Major's Soft Obsession

Chapter 9: The Interview She Forced And The Story That Made Her Cry

Monday morning at Doon University began with an assignment that made the entire English Literature class groan.

Professor Sen announced, "Seven days. Interview someone from a dangerous profession — a soldier, a surgeon, a firefighter. Write a 2000-word essay. The best will be published in the college magazine."

Most students thought of doctors or police officers they knew.

Myra Malhotra's eyes lit up instantly.

Dangerous profession. Soldier. She lived with one. A Para SF Major who did night patrols in the rain, who had a thin scar near his left eyebrow, who carried responsibility like it weighed nothing.

Perfect interview.

She ran back to Pine Villa at 3 PM, her bag bouncing, green kurta wrinkled from running, the assignment paper clutched tightly in her hand.

Veer was in the porch, cleaning his Royal Enfield. Black t-shirt, hands covered in oil, focused on the chain.

"Major! Major!" she shouted from the gate itself.

Veer looked up, annoyed. "What? Why shouting? Rule One."

"I need an interview! For college! Dangerous profession! You are perfect! Ten questions only!"

"No."

Myra stopped mid-run. "No? Why no? Best essay will be published!"

"No is no, Myra. Army life is not for a college magazine."

"Please! Only professional questions! Why you joined? What is Para SF? What is your scariest mission?"

Veer kept cleaning. "I said no. Ask your friend Kabir's father. He is a doctor."

"Kabir's father is a dentist, not dangerous! You are Para SF! You have real stories! Please!"

Veer stood up, wiping his hands. "My stories are not for nineteen-year-old girls to write for college fame. Some stories are not bedtime stories, Myra."

Myra felt hurt, but more curious. "What do you mean not bedtime stories? Are they that dangerous?"

"Yes. So no."

He went inside. Office door closed.

Myra stood in the porch, paper crumpling in her fist. He said no. She would make him say yes.

At 7 PM, she came down with a notebook, pen, and her phone for recording. She sat on the floor outside his office, back against the wall, legs folded.

Veer opened the door at 7:15 PM to go to the kitchen and found her sitting there.

"What are you doing on the floor?"

"Waiting for interview. I will sit here till you say yes. Satyagraha."

Veer stared. Myra in a light yellow kurta, notebook open, determined face.

"Get up. Floor is cold."

"Say yes first."

"Myra, get up."

"Then I will sit whole night. You are the only dangerous profession I know in Dehradun."

Veer sighed. "You are impossible."

"And you are rude. But I need you. Please?"

She joined her hands, big eyes, pout. The same trick that worked on her father.

Veer looked at her for ten seconds, then opened the door wider.

"Inside. Ten questions only. No personal. No Kashmir details. If I say stop, you stop."

Myra jumped up. "Yes! Ten questions only! Promise!"

Inside, she sat opposite his desk, phone recording on. Veer sat straight, glancing at the clock.

"Start. Fast. I have a call at 8."

"Question one: Why did you join the army?"

"My father is a Colonel. Family tradition. I grew up in cantonments. I liked discipline. Joined NDA at eighteen."

"Question two: What is Para SF?"

"Special Forces. We do operations others cannot do. Behind enemy lines, hostage rescue, counter-terrorism. Trained to survive anywhere."

"Question three: What is your daily routine?"

"Wake at 4:30, run ten kilometers, training, office work, night patrol sometimes. Six hours sleep."

"Only six hours? You need eight!"

"Soldiers don't need eight. Six is enough."

"Question four: What is the scariest moment of your life?"

Veer paused. A long pause.

Myra looked up. "Scariest moment?"

He looked away towards the window. "Last year. Kashmir. My team was trapped. Fourteen days operation. Snow. No food for two days. One boy in my team, twenty-one, new recruit... he died. In my arms. Bullet wound. I could not save him."

Silence filled the office. Myra stopped writing.

"What was his name?"

"Aman. Sepoy Aman Singh. Twenty-one. From Punjab. First posting."

Tears built behind Myra's eyes, but she controlled them.

"Question five: Do you ever get scared?"

"Yes. Every operation. If you are not scared, you are stupid. Fear keeps you alive."

"Question six: Why do you have a scar?"

He touched it automatically. "Knife fight during training. Nineteen years old. Same age as you."

"You got it at nineteen? At my age?"

"Yes. NDA."

"Question seven: Do you miss home?"

"Yes. But army is home too."

"Question eight: What is hardest part of being a Major at twenty-eight?"

"Responsibility. People trust you with their lives. You cannot fail. If you fail, people die. Not like failing a college assignment where you get fewer marks. Here, failure means death."

Myra was not writing fast anymore. She was just listening.

"Question nine: Do you ever cry?"

Veer looked at her, eyes already wet. "Yes. When Aman died, I cried. In the snow, alone, after we brought his body back. Officers are allowed to cry when no one sees."

Tears fell on Myra's notebook. She did not wipe them.

Veer frowned. "Why crying? It was an interview, not a drama."

"Because... Aman was twenty-one... only two years older than me... and you carried him... like you carried me..."

Veer pushed the tissue box to her. "Stop crying. It was his duty. He knew the risk. He was brave."

"But his mother... his family..."

She was crying fully now, interview forgotten.

"Myra, stop, please," he said, kneeling slightly to her level, awkward.

She cried more because he said please.

"I cannot write if I cry... but story is so sad..."

"You don't have to write this. Write about a dentist, less sad."

"No! I want to write about Aman! I will write the best essay!"

Veer wiped her tear quickly, then pulled his hand back.

"Okay, write, but stop crying first."

She sniffled. "Last question. Question ten."

"Ask."

"Why did you come back in rain in nineteen minutes for me? Is it also your duty? Like Aman's duty?"

Veer froze. "That is personal. Interview over."

"No, it is professional! You left patrol for your tenant, why? Is it rule?"

He walked to the window, back to her.

"Because you called me scared. When someone calls scared, you go. That is what army teaches. You go, even in rain, even on patrol."

Myra came closer, notebook hugged to chest.

"Even if tenant is nineteen and always breaks rules?"

"Even if tenant is nineteen and always breaks rules," he repeated without turning.

Myra smiled through tears. "Thank you. For interview and Aman's story. I will dedicate essay to Aman and you."

"Do not dedicate to me. To Aman only. I did nothing."

"You did everything," she whispered.

She wanted to hug him again like on the rainy night, but stopped. Rule Five.

At the door she turned. "Can I keep the recording? Your voice about Aman?"

"Keep it. But do not share outside college."

Upstairs, Myra listened to the recording again and cried hearing him say, "He died in my arms."

She wrote till 2 AM. 2,347 words, more than required. Title: The Boy Who Died At 21 And The Major Who Cried In The Snow.

Downstairs, Veer could not sleep, hearing her typing and her anklet when she went to the kitchen at midnight.

At 2:30 AM, she knocked on his open office door.

"Essay done?" he asked.

She kept the print on his table. "Read? Did I write Aman's story right?"

He read two paragraphs and kept it down.

"It is good. Too good. You wrote like you were there."

"Because you told it like I was there," she said sleepily.

"Go sleep now. Tomorrow you have to submit."

She went to the door, then said without turning.

"Veer, I am proud of you. And Aman would be proud too that you cried for him in snow."

Veer did not answer. Throat tight.

She went upstairs and slept.

Downstairs, Major Veer Singh Rathore opened his drawer and took out an old team photo in snow — ten men, Aman youngest, smiling with a missing tooth.

He kept Myra's essay beside the photo.

First time someone cried for Aman apart from his mother and his team.

And it was a nineteen-year-old tenant who wore a yellow kurta and broke all his rules.