From Red Lights to the Frontlines

Sometimes, all it takes is a spark of imagination to weave a story; one that may be fictional yet feels true for so many among us. The tale I’m about to share is brief, with its loose ends tied, but its spirit could easily belong to any corner of our lives.

At the bustling traffic lights of Gandhi Nagar, Jammu, where honking cars jostled for space and impatience painted the air, a boy named Aman stood barefoot on the burning tar, his dusty palm stretched out each time the light turned red. People hardly noticed him—just another beggar in a city too busy to care. In a world where many beg for survival, each with their own struggles, Aman was different from the rest.

Orphaned during the 2005 Kashmir earthquake, Aman had wandered south and settled near the red lights in Jammu. He slept under a broken billboard and survived on alms. Yet, even in hunger and hardship, Aman had dreams.

Every evening, he would watch jawans (soldiers) from the nearby army cantonment jogging in groups, their olive-green uniforms glistening with sweat and pride. He didn’t know where they went, but he knew he wanted to go with them. His biggest dream was to become a proud soldier of the country he loved so much.

One day, a retired army subedar named Mohan Singh, waiting in his car at the red lights, noticed Aman trying to imitate the soldiers’ drill movements while the traffic halted. Curious, he called Aman over and bought him a samosa and some chutney to taste.

After spending some time with him, Mohan Singh asked, “You want to become a fauji?” Aman nodded shyly. “Yes, uncle. But I am nobody. I am a roadside beggar with no means or access to be recruited in my nation’s pride, the Indian Army. I always dream of this uniform.”

Mohan Singh smiled. “Nobody becomes somebody the day they decide to rise.”

From that day, Mohan took Aman under his wing. He taught him discipline, got him admitted to a local shelter home in Channi Ramana, Jammu, that worked with an NGO and ensured he went to school.

Aman worked hard, studied by candlelight, ran laps every morning and kept a faded photo of an Indian soldier, cut from a newspaper, pasted above his cot. He would look at it every moment for inspiration.

Years passed. Aman grew tall, strong and determined. At 18, he cleared the physical and written exams for the Indian Army. When he received his uniform, he stood in front of the mirror for hours, tears glistening in his eyes. He was no longer the boy at the red lights. He was Rifleman Aman Singh of the Dogra Regiment, thanks to his hard work and determination.