It is Vijay Divas again, 53 years after India won the war that created Bangladesh. So, you will forgive me for reminiscing a little about my father: Sam Manekshaw, not ‘the Great Soldier’ but the family man.

As a father, he was often not there, but when he was, it was delightful: We argued, we discussed, we quarrelled over ideology, issues, viewpoints—on everything that ranged from the real meaning of life to what we should have for dinner.

He teased us unmercifully and played wicked tricks on us. When my sister was in St. Bede’s, he would write her letters full of suggestive double entendre and explicit, effusive affection and then end them signed simply “Sam.” Of course, that was enough for the nuns to call her in, scold her roundly for having a secret boyfriend somewhere on the outside, and threaten to tell the parents.

Home for the holidays, she complained bitterly to our aunt (his sister) about the trouble he had got her into. Our aunt’s eyes widened, and she said, “Oh Sam, you’re not still doing the same thing!” He had........

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