If you grew up in India in the 60s or 70s, you didn’t just go to the cinema for the movie. You went for the window to the world that came before it.
I remember sitting in the dark, the smell of samosas in the air, waiting for the fanfare of the Indian News Review produced by the Films Division. Before the main feature started, these grainy, black-and-white documentaries brought the borders to us. They were our only visual link to the frontlines.
That is where I first learned the name "Vijayanta."
The Name That Meant Victory
For a young boy, the technical specs didn't matter. We didn't know it was a licensed Vickers Mk.1 design. What mattered was the name. Vijayanta means "Victorious." It was the first indigenous tank of the Indian Army, a symbol that we could build our own protectors.
The plaque in the photo I took recently at the Kannur Cantonment (below) tells the official story:
"Proved its mettle during the 1971 Indo-Pak war in both the Western and Eastern theaters of operations."
In the Eastern theater—what is now Bangladesh—the terrain was riverine and marshy. While the lighter, amphibious PT-76 tanks often get the glory for crossing the rivers during the advance on Dhaka, the Vijayanta was the backbone of our heavy armor. They held the lines and supported the infantry in crucial battles.
When you look at history books, you read about the Battle of Bogra or the intense fighting at Hilli. But in my memory, those battles weren't text on a page. They were flickering images on a cinema screen of tanks rolling through dust, narrated by a deep, authoritative voice that assured us we were safe.
From Fearsome to Playground
There is a strange alchemy that happens to weapons of war when peace finally settles. They turn into furniture.
I distinctly remember visiting public parks in Bangalore and near the Parade Grounds in Secunderabad. There, sitting silent and still, were American-made Patton tanks. These were the fearsome machines captured from the Pakistani army, likely during the battles of Asal Uttar (1965) or the conflicts of '71.
To the army, they were trophies of hard-fought victories. But to us kids? They were the ultimate jungle gym. We climbed over the turrets and hung from the barrels, blissfully unaware of the violence these machines had once unleashed. We played tag on the relics of war.
The Silent Sentinel
Seeing this decommissioned Vijayanta in Kannur brought it all back. It was inducted in 1965 and phased out in 2004. It served its time. Now, it rests on a plinth, surrounded by manicured grass and trees.
It’s a powerful reminder. The newsreels have faded. The "Victorious" tanks have retired. And the wars that once filled our cinema screens with smoke and fire are now quiet monuments where families take Sunday strolls.
That, perhaps, is the best victory of all.
A Question for You: Do you remember the Films Division newsreels before movies? What is your strongest memory from that 10-minute window to the world?
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