Armed with a camera, 99-year-old veteran documents time in World War II
Posted at Kranji on the border of Singapore and Malaya in 1942, Charan Singh holds on to sepia-toned frames dominated by uniformed men besides the obvious collection of his own pictures of WWII
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. If that were the case, 99-year-old World War II veteran Charan Singh would never run out of things to say.
Memories of the war — which began and ended in the first week of September six years apart — may for most be something that are best forgotten, but Charan Singh continues to hold onto his box of sepia-toned photographs from his time in the South-East Asian theatre of WWII.
Born in the hamlet of Dekwala just outside Rupnagar in 1924, Charan Singh enlisted in the Royal British Indian Army as an 18-year-old. India under the British was in the thick of WWII and he took the ship to Malaya (now Malaysia) as lance naik on his first assignment.
“I was in Assam at the time. We travelled by ship and it took us a week to reach Malaya. I did not stay there for long and moved to Kranji on the border of Singapore and Malaya,” he says.
Japanese forces had gained a strategic advantage in the region following February 1942’s Battle of Kranji.
Through his lens
It was at this time that Charan Singh, determined to document his time in war, managed to get his hands on a camera. He still speaks fondly of his love for photography. “I was the only one with a ‘photo camera’ in my unit so people would come to me to get their pictures taken. I obliged more often than not,” he says.
He scribbled dates, locations and anecdotes on the back of his collection of photographs, which still aid his memory.
Uniformed men dominate his frames, with several pictures of Indian troops cutting across ranks. An image of a rifle-wielding quartet standing guard at one of the posts, he says, was one of the first photographs he ever took. Then there is the obvious collection of his own pictures, some solo, some with his fellow troopers.
Charan Singh, however, did not stop there. He wanted to capture the world as he saw it. Fascinated by the theatres and parks of Singapore, he made sure that he had wide-angle shots of landmarks to remember them by. “The theatre in Singapore, Capitol Theatre, was the biggest building I had ever seen. I also came across a huge amusement park, New World. While I never got the chance to go inside, I have photographs of both,” he says with pride.
And then there were the photographs of enemy troops. Were they easy to capture, one may ask?
“We were on the opposite side of the war, but that did not keep us from sharing the odd moment of peace and quiet,” Charan Singh says.
Recalling an incident of perceived bonhomie, he says a Japanese soldier once shouted “Gandhi, very good!” while giving him a thumbs up, almost as if to signal his approval of the leader’s non-violent ways right in the heart of a battleground.
Those are among the few moments that Charan Singh remembers well despite not having been able to capture them. That, and the detailed food menus that continue to live in his head rent-free.
Tiffin tales
A part of the Royal Indian Army Service Corps, Charan Singh found himself dealing with ration supplies and their despatch during his time in Singapore. “We had all the control,” he recalls.
“All the supplies would come to us and we were the ones sorting and forwarding them. There were different categories of tiffins, ones meant for Indian soldiers and others for the British,” he says.
Even within the Indian troops, Hindus soldiers would not eat beef and Muslims soldiers obviously avoided pork so the planning had to be meticulous.
“That was not a problem with the British, they would eat it all. The Chinese and Japanese were fonder of oysters and shellfish that they often fish out themselves,” he adds.
End of hostilities
Charan Singh would make a few trips back-and-forth during his time in Singapore. One particular sea voyage saw him return as a married man.
The hostilities of war were practically over with the Japanese surrender being signed by emperor Hirohito on September 2, 1945.
Charan Singh remembers being one of the two from his unit who were left behind as troops began to return home. He would still step out to capture frames on Sinagporean soil. An undated photograph of a quaint beachfront from his collection signalled at imminent peace.
Immigrants in their own land
Charan Singh and wife Jeet Kaur welcomed their eldest son in February 1946 right before he got posted to Lahore. He has plenty of anecdotes to recall from the turbulent time leading up to the Partition of India.
From refugees offering him and his wife tea and shelter near the Ferozepur railway station only to request for his rifle in the same breath, to some more violent episodes, the threads of memory weave a vivid canvas.
He, however, chooses to selectively remember the good in the people — a young Muslim subedar who he recalls being his closest friend to the bus ride with a kind couple who were made immigrants in a land that was once their own.
Charan Singh shifted bases over the rest of his years in service only to return home to Dekwala, a town that he still calls home. He took up the odd government-assisted job, but found solace in farming.
His family grew and while some moved out to bigger cities and abroad, the 99-year-old continues to live in his ancestral home with son Harinder Singh, his daughter-in-law and grandson.
HelpAge, a non-governmental organisation, visit the veteran for regular health check-ups as part of their senior care programme. “Elders such as Charan Singh have contributed so much to the nation and to the larger community, and it is important for us to ensure they live their later years with dignity and good health. Our Mobile Healthcare Unit programme is one such initiative that aims to provide primary healthcare access to disadvantaged elders living in the remotest of areas,” organisation chief executive officer Rohit Prasad said.
Charan Singh lost his camera to a neighbour who borrowed it for family pictures, never to return. His face, however, still lights up every time he holds, in his shaky hands, one of his prized celluloids that remind him of the worthwhile years. .
