Syria in 1982

In 1982, my sister and I were surrounded by hundreds of young Syrian soldiers who serenaded us with Shammi Kapoor songs! Even today,while I don’t remember anything much of my times then, that crisp, cold Feb morning when we escaped from Hama is vividly etched in my mind!
Dad was posted at Hama, Syria from 1979 to 1985. There were few Indians and no Sardars in Hama and we would be mobbed in the market because the locals thought my Dad was a Maharaja and would chase us all around.
Like today, even then Hama was the hotbed of politics. Muslim Brotherhood was the party opposed to President Assad and every now and then, there would be minor flare-ups. (At one place Dad was going to be shot because his beard made the police suspect that he belonged to the rebel Muslim Brotherhood party - fortunately a man from his factory bailed him out).
We knew family times were ahead when at night there would be gun shots. Dad would not go to work next day, we would have leisurely meals, watch Junglee and Disco Dancer on TV and play cards all day long. The fighting would last a day or two and then the humdrum of life would take over again.
One February’82 evening we went to the market to pick up weekly supplies, but there was a Hindi movie playing in the local theatre. (Syrians were in love with Junglee Shammi Kapoor and Raj Kapoor). We watched the movie, ate dinner and came back without any shopping.
That night, there was a lot of gun fire exchange. And this did not let up for the next few days. We did not dare to go out into our terrace because everywhere you looked, there were tanks and smoke and fire. Hama was burning. At the end of the 7th day, there was no food left. For the past few days, Mom had stopped waking us up in the morning because it meant she could cut out one meal from the meagre supplies we had. By the end of the week even the powdered milk and mashed potatoes were over.
That was when Dad decided that we were going to leave Hama. Mom packed up our passports, dollars and some change of clothes. She wore a bright pink saree and used her red lipstick to make a HUGE bindi on her forehead. A young Jordanian neighbour who attended college in Hama asked my Dad if he could accompany us.
So the 5 of us piled into the car and left our colony. The roads were deserted, many houses had been shelled and there was debris all around. The moment we hit the City Centre, about a 1000 soldiers descended upon us and surrounded the car. My Dad spoke fluent Arabic but pretended to know none, while Mom kept up the litany of ‘Hindi, Hindi’. In some time the commander of the army walked up to our car. He asked my Dad to leave the car and come with him for questioning.He asked the Jordanian boy to step outside too - that was the last we ever saw or heard of him.
Mom decided to go with Dad and asked my sister and me to lock up the car and sit. I was all of 13 and Rano was 10 and what followed was the most bizarre experience of our lives. Hundreds of young soldiers stood around our car singing ‘Ayyaya Suku Suku ‘ from Junglee and ‘Tere man ki Ganga aur mere man ki jamuna ka, bol radha bol sangam hoga ki nahin’. Then someone would start chanting ‘ Indira Gandhi, Shammi Kaboor’ (they could not pronounce p) and all of the rest would join in!
On the left of our car was a school building and scores of young men and boys were standing shirtless in the cold Feb day. Some 10-15 of them would be hustled into the school building and there would be gun shots. Then after sometime, another lot would be pushed into the school.
I have no idea how long all this lasted - Rano and I did not know whether to laugh, cry or to be scared without our parents!
Eventually Mom and Dad came back alive to the car.Just as we were about to leave, gun fire exchange broke out in the next street and our car also packed up. It was a surreal experience - tanks and soldiers on the move and my Dad standing with the bonnet open in the middle of it all! Eventually some soldiers gave the car a push, the commander gave us an escort and my Dad drove top speed out of Hama.
Rano and I came back to India for school without going back to Hama that year. Many years later when I re-read the history of Syria, I realised that the Feb82 crackdown was the most brutal one ever that crushed out the Muslim Brotherhood. Seeing Hama burn again hurts and it is upsetting to think how many more young men and boys will lose their lives this time round.