When I think about my father, the first thing that comes in front of my eyes is his ever smiling face. I don’t think I ever saw him with a frown, even when we would go to Srinagar where he would be at his busiest. One of the main things that I have learnt from him is also how much of his heart and soul he would put into every job that he would do. Like for example, he would help me with my studies. So just to explain and give a better idea to me about say, a ray diagram or a pinhole camera...he made sure he would buy those small concave and convex mirrors to make those ray diagrams and give me an idea as to why it works the way it does. Or made a pinhole camera at home to show me, so that my concepts are clear. I had no idea at that time, or even till now who would go to those lengths?

And besides that, he used to plan his leaves according to our exams, just so that he could be around. But it’s not like when he came here he would only focus on us. He would focus on our mother too. So typically, his day would begin like this: he would wake up in the morning and make sure if anything needed to be done around the house, he’d do all that. Then he’d sit with us, he’d make us study. Then, my mom was very fond of going to to the club...we had something every Saturday or Wednesday or something...and he would make sure she’s happy, she goes there. He had a scooter that time, so he would drop her there, come back, make me finish my studies, and then take Diksha and me both and go back to the club. Then we would all have dinner together and get back.

You know one would think that he’s on leave and he should be just chilling and having a fun time and probably resting. But no, that man from the time he woke up to the time he slept, would just be roaming and making circles around the women of the house and just keeping everyone was happy. The one thing that he probably gave to me is that he raised my standards really high.

When we met for the last time, it wasn't really supposed to obviously the last time that we were going to meet him. We had gone to spend our summer vacations with him [on 13 June] which was a summer ritual for us. But strangely this particular time when we had reached...he had come to pick us up, but the minute we reached we were told that we had to go back since he and his men had to go up because apparently the war was declared. But I don't think he said that. He just probably said that there's some disturbance there and I'll have to go. Of course we remember that we were sad about it...Diksha and I, as much as we could understand. Strangely from the time he picked us up from the transit camp, I had no recollection of what happened till early in the morning the next day [on 14 June] when he was leaving. I remember Diksha and I were sleeping. My mother must've been up since before and we were both woken up and my mum said 'Daddy's leaving. Say bye to him.' I remember we woke up all sleepy and groggy and hugged him and he just left after that.

I remember thinking about it later that you know...I wish I had known. That this would be the last...this is so unfair...was this the last time? Was that supposed to be the last time? Why didn't I have the slightest idea? I wish I would have known so I could have made that hug a little longer...I could have tried and stayed up a little longer...gotten up a little earlier to spend some more time with him. I mean...I know it sounds very irrational right now but at that time, when something like this happens, that's the first thing you think. It was so unfinished...like we just couldn't do what we should have or were supposed to do. So, it was really emotional that time, more because we were really saddened by the fact that you know...we were always really excited about our summer vacations but for us they just suddenly ended the minute they started.

His last letter we received after we'd got the news and we came back to Meerut and we'd gone back to Bihar. All the rituals were done, all the decisions were taken and we had come back to Meerut to pack and shift where Mummy had decided to shift, which was Delhi. So when we reached back, there was a letter there which he had probably written earlier and it was waiting for us at home.

It was...for me, I kept thinking...I used to really struggle with myself to kind of accept the fact that he's not there. I used to struggle with myself because I used to keep thinking...you know, I just hope that I wake up one day and get to know that this was a dream. I would pray so hard to God that I wish that I wake up tomorrow and get to know that I have just been dreaming or all this was just a confusion or there was some mistake and it's not him, it was someone else or any of those things. I kept thinking...can we rewind time? Can we rewind time somehow? Can something else change the story because this story needs to be changed because this can't be true. I can't remember till what time I kept thinking like that. So when we received his letter...he had written things like 'don't believe the news...don't believe the TV...they don't always show the right thing, they over exaggerate...' You know, reading it at that time was so ironic because it was like....you're lying, we know you're lying. It's just...it's an inexplicable feeling. I am not sure I can put it in the right words. We probably should have felt great to receive one of his last letters...something that we were not expecting, but it was also very tough to accept it.

What do I say about my husband? However much I say about his personality will be less. They say that God calls good people from this world earlier back to him. He was very caring...as a son, brother, father or the best husband. He was obviously a good soldier as well. He sacrificed his life for the nation. I feel very proud of my husband. Even my children do.

He left for Kargil on 14 May. We never spoke in person after that. We reached Srinagar on 13 May and the next day he and his men moved from there. We were together for 12 hours. In his last letter, even he mentions that the time we spent in those 12 hours was really memorable. But...I didn’t get to know only...when I met him and when he was gone. That’s the only regret I have. That perhaps I could’ve said something...what I had to say to him, we couldn’t even finish the conversation and he left us.

Since he left for the war, there were no phone calls from him initially. We used to live in Meerut. I used to get no phone call and get really worried. Sometimes I would pray, sometimes I would keep crying. Some of my friends would come over and tell me ‘why are you crying? Because everything is fine, that is why you haven’t received a call. Getting a call means there’s been a problem. That’s why don’t worry, everything will be fine. He will be back soon.’

I’m from Bihar, so we had to travel from Meerut to Bihar once. So I went and spent one month there. On 21 June, he called for the first time. I wasn’t home, I was at someone’s house. We didn’t have mobile phones then. I was called back home and I spoke to him. He had a habit of giving the phone to whoever was sitting next to him...friend, fellow army men...he would say talk to them, everyone lives alone and likes to talk to family and friends back home. I would complain that he himself talks less to me and makes me talk to others more. That day he couldn’t speak to the kids. He said that he’ll talk to me when I reach Siliguri, where I was going next.

After I reached Siliguri, I would sit at the PCO everyday and wait to talk to him. When I received no call, I would feel very dejected and go back home. This was my daily routine for the week I was there.

Then on 30 June, he called. I picked up and couldn’t believe it was him on the other end. I was wondering has he really called me? Am I imagining this? That’s how I was feeling. Anyway, it was him and we started talking. But his voice...felt very heavy for some reason. It could be that he had an idea of some problem brewing...he was talking to me, so he must also be feeling it more. But he kept talking to me. My sister was sitting right next to me. I gave her the phone and asked her to talk to him saying that I found the way he was talking very worrying. She started talking to him and asking him how he was etc. He then told her: “Tell Bhawna that whatever news she sees on TV is half truth, half lies. Ask her not to believe that. Tell her not to worry, we will all come back definitely.”

That was it. He asked to speak to the kids. He spoke to Neha, our elder daughter but by the time Diksha could get to the phone, it had gotten disconnected. We kept trying to call him back, maybe he was trying too...but we couldn’t speak again that day. I do remember he said at the end to me that he will speak to me once I return to Meerut.

On 2 July, we left for Meerut. On 3 July, when we reached Delhi on the way, my brother who was also in the Army and was posted there, had come to the station with my sister’s son. They all came and started insisting that I come back home with them. They said that we had travelled a lot, and I should have some lunch and rest before continuing towards Meerut. Everyone was insisting so much, so I had to go. We went, sat down...my sister-in-law had made tea. I had a sip...I didn’t feel like doing anything but I sat there for sometime with them nevertheless.

Then my brother called me inside the room. My sister’s son was also there. All of them hugged me and my brother said ‘Chandrabhushan is no more’. I felt like...I couldn’t believe it...I still don’t know what to say. It felt like my entire world had collapsed. He spoke the words and I felt that...this was the end. There was nothing left for me. There’s no reason to live life anymore.

Then my brother asked me to look at our two daughters and explained to me that if I gave up like this, what would they do? I looked at my daughters. Even they got worried looking at me and slowly they also found out about the news.

Then..what was there? Just the wait...when will he come back? When will his body come to us? He had to come on the 3rd, but he couldn’t and his remains arrived on 4 July. Then, we left for Bihar from here after that.

Then we returned from Bihar to Meerut, because we had to pack everything before moving to Delhi where I had decided to stay till my daughters’ education was over. So, when we reached Meerut, one of his letters he had written on 30 June had arrived late. By the time I got the letter, everything was already over. In the letter, he wrote about everyone as usual...he is here, he is there...that was his letter. He had written to everyone...our daughters, to me, and even to a niece I have.

What was next? Nothing. Just had to look at our daughters and live somehow. We shifted to Delhi and got their admissions done. My elder daughter, Neha was 12 then and in the 8th grade. Diksha, was eight-years-old and in the 3rd grade. So, their schools began. Slowly, they grew up. Neha did her MBBS, Diksha studied journalism. Today, she’s an author and has also written a book on her father called ‘Letters from Kargil’.

That’s it...when I came to Delhi, I got a petrol pump [from the government]. That’s what I run now. In the beginning, there were a lot of problems...I still have them till this day. Only recently it has begun feeling like it’s getting better. Because I was a housewife, I had no knowledge about everything. My husband would do everything for me, I would just follow him. I had no idea. We ran into a lot of financial problems...our money got stuck in the market. But it’s getting better.

When someone dies, only the person who is left behind knows how difficult it is to handle that pain. We know that pain really well. Even today, the kids really remember him a lot. He was always laughing and playing with them. If I was ever traveling my train alone, he used to make an entire map detailing which station comes where and when do that I can pass the time by looking at the map. Just like this, he had always pampered me a lot. He never let me have a problem about anything. I remember all that...no one can do as much as my husband did. Even though he had such a busy schedule, he would never not write to us. Even though he was at a place where it was tough to write letters, even if he wrote two lines, he would write them and send it to us.

These are the few memories we have of him. We have to live with the support of these memories only now. We have to live ahead.

This is it. This is my story.