and in one motion, hoisted the old man over his powerful shoulders and walked to the waiting chopper… An hour later, the chopper touched down at a relief camp located at an hour’s drive away from Dehradun. “You all right?” the flight lieutenant asked the old man, placing a muscled arm on his shoulder to keep him from wobbling. The old man looked up at the lieutenant, clasped his arm with trembling hands and smiled in relief. “Thank you… thank you, son. How can I ever repay you?” he asked, his eyes welling up. “No need. Just doing my duty,” responded the flight lieutenant curtly. “I will never forget you, I will..” But the flight lieutenant had already disappeared into the makeshift control room to await orders on his next sortie. The old man looked around, momentarily disoriented by the flurry of activity around him. A few feet ahead of him, army jawans and IAF pilots ran towards a waiting chopper, carrying between them a heavy looking bag. In a practised motion, they swung the bag into the chopper, pulled themselves in, and took off towards the misty skies in the right. Almost at the same time, another chopper flew in from the left and landed a few feet in front of him. Harried looking tourists stumbled out, looking as disoriented as himself. Uniformed men moved urgently all over the place, as did the relief staff, guiding victims in various directions. In a corner, stood scattered groups of men in safari suits, white shirts and trousers, and dhotis. One of them broke away from his group and walked towards the old man. “Have you just been rescued?” he asked. “Yes, the bridge was broken… and I was stranded at Kedarnath for 5 days without food and.. ” started the old man. “Yeah, yeah, that’s great,” he interrupted. “Here’s the thing. Gujarat government is plying a number of buses to Dehradun, from where you should be able to take a train to…” “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING???” hollered a voice. The startled old man jerked his head around to find an angry man in aviator shades staring at the Gujarat official. “You have no business rescuing this man. He is NOT from Gujarat!” shouted the man in shades. “Are you?” he demanded, turning to the old man. Panic struck, the old man shook his head violently. “I’m from Andhra Pr..” “SEE!!! Now buzz off! Rambo saala!” “Yeah, whatever,” said the man, and trudged off. The expression of rage on the man with the aviator shades instantly dissolved and was replaced with one of glee. “I showed him, eh?” he remarked to the old man, with smug satisfaction, looking around to see if anyone else had seen the exchange. “Er.. can I go home?” asked the old man. “Yes, of course! Right away, once we meet Rahul Gandhi. He is supposed to come anytime now. He will meet with you and a few other rescued tourists and understand the troubles you have faced. He might even share lunch with you. Isn’t that great?” The old man blinked. “Er.. that’s nice, but I have been stranded for 5 days… I just want to go home…” “Of course, Uncle ji, of course. Just wait here for some time… about 2 hours. Rahul has just taken off in Delhi, and should be arriving here any minute. In the meantime, you could perhaps collect a food packet from the tent over there, that you could share with Rahul baba…” As the old man looked around desperately, a couple of heavyset men in white dhotis rushed towards him menacingly. The old man took a hasty step backwards, but the men stormed past him and violently shoved the man in aviator shades. “Benc***, how dare you claim an Andhra victim. What the f*** has the Congress government done for us?” screamed one of them, throwing a punch at the Congress worker. “You ch**ts have been stringing us along on Telengana all this while,” said the other, joining his friend in raining blows at the man in shades. A couple of guys, evidently the Congress worker’s colleagues rushed in to rescue their friend, and began grappling with the two dhoti clad men. Within seconds, several others had joined in, and the argument turned into a free-for-all fist fight. Cowering in a corner, the old man watched the exchange with his mouth open. His despairing eyes turned this way and that, until it stopped at a familiar figure in the distance rapidly striding towards a chopper. The old man tapped into his last remaining ounce of strength, hobbled towards the tall figure in the distance, and grabbed his arm just as he was about to climb the chopper. The flight lieutenant turned to find the old man looking at him with pleading eyes. “Please….please, can you get me out of here?” theunrealtimes/2013/06/27/at-a-relief-camp-in-uttarakhand-the-account-of-a-rescued-tourist/
Posted on: Thu, 27 Jun 2013 11:22:41 +0000
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