First ‘Hinglish’, Now ‘Eendi’?

            Hinglish has been prevalent in India since the British Raj ('Raj' having been accepted as an English word). However, it came into its own about a decade or so ago when the upwardly mobile and the neo rich began using common Hindi words in spoken English (perhaps due to lack of awareness of the English substitute). So we had ‘hazaar’, ‘gyaan’, ‘tamasha’, ‘hungama’ etc finding their way in commonly spoken English in India.

            But now, a reverse phenomenon appears to be in vogue – using common (and even not that common) English words in not only day to day speech, but even in vernacular print media. Just take a look at the accompanying pics and go through the headlines and the following text that the camera captured. The evolution of ‘Eendi’ is clearly visible.

            Is it a natural linguistic evolution or the result of (now overt) commercial pressure on the editorial content of modern day journalism?  Take your pic.

That’s Corporal Lee’s Job

    

            My first individual official visit to Sydney Military Units (wherein I had that interesting revelation by the Mercedes chauffeur who turned out to be an ex Major) was scheduled sometimes in April (after my close encounter with the ATM). Since I was unaware of the procedure and pre-departure actions I sought and got an appointment with Maj Col Flatters the Major-in-charge Administration of the Staff College. After having a seat opposite his desk, I told him about my forthcoming visit and sought guidance from him as to how should I go about arranging it? His prompt reply was, “Have you seen Corporal Lee?”

            I told him that I intended to but thought that he (Corporal Lee) would first require instructions from the Major and then do whatever needed to be done. (As was and continues to be the case in our Army – I am not well versed with the inner systems of the Navy and the Air Force) To this the Major retorted, “It’s Corporal Lee’s job and he knows how to do it.”

            So I asked him, “Incidentally Col, what is your job?”

            I still remember his reply which I tried my best to emulate. He told me, “Mahendra, I have three responsibilities. These are – first, I am responsible to the Boss for efficient functioning of my department; second, I am responsible to lay down the policy according to which my subordinates will function while under me and third, I am responsible to ensure that they get the resources that they need in order to do their jobs efficiently. Period!”

            How crystal clear and unambiguous? I wish we too were able to function like this where the subordinates – especially at the NCO level are given their own space and self respect so as to boost their confidence and help them become good leaders at section and platoon levels. How many senior officers allow this in their units and sub units? Because of this lack of delegation of routine responsibilities and functions, we breed junior leaders who wait for orders and are hesitant to take initiative – exceptions notwithstanding.

            It was interesting to see the expression on the face of Corporal Lee (of the missing box fame which happened about six months later) when I went to him ultimately. He smiled, rolled up his eyes and said, “Sir, I was wondering when you would find time to come to me. I am sure the Major was unable to do anything for you.”

A Few Good Men (Contd.)

            This goes back to Feb 1985 when the result of my DSSC Exams was declared. I was on leave when the result came. While returning to my unit in Jalandhar (Jullunder in those days), I stopped over at Delhi to say hello to my ex-Co, Late Col Pradep Kala. (He passed away earlier this year – God rest his soul). On arrival at his house in the Princess Park Enclave, Mrs Kala greeted me & Keerti and congratulated us vigorously for having been selected to go abroad. This was news to me as I was totally unaware and couldn’t believe it. But the lady assured me that it was the truth and would be confirmed in the evening when her husband returned from office – he was posted in MI Dte.

            Sure enough, Col Kala on his return from office in the evening confirmed the news and took me to the residence of Dir MT-2 which was a few blocks away in the same complex. It was then that I met Col (Later Maj Gen CS Nugyal) for the first time. He congratulated me and showed me the official letter for derailment of offrs on foreign Staff Course that year. After I had read the letter and was convinced that I was indeed going to Australia for the Staff Course, he asked me about my reaction. I told him the truth that I thought only offrs with ‘connections’ went abroad and that I never expected it as there were three Generals’ sons in the competitive merit list and that I was a ‘nobody’ from my pedigree.

            He told me that he too thought so before he took over his present job and decided to change the perception. So he issued the ‘letter’ without getting it approved up the chain for which he was even asked to submit an explanation ‘in writing’- which he did mentioning that it was “part of his charter”. Nothing happened to him after that. Some of you may have heard of his ‘deeds’ during the infamous Sikh riots of 1984 in Delhi when he went out of his way to take to safety many Sikh soldiers on his motorcycle from the murderous mobs on the streets of Delhi.

            It was because of such people who are exceptions to the ‘system’ that I – a ‘nobody’ was able to do foreign staff course and get exposed to a totally new environment. I would like to thank all these people with an ‘exceptional’ mindset and approach who made me what ever I became while in the Army and even now after hanging up my boots. Such good people though few and far in between continue to exist and do their bit within the ‘system’ and help maintaining the morale of the rank and file.

A Few Good Men (Officers)

I along with four other offrs, visited DSSC in Sep 1985 for a two-week familiarization trip. I met Lt Gen (then Col) Shammi Mehta there for the first time. He took a couple of sessions on the Indian take on Mech Warfare for the five of us. I forgot all about him on my return to unit.

I reported to MT-16 on 01 Dec 85 for pre-departure formalities. There I was told that though the Australian Govt had booked our tickets for 13th Dec, the Govt letter authorizing me to leave the country was still taking some time. After about ten days of running abound the corridors of South Block, (which included a confrontation with a high ranking CGO of Def Finances who reminded me that he would normally not permit offrs of my rank to enter his office let alone do something for him on priority) I was informed on 11th Dec that since the Govt letter had not been signed, I should request the Australian High Commission to change my tickets to a latter date. It was ridiculous. To add to my woes, we had to shift guest rooms every three to four days as every unit which permitted us to stay did so as a ‘favour’- Keerti & kids were already at the receiving end of Delhi’s attitude.

It was with this backdrop that I was loitering about on the lawns of SP Marg (Now Battle Honours) Offrs’ Mess and cursing everyone in general but no one in particular when I spotted Col Shammi Mehta walking towards the Mess from his room. He was recently posted to Delhi as AMA to the Army Chief Gen Sundarji. Though I didn’t, he recognized me, smiled and asked as to how was I. I told him as to how I was. His reaction surprised me. He asked. “What is so and so (Dir MT-16) doing about it?” When I told him that he wanted me to go to the Australian High Commission the next day and request a change of date, he was not amused. So he asked me to meet him next morning at 0930 in his office along with Director MT-16 whom he would also contact.

Next morning when we reached his office, he foirst gave his piece of mind to Dir MT-16 and then told him to keep everything ready by evening as he would ensure that the Govt letter gets signed before then. He then took me along and walked straight to the Def Secy’s office (I vaguely remember him to be some Mishra) and apprised him about my plight. I was told to walk to the office of that high ranking Finance offr who had told me my place in South Block hierarchy a couple of days ago and collect my letter from him after about an hour. Col Shammi Mehta told me to get straight to his office on acquiring the letter which I did. He then set wheels of mil bureaucracy moving at a rather abnormal place so that by 1600 hrs I had all the documents in place. He was also vey thoughtful in inquiring as to what time was my flight the next morning and how would I go to the airport. On my replying that it was at 0700 and I had no means of getting any transport at 0300 hrs, he rang up some one and booked a ‘staff car’ for me –mind you, I had never sat in a staff car till then.

Had it not been for him – perhaps it was God’s way of helping me; I would definitely have been in the Australian High Commission with egg all over my face trying to explain them as to what necessitated last minute change of my travel plans.

So we too have our own John Grey's but few and far in between and not many would go to the extent Brig John Grey did in the position that he was in.

What Did the Australian Staff College Teach Me?

            On return from the Australian Staff College, I was posted as BM in an armoured brigade at Babina. The local military leadership summarily categorized me as unsuitable for the job on two basic counts – first which was the obvious was my being a non-armoured corps officer and the second, my having done the Australian Staff Course. The logic was like this – Camberlay does teach you a lot but Australia? C’mon, have a heart. What can it teach us? They do nothing except playing cricket, chasing kangaroos and sun bathing or surfing on the beaches. From this logic, the Army should not be sending officers there – and that too the third in the order of merit goes there and not some one just picked randomly.

            So what did I learn in Australian Staff College? Firstly, the exposure to a new environment and new thought process is itself a big teacher. By the way, what does one learn in the HC course? There the DS do no teaching at all. But still it is very prestigious and graded (till quite some time back) higher than the HDMC where there is plenty of formal teaching. We seem to have fixated ideas on every issue and view everything through the colour of our own glasses.

            Secondly, it allowed everyone to learn and grow as per hi/her own ambitions/priorities and pace. Having been a SI in the DSSC and overseen a full course, I am of the opinion that our staff college puts a student through a rigid assembly line type of process where the product has no choice but to go through the process without realizing or feeling as to what he is going through. The product is graded six times by the line supervisors and stamped fit for staff at various levels based on their own perceptions. The Australian Staff Course (which incidentally, was a Command and Staff Course and NOT the Staff Course alone as is ours) allowed me to grow as an officer as well as an individual. It was pitched at much higher level than ours because of their own requirements where their BMs and DQs get trained at Camberlay but they need staff officers to function at their Army Office in Canberra. There was lot of emphasis on paper writing of which there were eight and each required considerable research. If I can express myself clearly today, it is due to the grooming that I got in the Australian Staff College. There was a DS from AEC who was a language expert. It appeared quite strange to me initially but later, when I realized the importance of language skills for a staff officer, I understood the rationale behind it.

            Thirdly, The DS there gave full opportunity to the student officers to discuss and give their opinions without fear – in fact they encouraged us to dissent with the official line and prove them wrong. This happens to be a major weakness in our training establishments where the students are taught to think in a formatted manner.

            Fourthly, I learnt that one has to strike a balance in life where work is not everything - family is equally important. It was the Commandant himself who considered it important enough for the students that he decided to talk on the issue formally.  Do our DS advise the students at middle and senior levels as such?

            Fifthly, I was made to introduce guest speakers like any other Australian officer on my turn – it was immaterial whether the speaker was Australian, British, American or from any other country. Student officers are encouraged to carry out their own research about the speaker, prepare and deliver his/her introduction with equality of opportunity. In our Staff College, it is always the privilege of the Commandant only to introduce a guest speaker.

            Sixth, one was encouraged to ask difficult questions from senior political and military leadership. When the Defence Minister was to visit and speak to us, the Commandant himself asked the student officers to ask him all the difficult questions and not to let him go back scot free. It is another matter that being he shrewd politician that he was, he easily succeeded in deflecting the questions but maintaining a welcoming smile on his face all the time.

            Seventh, having toured the entire country and viewed it from different perspectives, I understood the intricacies of force structuring for a trading continent nation of that size. The strategic environment is totally different from that of ours and hence the emphasis on maritime surveillance and aerial interception with the last priority to ground forces.

            Friends, there are many more but I could think of only these after so many years. To succumb to the temptation for condemning the unfamiliar is very easy, but to dwell deeper into it requires research, knowledge and understanding. I wish these aspects are also form part of the ‘design of battle’ at our training establishments. 

Tyre Burst in Ballarat

            We had two week-long breaks during the one year course in Australia. Since we had visited Sydney during the first break in April, we decided to go to Adelaide during the second in September. I have already mentioned about my 1969 Toyota Corona. It became clear tome by September that it was not fit for long distance travel – Adelaide is approx. 750 km from Queenscliff. So I decided to hire a car. Considering my limited budget, I settled for the smallest hatchback @ 35 A $ a day from Budget Rent a Car.

            On the day of our travel, I reached the agency in Geelong at 8 in the morning and kept my Jalandhar made DL at the counter as required by law. The girl at the counter picked it up, examined it, then looked at me and asked, “Sir, What is this?” (If you remember, in those days, the handmade DLs – especially from Punjab, Haryana, U.P. and Bihar, used to look like discarded mini diaries.) So I told her as to what it was – a driving license. She then paraphrased her query, “Sir, I cannot read anything in it and the photograph also doesn’t resemble you.” So I told her that even I couldn’t read what was written on it.” (It was in Gurumukhi) She then asked me if I had a local Australian ID, which I had –an Australian Defence Force ID. She appeared to be satisfied with it as the photograph on it definitely resembled me. So she let me have the car.

While taking over the car, I noticed that the boot had a plain carpeted surface and the spare wheel, which was awkwardly visible in my Toyota, was apparently missing from it.  Due to the fear of being considered a novice, I did not clarify this nagging doubt from the dealer, put our bags in the boot, kids in the back seat and Keerti in the front, I drove off on the Ballarat Highway.   

            Since this was the first almost new car that I ever drove, I started enjoying the maximum permitted speed of 100 kmph and reached the outskirts of Ballarat – about 100 km away - in a jiffy. Since there was very little traffic at that early hour, I continued at 100 kmph and soon encountered a roundabout. The roundabout was designed for city speed limits – 60 kmph and refused to let the car stay on its road which, due to the centrifugal force generated by the curve, climbed the curb on the left. I heard a bang, my steering wavered and I applied brakes instinctively bringing the car to a halt – the two right wheels on the road and the left ones on the curb. Luckily, the kids were also secured with seat belts and child restraint and were safe. I got out of the car, did my inspection of the tyres and realized that the left front tyre had collapsed completely. This was quite strange to me as I had not heard of tubeless tyres and was not aware that they were fitted in the car that I had hired.

            You can easily imagine my state – I knew how to and could change the flat wheel but didn’t know where to find the spare wheel. On top of this, Keerti was, as usual, passing her scathing remarks on my deplorable habit of showing off and not asking someone what I didn’t know. Luckily, the children were not grown up enough to also emulate their mother.

On looking around, I discovered that I had managed to do what I did right opposite a gas station which was astride the opposite lane across the road. So I walked across, and gave intelligent looks to no one in particular till I found a person in blue overalls approach me. So I asked him if he could help me change the flat tyre of my car. I still don’t know as to how and why did he agree to help but he did. So in order to hide my ignorance about location of the spare wheel, I requested him to remove it from the boot while I loosened the wheel nuts in front. On sighting the spare wheel which the Good Samaritan took out from somewhere inside the boot, I heaved a sigh of relief. After changing the tyre, and keeping everything back in the boot (which permitted me to erase my ignorance about the tyre’s location) I asked him as to would I get a new tyre. He told me that a couple of kilometers further ahead on the same road, I would find the local office of ‘Budget’ who would do the needful. I thanked him and drove off. Sure enough, the ‘Budget’ office was a little ahead on the road and I pulled over in front of it.

When I approached the person at the counter with my car hire papers from Geelong and told him that I had a flat tyre, he looked puzzled and queried, “Sir, the car had new tyres.  How did you manage to get one flat with in 100 kms?” (What impressed me most in Australia – and it does even now when I go to the US, as to how people address you as ‘sir’ even at the most provocative and frustrating situations!) Now, I couldn’t tell him the actual reason, so I lied and concocted some improbable story about a sharp edged stone on the road. He didn’t seem convinced but took my word for it. He then handed over a signed slip to me and directed me to visit the Dunlop agency close by for getting a new tyre. I did exactly that and was able to resume my journey of which 650 kms were still balance within an hour of the incident of flat tyre – which was pretty cool. 

Parting Shot - Lesson in Integrity

            After ‘marching out’ of (handing over) our house on the penultimate day of our stay in Australia, we moved to the Point Lonsdale Motel for overnight stay before wishing the area good bye and catching our flight from Melbourne for our return journey home. Since we had quite a bit of accompanied baggage with us, I had specifically requested the MCO for a Toyota Hi Ace van to take us to Tullamrine airport in Melbourne.

On the next morning after a good breakfast, we were ready to move to the airport at 9.00 a.m. as the flight was at 12.00 noon and the driving time to the airport about two hrs. When we were waiting for the van, we saw Brig John & Mrs Helen Grey (The Commandant and his wife) drive into the motel premises in their silver Merc. They had come to say good bye to us at the motel – it was a Sunday. While we were exchanging pleasantries, a Ford Falcon staff car drove in and parked next to us. The driver – an Army Sergeant, got out and asked for me by that typical Aussie pronunciation – “Mijor Kooshwaha?” The Brigadier had seen our accompanied baggage in the lobby and rightly inferred that it would in no case fit in the staff car. So he asked me as to how would I go. I told him that I had booked a van to which he replied that these things happened not only in India but Australia too. He also informed me that exactly the same thing had happened with him too when he was to go to Camberlay for his Staff Course some years ago. I then told him that I would call the MCO and request for a van. Then he said, “Mahindra, you have been here for a year now but have still not digested the fact that it is Australia during the Christmas vacations. To top that, it happens to be a Sunday! No one would answer the phone – let alone react to my rather untimely request.”

I then suggested to him that perhaps the duty van of the College can be detailed for our trip to the airport. It is reply to this and his actions thereafter which I want every senior officer in the Indian Armed Forces to digest and note. He said, “I could do that very easily but the vehicle is NOT to be employed beyond an 8 km radius from the College as per my own orders. If I relax them in this case, others would have an excuse to do so whenever it suited them in future. Ok, let us see what I can do. The driver of my staff car has gone for fishing. So I can’t call him. But my staff car would be in the MT Park all topped up. I have the privilege to sign for it and take it out myself. Ok, let us go to MT in my Mercedes which I will park there and come back in my staff car. This way, I will not have to spend my own petrol.”

I couldn’t believe what he had just told me. So I asked just to confirm, “Sir, you will drive us all the way to Melbourne airport?” (Mind you, it was 125 km away!) He quipped, “Otherwise you miss your flight.”

So he drove us to the MT Park while Mrs Grey stayed back with Keerti & kids. After parking his car there, he signed for his staff car and drove back to the motel. There we fitted ourselves and our ‘accompanied’ baggage in two staff cars and travelled to Tullmarine airport – the Sergeant’s car leading and the Commandant following. Those of you who have doubts about this episode, I am attaching a pic of us at the airport with the Commandant and his graceful lady wife.

The Commandant Brig J.C.Grey rose to become the Chief of Australian Army as a three star general. During my last trip to Australia in 2013, I found that he is settled in Cairns, QLD where he runs his management consultancy.

Now the question I would like to pose to all my Services brethren is that which Commandant of which Defence training establishment in our country would even think of a personal farewell visit to an overseas student officer, let alone doing what Brig John Grey did for us? This was the benchmark of morals and ethics that I got exposed to and tried to live up to during my days as a senior officer in the Army. We have so many talks by esteemed guest speakers in DSSC, CDM and HC courses on Morals and Ethics. Do the speakers have any idea what true morals and ethics mean? I wish some of the future speakers read this and take a cue from it.

The ‘Let Her Be’ Aussie Culture

The Australian Staff Course had two fortnight-long official tours called Ex ‘Full Circles I and II’ during which the entire course of eighty student officers went around the country in two groups – one going East while the other went West. During the second Full Circle, our group went West on the Melbourne-Adelaide-Perth-Broom-Alice Springs-Katherine-Darwin-Melbourne route.

We flew to Katherine from Alice Springs and stayed overnight at a hotel. Next morning, we were to take a bus to Darwin about 300 km up North from there. In the evening after our dinner, self and Iqbal took turns at the only public phone booth in the hotel lobby to call our better halves for the ‘all ok’ reports from the families left on their own in an alien land. When I was waiting for my turn to make the call with Iqbal inside the booth, a fellow Australian student passed by and remarked, “Mahindra, you two are very regular with your calls to the families. Is everything ok back there?”

I replied, “Yeah, all well mite. It’s just a routine call to check if they are ok and if they need anything. Why, you guys don’t call up your wives?”

His response was quite interesting, “Why should I give a call to her? She has the car, the telephone, credit and ATM cards and a copy of our itinerary. She can always call me if she needs to. Besides Mahindra, it might be embarrassing to call her at late in the day.”

So I asked, “What do you mean, embarrassing?”

He said, “Hold on, just watch the fun.” He then told me to follow him to the bar where a few fellow students were enjoying their routine post-dinner beers. He walked to one called Harry and said, “Hi Harry, haaw’zt gaoin?” (Meaning ‘how is it going’). Harry lifted his beer mug, smiled and said, “Graite, mite. Cheers!”

At this my escort told him, “Oh by the way harry, I totally forgot. Paula (Harry’s wife) called while I was at the booth. She wanted you to give her a call. I promised her that I would let you know.” This got Harry confused. He looked at his watch which was showing 2115 and muttered to no one in particular, “Paula? Wants me to call her? At this time of the night? I think I would have another beer and then think about it.”

So we waited for him to finish another beer and then saw him walking reluctantly towards the phone booth. Once he entered the booth, this officer who had orchestrated the ‘fun’, opened the booth’s glass door clandestinely and put a stool between it and its frame so that Harry’s voice could be heard by those who wanted. By this time it was almost 2200 and what could be heard from inside the booth was as follows – (all in Harry’s voice).

“No Paula, I was told you wanted me to give you a call ……….. Why am I calling at this time of the night? I was told to call you and that it was urgent. ……………….. It’s only ten at night honey. …………………..... Come on Paula, how can I not trust you? Its just that these guys told me that you wanted me to give a call. I love you, honey……………… Good night, honey!”

Harry was furious once he emerged form the booth and looked for the ‘orchestrator’ who, in anticipation of Harry’s wrath, had vanished from the scene. When Harry went away, huffing and puffing to his room, I too decided to retire for the night.

Once we returned from the ‘Full Circle’ after a few days, it took a lot of effort on part of a few fellow students to convince Paula at her home that it was a prank played by us on Harry. And to me, it was a ‘demo’ of the cultural gap between us ‘Third World’ wallas and them ‘First World’ wallas.

The Missing Box

            While going to Australia in December 1985, I had sent two steel boxes - one with Indian cooking wares and the second with sundry articles of my Army kit. As I had no clue of international travel and had fixated ideas on how to pack one’s belongings, I did not think of cardboard cartons.

            Towards the end of my course, sometimes in October 1986, I learnt of an Indian Air Force aircraft coming to Canberra with a plane load of officers on some official visit which would return to Delhi after a week’s stay in Australia. As luck would have it, there was a bus trip planned for the guest students to Sydney and Canberra. So after having a word with the Defence Advisor (DA) in Canberra, I loaded the box containing the unwanted Army kit in the bus and dropped it at the Indian High Commission where the DA’s PA took it under his charge.

            On my return from the guest students’ pleasure trip and on inquiring from the DA’s PA about the fate of my box, I learnt that the pilot of the Air Force plane refused to carry it to India due to the ‘load factor’. So I instructed the PA to send it back to me at my Staff College address through Air Force courier service which operated thrice weekly service towards North and South from Canberra.

            When there was no sign of the box even after more than a week, I became a little concerned because it contained the items most dear to a fauji – DMS boots, SD, P cap & belt etc which cost a fortune in those days. So I set about tracing the box through the telephone in my class room. (Luckily, each class room was equipped with a phone on the Australian Defcon network which facilitated direct dialing to any military establishment across the three services, which we still do not have here)

            The Fairburn Air Force base at Canberra told me that a box with my name pasted on it was indeed loaded on a courier flight the previous week but (here comes the gem) as the address  mentioned on the box was ‘Queensland’ it was loaded on the Northern Courier and not the Southern. This was typical Indian stuff courtesy the PA, who in his wisdom had converted the ‘Queenscliff’ in my address to ‘Queensland’ for the simple reason that he had not heard of the former but was quite familiar with the latter. So due to this extra initiative by the ubiquitous PA in an Indian set up, the precious box of a poor major sahib in an alien land was sitting some where in Brisbane.

            At this stage my concern turned to panic as I had less than one month for my return journey back home and I could only imagine the prospects of a major sahib returning to India without his Army kit. So I decided to contact the Commandant – Brig John Grey. He had become quite friendly and accessible to me ever since we had met at the Australian Embassy in New Delhi in December 1985 at the end of his NDC course there and before he left for Australia to take up his new assignment as the Commandant of Staff College. So I rang up his PA and fixed an appointment with him the next day.

            When I told him about my problem, he smiled and asked me, “Have you seen Corporal Lee?”

            I knew Corporal Lee, the Movement Corporal at the College, well enough from a couple of encounters with him earlier in the year and hence replied, “Sir, I thought Corporal Lee looks after movement of personnel.”

            The Commandant told me that Corporal Lee looks after all kinds of movements – be they of men, animals or goods and that I would do well to see him. I thanked the Commandant for his time and advice and rushed down the steps of his office, outside the building to the next block where Corporal Lee shared his office with the pay Sergeant.

            On seeing me approaching his desk, the Corporal smiled, gave me that mischievous ‘I know’ look and remarked, “Sir I am hearing some wild rumours about a steel box of your having gone missing from Canberra.” When I told him that the rumours were not wild but true, he said, “Sir, you didn’t have to go to the Commandant for such petty problems. Your truly is there only for such things.”

            So I gave him the works on the missing box which he noted down diligently on his scrap pad. He then asked me to give him one week to come up with concrete results, to which I agreed unhesitatingly and went about living life normally.

            After exactly eight days, the door bell of our house rang in the afternoon. When I opened the door, I found two soldiers in military fatigues carrying the ‘missing’ box.

            (That was the military efficiency of a corporal of Australian Army. It would be well nigh impossible to get such things done in an inter-service environment here unless one raised the level appropriately and pulled the required strings.)  

The ‘Declared’ Emergency

            My second official visit was to Australian military establishments in Brisbane and its neighbourhood. It is more than two hours flying time from Melbourne.

            An infantry brigade Officers’ Mess was my home in the Brisbane Army Base for about four days. I would go to a few units in the neighbourhood during day and return well in time for dinner and rest in my room on the third floor. The rooms were laid out somewhat akin to what we had in each squadron in NDA – rooms astride a corridor with common wash rooms in the wings.

            On my last evening in the Base, I made a few calls to concerned authorities to check that my transport to the airport was detailed and would report at the Mess in time to take me to the airport – the flight back to Melbourne was at 0600 next morning. Since the driving time to the airport was 45 minutes to an hour, I had planned to leave the Mess at 0400 so as to have enough cushion time up my sleeve. This implied that I would need to wake up at 0300 – a rather odd hour even for a seasoned pongo like me. So, I decided to retire after an early dinner. (In any case, dinner is culturally taken early there.) Now I had to solve the problem of waking up at that unearthly hour. So I walked to the Bar where a Sergeant was polishing the glasses as the final act of his evening routine and asked him if the Mess had a system of serving bed tea to a guest at an inconvenient hour of the night. (In India, the mess waiter or your ‘sahayak’ would serve you a hot cup of tea at any time of the night.) The Mess Sergeant smiled at me and replied, “Sir, you are welcome to walk down the stairs to the pantry where the fridge is well stocked with sandwiches, milk, juices etc. There is tea/coffee stand too with an electric kettle for boiling the water and helping yourself with the beverage of your choice any time of the night.”

            I was overwhelmed with his hospitality but didn’t know how to wake up in time to enjoy it. So I asked, “Thanks, but don’t you have some system to wake a guest up at the given time?”

            He smiled again and replied, “Sir there is a thing called alarm clock which rings a bell at the time of your choosing.”

            To this revelation, I said, “Yeah thanks for the tip but I am travelling and so don’t have one.”

            He continued with his discourse, “Sir, there are tiny portable models also in the market.”

            Since I couldn’t think of another question to satisfy my quest for more knowledge at that time, I thanked him and went up to my (third) floor. There I found a group of youngsters practicing roller skating in the corridor – exactly the same way as some of us did back in NDA. So I asked one of them if I could borrow an alarm clock form him. One of them volunteered to lend his alarm clock to me for the night but on the condition that he would explain its mechanism to me first. I agreed and we went to his room a couple of doors away. He then held an antique brass piece in front of me and explained that it was a birthday gift from his grand father. He then set its alarm and showed me how it worked – it would first sound a single gong at the desired hour, followed by two after one minute and three after two minutes. If the subject was still not awake, it will go whole hog after three minutes in a manner that everyone in the neighbourhood would wake up.

            I thanked him for his educative discourse, came to my room, set the alarm for 0300 hrs and couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night as the thought of the alarm going whole hog kept me awake. I got ready by 0345, returned the clock to its proud owner and descended the stairs to the ground floor to help myself with a cup of tea in the pantry – as advised by the Sergeant the previous evening. The transport detailed for me did not show up till 0405 (five minutes was long enough for me to set the panic button) so I dialed the Base Duty Officer’s number and apprised him of my situation. The Duty Officer, after learning from me that my flight was at 0600, asked me to wait for some more time which I did till 0420. On my second call to him, the Duty Officer still did not show much concern and asked me to continue my wait till 0445 when he will be within his rights to declare a state of emergency on the Base and dispatch the duty car to me. Since I had no other option, I waited and gave him the third call at 0445. He responded immediately and told me, “Sir, I hereby perceive and declare your situation to be of emergency demanding immediate dispatch of the duty car at my disposal to you. Sir, where are you?”

            With some difficulty, I was able to tell him where I was and hung up. After about 15 minutes, a Ford Falcon staff car drove outside the Mess and I took my seat next to a uniformed Army corporal who was at the wheels. He asked me again as to what time was my flight and on realizing that it was less than 45 minutes away, he put his hooter on and asked me to hold tight. With his siren blazing and at an average speed of 100 kmph, (40 kmph over the permitted speed limit inside a built up area) and the centrifugal forces resultant from the sharp twists and turns playing havoc on my body, he pulled over outside the Brisbane airport at 0600 sharp. On seeing the staff car braking with a screech, a female employee of the airline, half ran to the car and asked me, “Are you Maijor Kooshwaha?” On my acknowledging, she opened the boot of the car and asked me to run to the tarmac as the stairs were about to be removed from the aircraft and that she would take care of my bag.

             I ran for my life through the terminal building on to the tarmac and just managed to step on the stairway before it could be pushed away. On my entering the cabin through the rear hatch, I found the stewardess heaving a sigh of relief and announcing that the missing pax was safely on board and the flight would take off shortly well in time. An applause followed from the seated passengers as I took my seat.

Sir, Air-conditioned for Your Comfort

            Once my two hour visit to the Artillery School was over, the Major detailed to conduct me came out to see me off to my car. This time it was not the Army staff car, but a shining blue Mercedes with a uniformed (P-cap and all) chauffeur who looked a bit chubby and well-to-do for a chauffeur even from Australian standards.

            On seeing me approaching the car, he opened the passenger seat door for me, touched his brow in a salutary gesture and said, “Air conditioned for your comfort, sir.” I was mighty thrilled and felt like a VIP for the first time during my stay in Australia. After I secured myself with the seat belt to the front seat next to the Chauffeur, (In Australia one is expected to sit next to the driver in a taxi if alone and not take the rear seat like a ‘barah sahib’in India) he started the engine, engaged the gear and drove off.  After a while, we engaged in the following conversation.

Chauffeur          - So you are from India. You blaikes (blokes) plai (play) some damn good cricket.  This Srikant or something like that – what a graite (great) hitter he is! So what are you doing in Australia?

Me                   - I am in the Army.

Chauffeur          - I can see that – you are wearing an Army uniform. But what are you doing here?

Me                   - I am doing an Army course at Queenscliff in Victoria.

Chauffeur          - Oh, you are at good ol’ Queenscliff! What a coincidence?

Me                   - (Surprised with his level of awareness)You know Queenscliff ?

Chauffeur          - Too damn well, mite (mate). I did the sime (same) course six years ago.

Me                   - (visible more shocked now) You did the Staff Course at Queenscliff? (For me doing the Staff Course like doing MBA from Harvard) That means you were an Army officer. Why did you quit the Army?

Chauffeur          - Simple ‘rithmatic (arithmetic) mite. The Army was pyeing (paying) me 36 grand a yeer (year). Now I own this bus (car). With my contacts in the Army, I am hired out everyday. I don’t work when I don’t feel like and yet I make 80 grand a yeer. Why should I work for the Army, mite?

Who can defy his logic? And I am talking of 1986. So when today we feel cheated with OROP and Seventh CPC, it is not something unheard of. It happens in most countries whose economies move Northwards.

That’s Not My Job, Sir

            This one was a real eye opener.

I had gone to Sydney for a week long visit to Australian Military Establishments in April. I had taken the family along as an Australian Officer Ian Stuart (whom I had met in Wellington (Nilgiris) where he was doing his staff course the previous year) had invited us to stay with him.

            On the morning of the first day, I was to be picked up from the Stuarts’ residence at 0800 for a visit to the Artillery School at North Heads. I got ready in my uniform at 0745, had a quick break fast and started waiting for the door bell to chime heralding the pick up car’s arrival. When there was no chime till 0810, I opened the door and glanced outside. To my surprise, there was an Army staff car parked outside with the driver (a pretty female sergeant) chewing gum and looking through the pages of a glossy magazine. So I approached her and asked, “Are you here to pick me up?”

            She stopped chewing her gum, glanced at a paper slip kept at the dashboard; looked at me and asked in return, “Are you Maijor (Major) Kooshwaha?”

            I confirmed with an authoritative tone that yes that was me indeed, and asked her as to why she did not ring the door bell. She resumed her gum-chewing act and replied, “Sir, that’s not part of my job.”

            So I asked, “What is your job then?”

            She said, “My task sheet says to report at the given address at 0800 which I did and pick up and drop one Maijor Kooshwaha to Arty School at North Heads which I would do.”

            I retorted, “That’s great but how would I know that you have arrived?”

            She replied, “That’s your problem sir. If you did not show in another five minutes, I would drive off and report “No Show” by the passenger.”

            I got completely unnerved by this ‘matter of fact’ discourse of hers and before she could drive off without me, I took my seat in the back. She drove me like a professional and dropped me after half an hour at the Artillery School in North Heads. (The Artillery School has since been re-located to Puckapunyal in Victoria.)

(P.S. - The return trip from the Artillery School was equally interesting which I will write about in the next post)

Are You All Right?

            After spending about three months in Australia and after the ATM encounter in Sydney, I thought I had learnt enough Australian and hence went about doing whatever I wanted to do with the required (sometimes more than required – as this incident would show) degree of confidence.

            So one weekend, we decided to do some shadow shopping (as in shadow boxing where you hit at the shadow and pretend that you are hitting someone) as we didn’t have any money to do real shopping. We got into a large garments retail store and started investigating the goods on display – the investigating was related more to its price than its size or quality. So we would stop by each display hanger, hold some part of the garment with one hand while the other looked for the price tag buried somewhere under its layers. Keerti was also doing the same thing but more delicately while I was too conspicuous. After sometime, my peaceful act was disturbed by an unfamiliar voice which suddenly materialized too close to me – “Sir, ah you a’right?” (“Sir, are you all right?” – in English)

I looked at the source of the voice which happened to be a rather tall (definitely more than me) and good looking girl. But since she had disturbed me in my peaceful and harmless act, I replied with and authoritative irritation – “Yes, I am perfectly all right. Is there some problem?”

She smiled (somehow, people always smiled there) and said, “No sir, I wanted to know if you need a help.”

Since I definitely did not need her help in my clandestine act, I replied in the negative, and thanked her for her concern. She went away to some other part of the store.

It was much later that I learnt that “are you all right” is the Aussie equivalent of “may I help you”. So much for my becoming an expert in Aussie English !

"Sir, How do you like it?"

I had five hundred US dollars on landing in Australia, which I put away safely in the ANZ Grindlays Bank for the simple reason that it had a branch in Queenscliff where the Staff College was located. (In those one was permitted to carry a maximum of five hundred US dollars per person while going abroad.)

After about a month or so, I required some additional cash for which I wrote a ‘self’ Cheque and went to the bank to encash it. There was a middle aged lady at the counter whom I wished “Good ‘die’ (day)” and handed the cheque to her. She swiped it through what looked like a cash register to me, then punched a few keys on the key board in front of her. After getting the desired response from the machine, she looked at me over her half spectacles and asked, Sir, how do you like it?”

Now I was not very sure as to what was I supposed to reply to this query which was completely alien to me. So I said, “I like it very much.”

The lady smiled and said, “Sir, I didn’t mean ‘that’! I meant, how do you like your money?”

Now this was easy so I said, “I like my money also very much” – a straight forward replied to a simple question.

The lady’s smile was broader this time. She re-framed her question the third time and asked, “Sir, what I meant was as to what denomination notes would you like?”

To which I replied, “Oh then why didn’t you asked so the first time?”

Then I told her the type of notes I wanted, got my cash and walked out. What strange usage - “How do you like it?”

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Mahendra Kushwaha

Would you Order the 'Mine' (Main) Course now?

(Friends, I forgot to write the final para in my last post about the ‘Master Lock’ at Laverton – so I am posting it separately here.)

On my first day at Laverton, I went for lunch to the Air Force Officers’ Mess. On entering and scanning the ‘set up’ I realized that the dining hall had tables set for four to six persons. At the far end, there were service counters – one of which had two large soup containers with soup plates stacked neatly next to them. So I walked to the counter and helped my self to a plateful of tomato soup (whose viscosity was much higher than any soup I had partaken back home. Then I walked to a table for four, kept my soup plate on it and sat down to enjoy the soup. I then noticed that each table had a large jug full of orange squash (not water). So after I gulped the last spoon of the delicious and thick soup, I also had half a glass of orang squash from the jug. Now I was feeling quite full and contemplating my next step when a rather good looking waitress smartly dressed in Air Force uniform, approached me and held a menu fixed in a post card size frame square to my eyes. I was overwhelmed with the respect and deference thus displayed and scanned the menu to order just the dish keeping my balance appetite. Somehow, I could not comprehend any of the dishes mentioned therein except the word ‘lamb’ in one of them. Hence, reluctantly, but with full authority, I told her that I would have the dish with the lamb in it.

She went to the kitchen and returned in ten minutes with a plate full of a medium sized (Indian standard) heap of rice in the middle. A rather liberal serving of lamb curry was poured over the rice and boiled corn, peas, broccoli and carrots were used for decorating the dish all around. I relished the dish happy with the thought that I was not eating beef or pork mistakenly and also helped my self with another glass of orange squash through the process. At this stage, I was fuller than I had ever been and wiped my lips delicately with the perfectly starched white napkin and closed the plate formally.

When the beautiful young waitress took the plate away, I pushed my chair back and took the first step towards the service counter where I had earlier noticed that two varieties of ice cream were also on the menu for the day. At this moment, the waitress half ran towards me shouting, “Sir, Sir, wouldn’t you order your mine (main) course now?”

In my deep satisfaction with the lamb curry and rice, I had not realized that what I had just had was only the entrée – the main course was yet to be ordered and served. I thanked the girl and said no, I had a low appetite and was done for the day. I then went to the ice cream counter and helped my self for a bowl of butter scotch and then walked out of the dining hall thinking how to have the ‘mine’ course during my next meal there.

The DigiLocker

Reference news  at -
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/delhi/Now-access-driving-licence-on-your-mobile-using-DigiLocker/articleshow/54049565.cms

            Early in the morning today while scanning news on my pc with my morning cuppa, I was over elated. The "Pradhan Mantri ka Digital India ka Sapna" is finally coming to reality I thought and installed the DigiLocker App on my newly acquired Volte compatible smartphone (courtsey Reliance Jio whose SIM is yet to be activated). The app prompted me to sign up which I did easily. It then said "Just One More step before you are signed up - please enter your 'User name & password' which I did. The screen displayed the perennial rotating symbol for a few seconds and then flashed this message - "unfortunately, the DigiLocker has stopped working."

          So I closed the App and re-opened it after a few minutes. It asked me to 'sign in' this time. So I entered my username and password which resulted in this message - "Wrong Username and Password." I repeated the process with the same result. I then tried to sign up again but was denied the opportunity with the message - 'This mobile number is already registered with DigiLocker - you can register with another mobile number."

          I came back to reality and realised that Pradhan Mantri ka Digital India ka sapna is likely to remain a 'sapna' for some more time.

          I have sent the feedback to the App administrators with the hope that some one may actually go through it and do something about it. Early days yet !

No Standing Any time

            Since Melbourne was accessible by local metro from Laverton, I decided to familiarize my self with the city on the next weekend. I made a call to an Indian friend who lived in Melbourne (He was referred to me by one of our many well wishers back home) and requested him if he could show me around the next day. He agreed and asked me to meet him at 9.00 A.M. ‘Under the Clock’ – which in Melbourne meant ‘out side the Flinders Street Station – the main metro & local terminus in the city.

            I caught a ‘perfectly timed’ train from Laverton which dislodged me at my destination at 8.45 A.M. so that I was standing ‘Under the Clock’ by 8.50. It was then that I noticed a prominent road sign with ‘NO STANDING ANY TIME’ written on it. Since I did not want to be on the wrong side of the law on my first day in the city, I decided to move away from the board and walked about 50 metres to the West. There too, there was another sign with the same wordings. So I decided to move further away. On noticing a third ‘NO STANDING ANY TIME’ sign even there, I decided to walk back to my original position. It was then that my friend spotted me ‘under the clock’.

He asked, “Abe tu kahan gayab ho gaya tha?”

I replied, “Yaar, I was here ‘under the clock’ ten minutes before 9 but the sign said ‘NO STANDING ANY TIME’. So I was trying to be away from these signs which are everywhere.”

He then gave me another Australia ‘gyan’ – “Abe bewaqoof, woh to garion ke liye hai" (You fool, that is for the vehicles)

‘Guys & Girls’, the ‘Master Lock’ and ‘Full’ with Entree only

            The guest students – there were seventeen of us from outside Australia (New Zealand-four; USA, Canada & UK-two each; India, Pakistan, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Philippines, and Papua New Guinea – one each) were called a month earlier so as to familiarize with the Australian climate, language and culture. The officer who welcomed us through a formal address in the college, called us “Guys n girls” which was a marked departure from the formal “Ladies and Gentlemen” that I was used to.  That was when I realized that there could be informal ways of doing things even in the armed forces – which our British system based Army somehow shunned and still does.

            After his formal address, the officer left us at the mercy of a few NCOs to take care of some formalities. The Mess Sergeant spoke to us and requested us to give our food preferences as he would be required to cater for our meals during various training events. When I told him about my having no issues except with beef & pork, his interesting riposte was, “Sir, you don’t eat beef, you don’t eat pork! Then what the hell do you eat?”

            All the guest students were soon dispatched to Laverton, a suburb of Melbourne where there was a Language School inside an Air Force Station with Hercules C-30 transport aircraft based there. Although the Language School was commanded by a Major from the Education Corps, it was virtually run by Master Sergeant Ken Tut. In his own words, “Sir, the major don’t know the difference between his front and back sides. It is me who is in charge and gets things done here.” He took me to my accommodation which was a four room suite with a common lobby, showers and toilets. There were four keys – one with the occupant of each room. All the four keys could open the lobby lock but only a specific room lock. I was amazed by this strange combination and asked the Master Sergeant as to how that was possible. His simple reply was that the lobby door was fitted with a ‘Master Lock’. 

March-in, the Broken Key and No Honk-Honk

            After spending two days at the motel doing nothing except eating the medium sized pizzas, we got bored and wanted to do something more exciting – we didn’t go there just to eat pizzas after all. So with some effort, I managed to find the Staff College duty officer’s number in the huge three volume telephone directory and convinced the motel owner to let me make the call from his office phone. On getting through, I identified myself and enquired as to when we will be taken to our house (13, Sara St, Pt Lonsdale as told to me by my predecessor Ranvir Yadav from the KUMAON Regt). The person at the other end, after referring to some papers with him, replied, “Sir, your march-in is on, Mundie (Monday).” This got me seriously worried as ‘march-in’ in Indian Army meant being marched up to a superior officer for either a ‘dressing down’ or being awarded a punishment and to the best of my knowledge I had not committed any offence on the Australian soil as yet. So I asked the person at the other end as to what dress and time I had to be present outside whose office and also informed him that I did not have the articles of my uniform with me as my unaccompanied baggage was yet to land down under. At this he laughed aloud and told me not to worry as I would be marching in the house allotted to me and not up to a superior officer (as yet). With a great sense of relief, I also asked him if I could be provided with a transport for the ‘march-in’ which, he assured me, will be looked into and disconnected the line.

            Luckily, ‘Mundie’ was on the next day and we were able to complete the formalities of moving into our house for the next one year by mid-day and started settling down. My predecessor had very kindly sold his ‘fourth-hand well used 1969 Toyota Corona’ to me in an ‘All Rupees deal” for a princely sum of Eight Thousand Rupees deposited in his Indian Bank account before I left India. The car was parked inside the garage of the house I had just ‘marched-in’ and the keys were in an envelope kept at the Guard Room of the College. I requested the NCO who had come to ‘march me in’ to give me lift up to the College and back for me to fetch the keys which he very kindly did. I was back at our house with the garage and car keys after about half an hour and decided to take my first four wheel ride on Her Majesty’s land Down Under in the true ‘haath kangan ko aarsi kya’ fashion.

            The garage door had a rolling shutter. That was not a problem as I had handled a few MES shutters back in India and had preconceived notions about the body posture and force required to open them. So I inserted the key in its slot which was roughly in centre of the door – both vertically and horizontally; failed to read the warning pasted below the slot by the previous occupant (REMOVE THE KEY FROM THE SLOT BEFORE OPENING THE SHUTTER); bent my body forward from waist upwards till my forehead was square to the lowest part of the shutter; grasped its underside with both hands firmly – ‘chaaron anguliyan andar aur angutha bahar’ and heaved applying all the force that I could muster. The gate went up ‘phatak’ without offering any resistance or making any noise in a fraction of a second shearing the key clean in two halves – its head falling at my feet and the tail remaining firmly inside the slot. That was the second time the fact was reinforced to me that things are definitely different in Australia – the rolling shutter was made of aluminum and could be opened easily with the push of a finger itself.

            Next, I went for a trial round of my ‘new’car. As a well trained Indian driver, I would honk the horn at every turn. I was rather pleased with myself that there were hardly any other cars I the neighbourhood and so there was nary a chance of a collision. So I returned home safely. Later in the evening, a officer came visited our house and asked me if I was the new occupant of the house from India. I was very impressed with the promptness of the police in coming and inquiring about the welfare of a new resident and confirmed to him that indeed, I was. He smiled and said, “Sir, welcome to Ocean Grove, but may I advise you to refrain honking your horn?” Later, I was told by an Indian well wisher settled there that honking the horn unnecessarily was illegal as it causes noise pollution.

Within three days of my arrival I had force discovered three stark differences in life ‘Up Above’ in India and ‘Down Under’ in Australia – those in ‘sizes’, ‘English usage’ and ‘driving etiquette’.

Australian Odyssey - My Experiences Down Under in 1986

First Day – The Medium Sized Pizzas

            I was fortunate to have gone to Australia for my Staff Course in 1986. The Australian Government was extra considerate in inviting and paying for my family’s travel expenses too as the course was for a year long duration. They also arranged a fully furnished and equipped three bed room house a gratis. The Indian Government on the other hand, was completely adamant in denying me my pay in foreign exchange (not that it would have amounted to anything substantial in Australia) or any other allowances and expected me to live off the land.

            We (self, Keerti, our six year old daughter Stuti and two year old son Ashish) landed at Tullamarine Airport, Melbourne around 7.30 a.m. on 15^th December 1985.  A Warrant Officer received us at the airport and after loading us and our two and a half suit cases in a Toyota Hi Ace eight-seater van, took the wheel and drove off. Since I was sitting in the co-driver’s seat in front, he reminded me to fasten my seat belt. Now you have to put yourself in the shoes of an Indian of 1985 who had never seen a vehicle fitted with seat belts let alone use one – it was the Pre-Maruti 800 era.) I fiddled with the belt and its parts but failed to locate the female end where the buckle could be safely locked. (This was one occasion when I missed those Weapon Training ustaads of the Army who could have educated me about how to fasten the seat belt – “Sabak ka uddeshya seat belt se pehchaan, baandhna, kholna aur paida hone wali rokon ko dur karne ka tariqa sikhana hai.”) I somehow rapped it around my body to show that I had fastened it and continued on our journey in the alien land.

            After more than an hour’s drive, our escort entered the drive way of a motel in a small town, (which I later discovered to be Ocean Grove) politely asked us to disembark (which we did), mumbled something to the bearded motel owner (which we didn’t understand) and then drove off without giving a second look at us (which we did notice). The motel owner took us to our twin-room set, showed us what was where and wished us a happy stay. We too, after our first brush with jet lag and feeling tired, decided to acquire horizontal postures and went to sleep immediately.

            On waking up, I noticed that the room clock indicated 1.0 p.m. Keerti too woke up after a while and asked me to check if the motel had anything to offer for lunch. So I walked out of our room and entered the Reception where I was confronted with a Call Bell Switch stuck horizontally on the Counter with cello tape along with printed words “Ring for Service”. On seeing no one else around, I ‘rang for service’ and was immediately confronted with by the bearded ‘owner-cum-service provider’ wishing me “Good Day, mate” (pronounced – “G’die, mite”). On my query about lunch he said no. On my next query as to where could I find it, he said that there was the pizza joint about a km from the motel. To my next query about transportation to the pizza joint, he was unexpectedly kind and offered to drive me to the place in his car, which I gladly accepted.

            The Pizza Joint had a Menu Board displaying various varieties of pizza, each available in three sizes – small, medium and large. I reasoned ‘small’ to be too small and ‘large’ to be too large for our requirement and hence settled for two medium sized veg pizzas. The person at the counter appeared surprised and asked me “Are you sure, two medium sized?” On my replying “yes” he said “Suit yourself. That would be Six dollars Ninety Eight.” I paid with a ten dollar bill, collected the change and moved aside for the order to materialize.

When the order materialized after about ten minutes, I understood the reason for the counter man’s query “Are you sure?” and comment “Suit yourself”. The pizza boxes were 16 inch square containing 15 inch diameter pizzas each. On reaching the motel back, it took me some effort to explain to Keerti that I couldn’t have guessed this stark difference between the Australian and Indian sizes before hand. The two pizzas deprived us from eating anything else for lunch or dinner for the next two days – breakfast was gratis from the motel.

Passing Out and the Parting Shot
(This is my last post on the NDA series)

Completely unaware of Indira Gandhi’s grand design to put the Armed Forces in their place through the Third Pay Commission, we NDA cadets were drilling away to glory for the ultimate event – our passing out in June 1974. So (presumably, as none of us had heard the term Pay Commission, let alone the Third Pay Commission in those naïve days of our lives) due to the belt-tightening affected on NDA too by the Pay Commission Award, only one NDA Special was now available to take us to our leave destinations that too in the Junta Class and not the elite First Class of Indian Railways. So both – the Western as well as the Central Railway types were put in a common train till Dadar. After dislodging the Central Railway types there, the single NDA Special continued its journey on the Western Railway route to Delhi. The wait for us underprivileged guys at Dadar was for about six hours before some insignificant train of the Central Railway route carried us to unglamorous places such as Bhusawal, Khandwa, Itarsi, Bhopal, Jhansi etc.

The rather hot night of 8th of June 1974 found a restless horde of cadets loitering about on the platform of Dadar station in their ridiculous lungis and vests – some donning their unbuttoned walking outs over the vest as an after thought. So this bunch of freshly passed out cadets – me included – found itself leaning inadvertently on an ice cream chest and instinctively started fiddling with a ‘Click’ lock dangling from the latch. Soon, the group developed an unstoppable urge to open the lock and have a ‘dekho’ inside. Some enterprising chap collected a few key bunches from others and passed them surreptitiously to the chap ‘fiddling’ with the lock while others effectively covered him and his act from public view. Soon the axiom – ‘Where there is a will, there is a way’ was proved right and the ‘fiddler’ was able to set his eyes upon the ‘sanctum sanctorum’ of the ice cream chest majestically stocked with about four hundred cups of vanilla ice cream.

Within minutes, the contents of the chest were stealthily transferred to the rail coaches where all the rest less as well as sleeping cadets were provided with the treat of their lives. The used cups were carelessly thrown on the track side of the coaches and clearly visible to anyone who wanted to look for the ‘proof of the pudding’. The cadets’ merry making must have alerted some watch man who in turn informed the owner of the chest who dutifully complained to the railway police. The lone ‘taant’ policeman on duty came and inspected the empty chest and then the coaches full of by now ‘peacefully asleep’ cadets and appeared not to be convinced of the culpability of the cadets. He asked the victim if he can identify one who did the job which the victim obviously could not. So he assured the victim that the matter would be reported to the military authorities the next day. Later in the night our coaches duly attached to the insignificant train, proceeded for our onward journey to our leave destinations.

We, the passed out cadets almost forgot about the incident till two months later while undergoing our Army training at the IMA, when one of us received an ‘inland letter’ from one of our juniors at the NDA informing us about the NDA Comdt’s opening address and admonishing to the Academy for the Ice Cream mis-adventure at Dadar station and award of three Sinhgarh hikes to the entire Academy. This is what is called – “Khaye koi aur, bhare koi aur.”