“Not all women wear pearls and sensible shoes to work, some wear dog tags and combat boots.”

I was on my way back from a quick trip; I disembarked from the train at New Delhi station. As I walked out, an auto-rickshaw passed by, and I inadvertently waved to stop him and wistfully climbed in. “Ashram Chowk!” I said and ‘vroom!’ he moved on. Nine o’clock on a Sunday morning showed a restful and calm Delhi. Much sweeping and shoving had happened over a week before the Commonwealth Games, or the CWG as it is popular (or unpopularly) known as. Come any event, the “Sarkar” ensures to display great “Bandobast” all over. There were makeshift barricades, ‘hard-hatted’ and shaped up para-military forces, snipers, Sten guns, and various other weapons were on display to replace the usual pot-bellied ‘lathi’ wielding police officers. In no time I passed through the streets of Delhi and reached Ashram from where I had to board a bus for my onward journey to Faridabad.

Considering the humongous amount of public construction happening along the Mathura Road, no other mode of transport but a bus could bounce over those gaping pot-holes for the next twenty kilometers with ease. I do not remember when I last traveled on a bus. Maybe it has been a decade since, if I’m right. A lot has changed since then. The conventional diesel buses have given way to new CNG driven Volvo buses. As one of them pulled up at the bus stand, I was yet to cross the road. While I was midway, it roared to take off. For a moment my instinct pumped in some adrenaline and I ran to jump into it. Suddenly it halted again, and I jumped in with a glee of having achieved an impossible feat. I was light on luggage with just a small ‘backpack’ and water bottle in my hand. The seats were occupied, and I was yet to buy a ticket, hence I was still finding ground to perch my feet in the bus’s well.

It now deciphered to me why the bus had stopped again. Certainly not for me to board it, but on behest of the uniformed men… and women around the sand bag barricade at the bus stop. “Bandobast” eh! What a mix of security forces. A couple of six feet tall dark guys and about half a dozen four footer beauties. I don’t know which of the seven sisters these daughters belonged to, but they were surely Indians. I’m sure that despite all the fallout at CWG preparations, we could not have outsourced our security to anyone. They had sharp bright eyes, much unlike the eyes we are used to seeing. Spotless, smooth fair skin, and a stiff face preventing a charming smile. With that military outfit and holding guns as tall as themselves, they looked straight out of the heaven. One of them climbed the bus and scanned through each one’s eyes, much to their delight, and got down with a nod showing there was no suspicious person in there.

The tall guy who demanded to inspect my bag snapped my trance. I turned my back to him and signaled a thumb for him to see. He opened the topmost pocket and shut it off with an ‘okay’. Why did he not run through all the pockets? What was it that brought confidence in him so soon? The top pocket had my copy of the Mahabharata that I had been reading in the train. Was he impressed with the presence of a book and mistook me for an intellectual? Did he lapse his duty in a hurry, or have they come all the way from all corners of the country to merely show off that there is full security in place? Whatever it was, he’s done his job. The bus moved on. A little while later someone got up, and I filled in the vacant seat.

I could not stop thinking about those military women and admiring their beauty. I somehow could not stop equating them with Chitrangada. As the story goes, Arjuna, the most skillful of the Pandavas, was on one of his sojourns that took him to Manipur. Chitrangada, the princess of Manipur, was a warrior woman and when she heard of Arjuna coming, changed her attire into a fine form of womanliness to propose to him. Arjuna, who had also heard folklores about Chitrangada, was keen to meet her but was certainly not amused to see her as a soft nubile woman. He requested her to show herself in the outfit of a warrior princess and she obliged much to his delight and they got married.

Indeed, I could understand for the first time why Arjuna preferred the warrior looks of Chitrangada over her womanly beauty. There are some personalities who look better in a uniform, or let’s say that a uniform transforms and enhances one’s personality manifold. Lost in my thoughts, the bus moved on, enveloping all that was behind in a cloud of dust.

Know more about the author Vikram Khaitan. Read his latest work Master The Art Of Aging Gracefully