Dr M.S. Ganesh,
Head of Oncology Services, Vydehi Institute of Oncology, Bangalore

‘I believe that a simple and unassuming manner of life is best for everyone, best both for the body and the mind’—Albert Einstein

Dr (Major General) Anju Manchanda—or AO madam, as we used to fondly address her—personified the above statement. What was most striking about her was the vigour she displayed in her day-to-day actions. A sense of discipline was distinctly evident in her civil life as well. One could bet on her arriving in her chamber on time on any given day. At the hospital, she was easily accessible, patient to every complaint and always ready with timely advice.

I remember meeting her for the first time way back in 2007 when I arrived from Delhi. We struck an instant rapport and within a short span of time, were conversing about some common connections to the country’s capital. And this association only improved over time, building up many cherished memories.

My wife and I were charmed by her parties. These weren’t just social dos—as AO madam was never brand-conscious—but genuine gatherings that exuded the warmth of true friendship. What didn’t we talk about—from pets to architecture. The fact that she nurtured a stray dog is a testament to her simplicity.

Truly, she has lived both walks of life—a civil life and that of service—to the fullest. It is difficult to conclude my thoughts about her but I have to humbly say that she exited this world with the same simplicity and grace that defined her life. Our thoughts and memory of her will remain for a long time to come.

Most of us still cannot believe that she doesn’t come to her chamber any more but that’s life, I suppose

Lieutenant General Vijay Oberoi,
Ex-Vice Chief, Indian Army

I first met Anju (then Colonel Anju Manchanda) within a few days of assuming command of the Army Training Command in Shimla. As is customary, all department heads and senior staff officers of my HQ had met me either in my office or during the number of initial staff briefings to put me ‘in picture’, as we say in the Army. Thereafter, it was the turn of the commanding officers of independent units which were co-located with my HQ and provided support to us.

Anju was one of the first unit commanders to do so. She entered my office at the appointed time and I was immediately struck by her poise and demeanour. Long years of service and experience in the Army, which is all about camaraderie, bonding with colleagues and interpersonal relationships, gives one the insight to judge fairly quickly the calibre, both professional and personal, of one’s colleagues; and I have found that first impressions are usually correct.

And when Anju walked in and saluted smartly, my first impression was of a self-confident and competent officer. She carried herself with grace, femininity and the elegance of a lady, as well as the crispness and bearing of an accomplished Army officer. At that moment, I had no thought for whether the officer in front of me was male or female, a doctor or a combat arms officer—all my brain registered was that a bright and accomplished Army officer, and a Commanding Officer to boot, had come to meet me and I was suitably impressed. I am glad to say that this first impression remained unchanged throughout my tenure of over two years at the Army Training Command, as well as when I had the occasion to meet her later.

I recall sadly that on 23 December 1998, at the peak of a Shimla winter, our military hospital, which Anju Manchanda was commanding, was engulfed in a devastating fire and was completely gutted. I was away visiting units and formations at the time, but on return I visited the site and was taken around by Anju. The fire had reduced the main building and a few adjoining structures to ashes. But Anju had taken charge as soon as she was informed, which was in the middle of the night. Despite her best efforts, neither the building nor the bulk of the valuable medical equipment could be saved. But all patients were safely evacuated.

A disaster like the burning of one’s command, as it was for Anju, would have reduced anyone to tears, but not this formidable lady, who coped with the aftermath of this disaster with aplomb and equanimity. Although she must have been greatly disturbed by this event, outwardly she kept her composure. She soldiered on in the best traditions of the Indian Army.

Anju’s husband, Colonel Narendra Manchanda, was also posted in Shimla during my tenure there. In fact, he was a staff officer at my HQ. Being on the staff, although also a doctor of the Army Medical Corps, he was not directly involved with medical treatment. Instead, he was handling the important work of policy formulation relating to the medical aspects of administration and logistics.

He and Anju complemented each other in every way, and were a popular couple in Shimla. Later they both rose steadily in their profession to the exalted height Major General. In many ways, it was a rare achievement as at that time, hardly any couple in the Army had risen to the rank of Major General almost simultaneously and served in this rank in the Army for many years thereafter.

My wife, Daulat, and I last met Anju a few years back when we were visiting friends in Bangalore. Both she and Narendra were doing well in their second innings as medical professionals. I vividly remember that late evening after a party, when the Manchandas were dropping us in their car. Although Bangalore is better known these days for its terrible traffic snarls, we were driving down a comparatively newer part of Bangalore, where the roads were mostly clear of traffic at that time of the night but unfortunately the signage was not good. Narendra was driving, but an alert Anju was keeping an eye on the road while busy talking to Daulat, who was sitting next to her. It was she who pointed out to Narendra that he had taken a wrong turn and we seemed to be heading in an entirely new direction! What a great lady indeed!

Naturally, we were highly upset when we learnt of her sudden passing. We can only recall the good times we had together, mostly in Shimla but also elsewhere in fleeting meetings. A person like Anju comes rarely in one’s life, but leaves behind remarkable memories, which do not fade with the passage of time. She was undoubtedly an officer and a lady par excellence, who will be long remembered by friends, acquaintances and, of course, family.

Rest well, Anju, in your new abode and thank you for enriching the lives of all who came in contact with you, including Daulat and me.

Lieutenant General Arjun Ray,
Ex-GOC, HQ, III Corps

My first interaction with Major General Anju Manchanda was in 1998 in Shimla, where she was commanding the MH. Apart from meeting socially, I closely saw how she adeptly managed the terrible aftermath of the burning down of the entire hospital. The test of any leader is how they deal with a crisis. And that litmus test she passed with grace and determination. In moments of calamity, Anju displayed a characteristic coolness, balanced decision-making and total resilience. In fact, immediately after the fire, she bounced back to work as if nothing had happened.

After Shimla, we only met in Bangalore, where she was the registrar of Vydehi Hospital in Whitefield. I’m sure that in those premises she will forever be remembered for efficiently administering a huge hospital, for displaying deep empathy towards the underprivileged patients and for her genuine concern for all employees. These are the hallmarks of a good manager.

Besides conducting herself with great dignity, Anju was the first to be by the side of any friend in need. We never once saw her ruffled by any situation. Despite the gravity of the issue, she went about addressing it in a quiet, decisive manner. We saw a lot of humility in Anju. Despite being a general in the Indian Army, she never wore her rank on her sleeve either at work or when among friends.

Our lasting memory of Anju is of a person who was a good human being, a loving friend and a committed citizen. May her soul rest in peace and may others follow in her footsteps.

Lieutenant General G.K. Duggal
PVSM, AVSM, VrC

During my tenure as commander of the 25th Infantry Division from February 1995 to October 1996, Colonel Anju Manchanda commanded the Rajouri Military Hospital. She was perhaps the first lady doctor to command a hospital located so close to the Line of Control and in a sector infested with terrorists and militants.

In her first interview with me in my office, I found her to be most composed and confident—a hallmark of professional competence. And upon my first visit to her hospital, I was filled with a sense of satisfaction, seeing a team of efficient, smart doctors and nursing officers. The hospital was very orderly and had standing operating procedure on all matters relating to the administration. I was told that Anju had worked very hard to improve upon the old ones and introduce some novel processes that were in keeping with the environment.

As Rajouri was very active on the Line of Control in those days, every night there used to be an exchange of heavy fire as well as encounters with infiltrating militants from across the border. Evidently, there were frequent casualties of varying degrees of seriousness. Sometimes very serious casualties had to be evacuated from forward locations by helicopter at night. In such grave cases, Anju always made it a point to be present at the Rajouri airstrip to receive the casualties. Needless to say, the team of doctors under her guidance, too, had to be awake through the night, attending to the victims. Such was her readiness to serve.

Colonel Anju Manchanda never let go of an opportunity to visit the battalion HQ of various forward battalions. In fact, brigade commanders always spoke highly of her dedication and grit. Additionally, she was indeed a role model for young lady doctors.

Being deployed on the Line of Control, we didn’t enjoy many parties or social functions, except for Raising Day, which was celebrated by the artillery brigade HQ and the divisional troops units. On all occasions, Colonel Anju participated with remarkable grace, interacting with officers as an upright officer and with civilians as a charming conversationalist. She was also the perfect host. Though her resources were limited yet hospital functions were as elegant as those units’ that had a lot more resources.

I think Colonel Anju Manchanda was an officer and a lady rolled into one. She was deservingly awarded the Vishisht Seva Medal for her exemplary service. And we remained in touch even after her retirement. It came as a huge shock to my wife and me when we learnt about her untimely demise. Not only is it a great loss to her family members but an equal loss to her friends and to those for whom she was a role model. May God bless her soul.

Air Marshal L.K. Verma
Ex-DGMS (Air)

There are moments in life when one wonders about a brief but intense acquaintance with a friend and how it influences your persona.

Anju, as I remember her, was a highly graded military officer, a great friend and a pure soul. It was a shock to me to learn about her sudden departure for her heavenly abode. I am sure she has been received with adulation in the world beyond as well, and that her soul is a prized possession of the heavens. Another jewel may have been added to the stars in the skies, leaving the earth a bit poorer. Humans cannot challenge the will of the Almighty. Birth and death are extremes of the same spectrum, as birth is an essentiality and death, inevitable. We can only grieve the end of the earthly body and pray for the soul to rest in peace. That would be a service to the departed soul.

Remembering Anju Manchanda

In the comity of stars,
Bright and shining,
All the way to the heavens beyond,
Another was studded within.
In the midst of the beauty,

Of the Creator’s canvas,
Looking serene and beautiful,
In the elegance of her soul and heart,
Bestowing her benign glance on earth.

We know when we look up,
It is none other than Anju.
We can only marvel at the beauty,
The beauty of your soul, Anju, you disperse.

May your soul rest in peace,
In the heavens beyond.
I am sure you will take care of the
Eternal home as you have of your mortal one!

Major General Partho Sen
Ex-Major General, General Staff, HQ, Army Training Command

We met the Manchandas for the first time in 1998 in Shimla, where I was posted as the head of the logistics branch in the Army Training Command HQ. At that time, Anju was commanding MH Shimla and Narendra headed the medical training wing of ARTRAC. He was also looking after the dramatics club at Gaiety Theatre, a prominent landmark and heritage institution of Shimla.

From the get-go, what struck me as remarkable about Anju was that while she was a committed professional, she was equally adept as a homemaker. Together with her husband, they made a handsome couple; role models for everyone around. In fact, we saw them as two sides of the same coin, complementing each other in every sphere of activity. There was no surprise, then, that they were the most popular and respected couple in Shimla—in the Army and civil circles as well.

Anju displayed an amazing sense of maturity and sensitivity when it came to dealing with patients, her peer group and society at large. She was ever-willing to extend a helping hand, and was a source of solace to all who went to her. My wife, whenever she encountered a problem or was disturbed, confided in her freely and invariably felt relieved at the end of a conversation. It was Anju’s magical healing touch, if I may say so. During my frequent travels, I never felt worried because I was reassured by Anju always being there to extend a helping hand to my wife in any eventuality.

We spent many a lazy Sunday afternoon at their house. Anju was an excellent hostess, and the overall ambience was always superb due to the warmth and care with which she attended to each of her guests. She had a great sense of aesthetics and interior decor, so much so that their house was like a picture postcard. And if a new life was breathed into Gaiety during Narendra’s tenure, it was largely due to Anju’s commendable work behind the scenes.

Another facet of Anju that we discovered were her nerves of steel in a crisis. When the fire broke out in MH Shimla, any other person in her place may have panicked. But she stood firm and unflappable, restoring normalcy in a very short time. She brought the hospital back to shape like one nurses a baby. I would say that she displayed leadership qualities of the highest order.

We also remember Anju fondly for her help to Narendra in bringing out a yoga training manual for the Indian Army, a copy of which has aided our lifestyle and is proudly displayed in my library.

I vividly recall our last meeting, when she was posted as registrar of the Army R&R Hospital in Delhi. My daughter was admitted there following a very complicated surgery. Anju, despite her busy schedule, found the time to visit her every day and ensure that all was okay. We were overwhelmed by the love and care she bestowed on our daughter.

That a dynamic, warm and caring person like Anju had to depart so suddenly and without notice, is difficult to reconcile for all her near and dear ones as well as her numerous fans. I suppose only time will be a healer.

But knowing her, I can perhaps guess Anju’s last prayer—‘I have miles to go before I sleep.’

Major General R.P. Singh
Ex-Senior Consultant (Medicine)

I met Anju for the first time at the Army Hospital when I was pursuing my post-graduation. And I met a bright, bubbly and enthusiastic young doctor, who was extremely competent. When I was on temporary duty in Bathinda, I was invited to her home for dinner. The meal was excellent, and the hospitality memorable. I could tell that her home was (wo)manned as efficiently as her hospital.

Over the past couple of years we had been meeting at the Biennial AMC Conferences, and the last time we met—once again at the biennial AMC conference—I noticed a lady who was busy capturing the proceedings with her camera as she animatedly caught up with old buddies and colleagues. It came as a pleasant surprise when I found out that the photographer was but my old friend Anju.

My impression of her will always be that of someone who lived life to the fullest with a zest for both professional and personal excellence. Often people are a mere shadow of their younger selves . . . but Anju was one of those who grew more radiant, more energetic and definitely more unforgettable with age.

Rest in peace, my friend. We miss you.

Major General Roop Garg
Ex-Major General (Med) HQ, Southern Command, Pune

For some time now, I have been pondering over the sudden demise of Major General Anju Manchanda. She decided to leave quietly without any fuss, having made sure that the daily life of the people whom she loved and cared for wasn’t disturbed.

Across more than twenty-seven years of acquaintance, what impressed me the most was her keen wit. Any occasion was a time to laugh and she had many jokes for all occasions, delivered so perfectly. People would burst out laughing while she would give you just a twinkling smile. I am sure she was as amused as everyone else in the group, but kept it hidden deep inside.

With a great sense of pride in herself, she was always striving for challenges in her life. It was her intense conviction that she was no less than any other, be it at the home front, in her life of service or in any other field. She always wanted to bridge the gaping gender divide, which to her dismay exists even in the twenty-first century.

I am sure she lived her life fully and on her own terms, with her gentle and supporting husband, Major General N.K. Manchanda.

Colonel N.N. Bhatia (Retd)
Ex-CO, II Kumaon Regiment

Every major incident or crisis in our lives forces us to realign ourselves, and it is far from easy to readjust our way of life based on new, unfamiliar blueprints. But doing so for good or bad reasons empowers us to make changes that we may or may not like. A friend wrote to me a few days back, saying, ‘Helping hands are mightier than praying ones’ and my wife went a step further by saying, ‘Helping and praying hands together add more value to our meaningful prowess’.

And this is my tribute to the late Major General Mrs Anju Manchanda, VSM (Retd), wife of Major General Narendra Manchanda (Retd), both of whom had the rare distinction of being the first ‘General Couple’ of the Indian Army, with Anju being the second lady General in our armed forces. The unexpected demise of General Anju Manchanda on 20 December 2014 was a devastating and saddening event for not just the Manchanda family, but also for their relatives and friends such as us. I have known the family since June 1984, and consider it a deeply personal loss.

***

During the summer of 1984—from 3 to 8 June—many internal security missions were underway in our country, and one accomplishment by the Berari pultan received extensive media coverage. As a commanding officer, I was summoned to the Divisional HQ in Ahmedabad for a conference on the successful mission and while driving down from Gandhinagar, the Jonga I was travelling in unfortunately met with an unavoidable accident. Luckily, however, there were no serious casualties, and I had only sustained some bruises and cuts along with severe pain in my chest that made breathing difficult. Rather than attending the conference, I landed up in the OPD of the MH Ahmedabad, a bit dazed and my uniform a bit ruffled. As I sat there enduring physical pain and emotional upheaval, I was greeted by the smiling Major General (Dr) Mrs Anju Manchanda, the Duty Medical Officer (DMO) of the day, elegantly dressed in her olive-green saree.

Despite barely reading my name tab on a rather shabby uniform, she immediately remarked, ‘Oh, sir, so you are the CO who was in the news for recently resolving the internal security problem near Ankleshwar!’

Now, this was our first meeting, and a meeting between an Army doctor and a patient. She quickly got my X-ray and various tests done, and summoned the surgical specialist. Other than a moderately severe contusion in my chest, thankfully I only had superficial injuries. I was discharged after two days in extensive observation and treatment. But not before I had the pleasant surprise of meeting her husband, Major General Narendra Manchanda—posted in Dhrangadhra at the time—whom she specially brought along on her evening rounds of the wards to introduce to me. Needless to say, it was indeed a treat meeting a smart, warm and charming medico couple.

I remember being baffled by the logic of the ADMS by which this medico couple was separated despite being posted in the same formation. And seeing how the Manchandas had two young schoolgoing daughters who resided with their mother in Ahmedabad, I discreetly apprised Major General Afsir Karim, our GOC, of the situation during one of our official functions, requesting that Narendra bhai, instead of having to live alone, be posted in the Field Ambulance in Ahmedabad. And though the GOC was upset with the ADMS, he genuinely appreciated my concern and was kind enough to change Narendra bhai’s posting forthwith. This little gesture towards reuniting the couple strengthened our bond, and we became good family friends thereafter.

In the wake of anti-reservation-cum-communal riots in Gujarat in June 1985, our battalion was deployed in the walled city of Ahmedabad on internal security duty. During that trying time, both Narendra bhai and Anju would often inquire about our well-being. Though we could not meet that often due to exigencies of service, distance and our professional commitments, I remained in touch with the Manchanda family. And when my services were acquired by the Ministry of Home Affairs (MHA) to write standard operating procedures (SOPs) for infrastructure security, I mailed Anju my draft for hospital security; she not only offered valuable suggestions but also complimented me for my pioneering efforts.

***

Anju’s ability to manage her time well and her foresight were both excellent, and she had time for every one—big or small—to help resolve matters in their professional or personal lives with due privacy and dignity. She had style and knew the secret of good living, but without misusing authority or a vulgar display of wealth. Her style and substance were the essence of her dynamic personality that fuelled her quest for excellence. The combination of her professionalism, personal values and her ability to grapple with challenges took one’s breath away. She could hold an audience rapt, be it with her stage shows or merely her exuberance and subtle satire.

On 19 December 2014, she attended a full day of work in the hospital with no physical, psychological or emotional complaint. On 20 Dec 2014, as she was about to get ready, upon feeling acute pain in her chest, she was immediately rushed to the nearest hospital. But life betrayed her unpredictably, in spite of the fact that she was extremely fit and had no ailments. Anju bid us adieu, leaving her family, friends and admirers shocked and shattered.

Well, bidding farewell to a person who didn’t get to live a complete life is awkward, sad and truly painful. But Major General Anju Manchanda surely led a full life, perhaps not in years but in the diversity of her experiences. She was committed to the armed forces, her family and her friends. Despite her busy schedule, nothing could hold her back from giving her best to her profession and her loved ones. She knew how to do the work and how to get the work done—not only by her subordinates but also by her colleagues and superiors. But this she did with the aid of her persuasive leadership skills rather than an outdated, coercive carrot-and-stick management policy. And most importantly, she always held her head up in the sky with her feet firmly planted on the ground.

Narendra bhai, Sonia, Ekta, and relatives and friends of the Manchanda family—no one could have prepared you for a loss of this magnitude; it came like a swift tsunami wreaking havoc. But we must take comfort in knowing that Anju is the brightest star up in heaven, smiling and twinkling and nestling in its warmth and light. Anju was a legend that walked among us, the tallest yet not so different from us.

Anju, you may not be with us physically, but we still feel you, your smile and warmth with us always. It’s as if you were never born and you never died.

May God bless you in your heavenly abode.

Colonel Pankaj Bhatia
Ex-Colonel Administration, HQ, Army Training Command, Shimla

My family and I were extremely fond of Colonel Anju Manchanda, having shared many moments with her, each of them a beautiful memory now and an example of her values, her thoughts and her personality. Many snapshots come to mind, and I feel as though I knew her so well that if I were to recount it all, we would have a book by the end of it.

When I joined ARTRAC in September 2007, I had the good fortune of sharing my office with Major General N.K. Manchanda (a Colonel at the time). Although we wore the same rank, he was senior to me by miles. Therefore I felt quite apprehensive and awkward at the thought of being around such a senior officer. However, only in the matter of a day, Colonel Manchanda made me feel at home and assumed the role of my best friend, philosopher and guide.

I think it was on my third or fourth day in the office, a Thursday, when Colonel Manchanda surprised me with her kindness. Around noon, a beautiful and graceful lady donning a Colonel’s uniform walked into our office. She had tremendous poise and an electric aura about herself. I was so stunned that I froze and forgot to wish her. Yet she smiled warmly and said, ‘I am Mrs Manchanda. How are you, Pankaj?’ That simple gesture of addressing me by my first name instantly established a level of comfort, and I was on cloud nine! During the course of our conversation, I mentioned the teething problems we were encountering in settling down in a new place.

Without skipping a beat, she invited me and my family for dinner to their place that Saturday. I hadn’t even been asked to dinner by my own organization yet, and here was someone so hospitable at our very first meeting. And what an evening that was. The welcome was so warm, it felt as though we’d known each for ages. What we learnt of Shimla in those two or three hours would have taken us months together to find out without the Manchandas. My daughter and son (twelve- and ten-year-olds at the time) grew so fond of them that they stayed the night at their place! Over time, this became a weekend ritual for my kids. What an extraordinary quality Colonel Anju Manchanda had to even befriend children.

A few months later, we had another excuse to grow closer when Colonel Manchanda handed over charge of Gaiety Theatre to me. Although I was reluctant and inexperienced, my job was made easy by Colonel Manchanda’s ready support and silent contribution, who never took any credit for herself.

Another instance of Colonel Manchanda’s kindness is her rapport with my elderly parents. When they were living with me, my mother being bedridden due to a broken femur, Colonel Anju Manchanda came to know of it somehow and started visiting them to lift their spirits and boost their morale along with providing her valuable medical opinion. I think she added years to their lifespan. My parents had grown so attached to her that often they would ask, ‘Colonel Manchanda kab ayengi? Please tell her we miss her.’ And she was so intuitive that she would arrive before their message could reach her.

Colonel Manchanda was so deeply perceptive that I still remember her unique counsel that led me and my wife to introspect about the attention we paid to our families. She remarked that although our duties and commitments were sacrosanct, we should not neglect our loved ones—something we were guilty of at that time. In fact, she acted aloof towards us at a Gaiety event for this reason but when we assured her that we will take her advice seriously, she was her amicable self again! She greatly aided us in improving our interaction with our elders, our children and our peers. And for that, we are so grateful.

Colonel Anju Manchanda uplifted our quality of life wholly, asking us again and again to look beyond our jobs. One evening after a late day at work, I met the Manchandas on Mall Road. She was carrying a bag that seemed to contain something valuable. She looked so excited and wore a childlike grin. Upon asking her about the bag, she said, ‘Let’s sit inside the club and I’ll tell you!’ I could hardly wait. Finally she divulged that she was again pursuing a beloved hobby—photography, being particularly keen to capture the beauty of the natural world. And do it as best as she could, she’d purchased a really expensive and high resolution camera, one only used by professionals back then. When I asked her why she needed something so costly for the sake of a hobby, she wisely answered, ‘Pankaj, if you want to do something, do it in the proper way, otherwise don’t do it at all.’

She was very passionate about photography—having once flown in a helicopter over the Himalayan ranges for the perfect shot—and was aiming for perfection. She took beautiful photographs, each better than the last. And she wanted to share that joy with everyone. We were presented with one of her pictures that we framed and displayed in our drawing room with pride. Although we don’t have that photograph with us now, it is forever engraved in our hearts.

Not only did she share her happiness and excitement with those around her, Mrs Manchanda would shoulder even the sorrows and conflicts of others. When the fire at the Walker Hospital happened, an incident that most of us would write off as just another accident and lack the courage to deal with, she endured it with her willpower, courage, grit, leadership skills and presence of mind. She controlled the situation such that a bigger tragedy was averted. Colonel Manchanda felt as if it was a personal loss. During the fire, she was a fighter, but after the situation was under control, she was emotional like a mother.

She was just, kind and protective on so many other occasions as well. Once, a new medical officer was posted to the hospital just before the annual medical examination—the time of the year when all officers feel jittery about not being graded well in the medical category before the round of promotions. Unfortunately, the new officer was rather strict and prone to downgrading officers on account of being even slightly overweight compared to the limit. Incidentally, I, too, did not fare well in the medical category for the same reason.

When the papers were send to the CO for their authorized signature—Colonel Manchanda, in this case—she was surprised to see so many officers being downgraded. Concerned that something was wrong, she investigated the situation and, after hearing the medical officer’s side of the story, advised him to suggest treatments and solutions for each officer’s shortcomings instead of merely finding faults in them. She gave him a stipulated amount of time, during which he had to track and report their progress before conducting their examinations again. The medical officer, who wasn’t conversant with Colonel Manchanda’s style, leant a valuable lesson and the officers of the station were very thankful to her.

Ma’am, as I pen these anecdotes, tears are rolling down my cheeks at the thought of your lovely radiant face, your sparkling eyes and your beautiful smile. We cherish all your help and all your lessons—to us, you were an ideal officer, colleague, mother, friend, philosopher, guide and, above all, the finest human being we’ve ever come across. Our respect for you cannot be put into words.

You are not with us today, but shall always remain in our hearts. We salute you.

Rama Srivastava,
Consultant Surgeon and Director, Jwala Hospital, Lucknow

In 2002, when I had gone to invite Major General A.K. Bakshi, the then commandant of the medical wing of the HQCC, Lucknow, to grace the inaugural function LSBACON-2, of which I was the founder and organizer, as the chief guest, General Bakshi had told me, ‘As your conference revolves around health and beauty, you should go meet Major General Anju Manchanda, DDMS. She is the ideal guest for your event.’

And so I drove to see her, a bit worried and apprehensive about her reaction for how would such a senior officer respond to an invitation from a then locally based surgeon running her own twenty-bed hospital?

When I entered her office, I saw a pleasant lady dressed in a uniform with stars on her shoulder and she greeted me very warmly. I hadn’t expected such a warm welcome at all. Although I greatly respected and remembered the remarkable behaviour of the officers I had previously met, her aura made me feel accepted and not at all out of place. We spoke as though we’d known each for years. Later that evening, when I went to her house for an appointment—a grand, elegantly decorated bungalow—she greeted me with a radiant smile. And although I wasn’t dressed for the occasion, she asked that I accompany her to M.B. Club. In utter disbelief, I sat in her black Ambassador and we were saluted from all directions—I felt as though I was dreaming!

She had advice and a remedy for everything, and so she became greatly involved with our family celebrations as well as problems, which both my father and I really appreciated. When her black Ambassador, with the uniformed driver, arrived at my doorstep, the children of the house would hide behind doors, frightened by such a formal presence. But the moment she stepped out of the car, a graceful and friendly lady, they’d all run towards her. Such was her affectionate and fun-loving personality despite her rank. Thanks to her, I learnt how to organize events and manage my guests better—the Army way, actually! My rooftop parties were in huge demand in the city. We were also fond of ballroom dancing, partnering each other at M.B. Club or at our parties—but never again now.

During our evenings together, we shared many jokes, and we laughed and laughed and laughed—till we had tears in our eyes and our stomachs ached and the sound of laughter echoed inside her bungalow. ‘My God,’ we would say, ‘if anyone hears these unusual sounds at night, they will run away in fear!’ And at 11 pm, after a day of conversation and fun, I would drive back home. One day, General N.K. Manchanda gave me an Air Force cap, saying that if I wore it while I was driving by myself, no one would be able to make out that a woman was driving alone and that I would be safe in that disguise. I still have that cap in my cupboard.

The day she retired and left Lucknow for Bangalore, I forgot to how to laugh, restricting myself only to smiles. But we’d write to each other, her emails bursting with information and humour. And I flew to Bangalore every couple of years to speak to her freely and laugh with her spontaneously once again. At our airport reunions, we’d forget the world around us—and my luggage too!—and embrace each other out of sheer happiness.

I do not think my experiences with and expressions for Anju Manchanda can be limited to a few pages, ours was such a friendship—one of togetherness and of guidance from a gem of a person. From her I learnt something that we were never taught in medical college—how to be truly humane. She was a brave, bold, confident officer and a kind, gentle but firm human being. And she was exceedingly practical and astute. A natural leader, she once constructed a temple with no funds at all, but only by collecting abandoned materials and accepting some donations from friends.

I received my last email from her on 19 December 2014. I’ve lost her and it is an irreparable, irreversible loss. Now I smile infrequently. Perhaps I cannot show my tears, I cannot explain the great loss of our spiritual bond as I was not her blood, nor her flesh. What was she to me and what was I to her?

Vijayalaxmi A. Manelkar,
Deputy Manager, State Bank of India, Mumbai

I had met Major Generals Anju and Narendra Manchanda sometime in the year 2006, a few days after I’d taken over as manager of the Indiranagar branch of SBI. After the usual introductions, when I was told that they were one of the most valued customers of our bank, we settled down in my office to have a cup of tea. I remember, even as I was sipping my tea, wondering whether I should stand up as a mark of respect to this wonderful couple; to their rank, their medals, their achievements as doctors who commanded almost half the armed forces hospitals of the country. The duo had left me wide-eyed, with a deep sense of gratitude and reverence. Naturally, my happiness knew no bounds when they accepted me more as a friend than as a banker. From that day onwards, I called her Anju. She was always Anju to me, and we shared a bond that I cannot describe in words. To me, she was far more than a customer, a doctor, a soldier, a woman achiever. In some inexplicable way, she had touched the core of my heart.

I was a fairly regular visitor at their home, Lemon Tree, and they offered a hospitality that was exceedingly warm. Anju served us endless cups of chai, my weakness—oh, she made it so well—and, of course, there were some chatpata snacks followed by sumptuous dinners; there were parties for house-warmings, Lohri celebrations, birthday parties, no-reason parties. And I always felt like I was visiting a person and a family that I had known for several years.

Anju’s sweet voice and laughter still rings in my ears. There was a particular gentleness about her, and I used to think that her voice and touch alone must have healed many a patient. When I left for my next assignment to New York, Anju gave me a beautiful Ganapati idol. She said He would protect me when I was far away from home. He still sits on my table, as my protector and saviour, but somehow through Him, I remember the person who gave me this strength and warmth.

Anju, you will always remain with me in spirit. While your passing has left a deep void in the lives of your family and loved ones, I believe that the celebration of your life—which has been ideal and an inspiration for many—is what we would look up to and emulate. Thank you, Anju, for the lovely memories. General Manchanda, Sonia, Girish, Ekta and Sridhar, thank you for giving me this chance to share my fond memories and my deepest respects about my friend; I pray that God gives all of you the strength to bear this huge loss.

Ronja Quazi,
Managing Director, Surya Travels, Chennai

As I write this, already a month has passed since Major General Anju Manchanda unexpectedly left us for her heavenly abode. Even though I knew her only distantly, our ten-year-long friendship left a deep impression on me and not a day has passed that I haven’t thought about my outstanding friend.

She may have appeared petite and fragile to some, and she was exceedingly courteous, soft-spoken and well-meaning to all. But she was of a strong disposition, a person that one immediately felt attracted to.

I greatly treasured her company at my daughter’s wedding and fondly recollect the time when I visited her in her hospital, seeking medical advice. We had met a few days earlier when I wasn’t feeling too well, and upon arriving at the hospital entrance, I was greeted warmly by not just an excellent doctor but a friend. She showered me with care and attention, leading me to her office, without a second thought, and I knew I’d made the right choice by seeking her medical advice. That day, I had the opportunity to learn more about Major General Anju Manchanda.

Upon seeing videos from her Army life, I was awestruck to see her in action just as I was completely impressed by her gentle command over her hospital employees. Her achievements are truly admirable, and the respect she seemingly and obviously received from one and all is not misplaced. I will miss our enlightening conversations, about all things mundane—such as family matters—and all things elevated—such as the value of being true to oneself.

Vijay Seth,
Director, Third Wave Exim, Ahmedabad

I have many fond memories of Aunty, going back all the way to 1988. The first time I met her, I was a bit taken aback as she was in uniform. I had no idea that she was in the armed forces. Honestly, I was in awe.

In fact, the awe (and fear!) continued till a few years ago. I remember the first time I dared speak in her presence—that lovely evening at her home in Lucknow, complete with a delicious meal. I remember going to Pune with Sonia when Aunty was visiting the medical college there, and although she was busy for the most part, we had a nice time together.

And I remember the occasion when Aunty broke the ice, so to speak, at Ekta’s wedding, which I attended with my wife, Garima. She was so sweet to the both us, making Garima feel completely at ease even in the midst of the wedding hullabaloo, telling her, ‘Yeh to humara beta hain. You are very lucky to have him. Shaitan hain, lekin dil ka achha hain!’

I always spoke about Uncle and Aunty, and of course Sonia and Girish too, to all my friends, telling them that they are my family in Bangalore. But now, there will always be a void whenever I go to Bangalore.

Aunty was an amazing lady. To become such a senior officer in a male-dominated field, to bring up both her daughters so well despite being busy and posted across India, to stay on her toes even after retirement, to maintain a spotless home with everything in its rightful place—not one of these things is easy. And she did it all with style and an undeniable presence.

I don’t know why God does what He does.

Annexure 1

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1. KGMU may start course in beauty and Cosmetology

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The King George’s Medical University (KGMU) might soon start a certificate course in beauty and Cosmetology. KGMU Vice Chancellor Dr Mahendra Bhandari was so impressed by the gathering at the second annual conference of Lucknow Cosmetologists & Beauticians Association (LCBA) aka Saundarya Mitra on Sunday that he said the university might soon need such a course. PWD Minister Kusum Rai inaugurated the conference at Hotel Gemini Continental.

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Major General Anju Manchanda of Central Command spoke about the effects of wrong postures, and designer Asma Hussain explained what to wear and how to wear.

2. Woman doctor gets key post in Army

Lucknow: In another instance of women’s empowerment in the Armed Forces, Major General Anju Manchanda from the Army Medical Corps (AMC) has become the first woman in the Indian Army to be appointed the Deputy Director of Medical Services (DDMS), Central Command. Besides her, only two other women hold the rank of Major General, also from AMC. In addition, Major General N.K. Manchanda and Major General Anju Manchanda also happen to be the very first couple holding the same rank in the forces. Being born and brought up in the cantonment area of Jabalpur exposed her to the unique lifestyle of the Army. She joined the Army Medical Corps on 2 February 1967. With thirty-five years of staying away from her spouse due to transfers to different places, she says, ‘I have no regrets about joining the Army.’