A Lot of Substance but No Form – The Dogra Regt Book Prize Essay

            All my course mates know about my standing first in the B. Sc. stream, getting a six star torch, getting a lot of book prizes each term and finally getting the President’s Silver Medal for being overall second while passing out of NDA in June 1974. But not many know about my rather pedestrian English in those days. I was a master of the Rajbhasha and was excused all Hindi classes during the first term as my level of Hindi was considered to be above the highest level that the Academy taught.

            So when I got the Book Prize in English in the fourth term, I was pleasantly surprised as I had apparently surpassed the level which the likes of Billoo Chauhan had. Elated at this ‘Oscar’ achievement, I decide to take part in the Dogra Regimental English Essay Competition held for the Fifth Termers. To my continued surprise, about a month after writing the essay, I got an order through normal channels that I was to see the Principal next day in his office after the classes got over.

            The Principal, Dr H K Srivastava of the Boston University fame, got up from his regal chair on seeing me enter his office and walked to me to congratulate me for writing the best essay in the competition and asked me to have a seat – which was totally against the norms of the Academy. I sat down very uncomfortably and waited for his discourse. After sitting back on his regal chair, gave me the bad part of the news – that although I had won the first prize because of the content of my essay, it could not be published in the NDA Magazine as per the SOP due to my poor language.

            My secret desire (not of the ‘My Secret Gardens’ by Nancy Friday type) to see myself in print in the ‘language of the elite’ evaporated within the confines of the Principal’s office and I had no option but to get out of there after thanking him. Readers may please note that mine is the only essay in the history of Dogra Regimental Essay Competition which did not get published – so much for getting the first prize in English.

The New PT Saa’b

            A new Div O (Divisional Officer – on of the three captain/equivalent rank officers posted to each squadron) Lt John D’ Silva, IN joined our squadron sometimes during our second term in place of Lt John Verghese, IN. On his first day, he came to the sqn some times I the afternoon in P.T dress and stood in the central lobby trying to familiarize himself with the environment. Three perpetual restriction’ types from the 43^rd Course came running down the steps in a hurry to get to their cycles and report to the Drill square at the appointed time. On seeing the new face in P.T. dress standing in an apparently ‘lost’ way in the central lobby, one by one they instinctively wished him with the greetings reserved for the ‘ustaads’ – “Jai Hind Saheb” and trotted away. Lt John D’ Silva, not clearly amused by this form of greeting, managed to catch the last culprit before he could run away to his cycle and asked – “Say again?” The cadet repeated, “Jai Hind Saheb” and again tried to escape to his cycle. Lt John D’ Silva, unperturbed with the cadet’s hurry asked in his later famous monotone, “Don’t you know I am Lt John D’ Silva, Indian Navy; relief for Lt John Verghese, Indian Navy as the new Div O in the squadron?” The cadet too, completely unperturbed retorted, “No sir, I thought you were a P.T. Saa’b.”

 You can easily guess the fate of the poor cadet after this introductory exchange with the new Div O.

The Class Room Learnings

            It may come as a surprise to the non-NDA friends that a NDA cadet is also required to study. So there are 4-5 periods daily devoted to academic syllabus of B. Sc., B.A. or B. Sc. (IT) from the now infamous JNU. Since the first two or three periods of the day were of the out door type described earlier, most cadets prefer to utilize the academic classes to catch up on sleep with very interesting results.

            There was this burly cadet in our squadron from Sainik School Chittorgarh who was sleeping in one of the class rooms on the third floor of the Sudan Block during an out door class. The Adjutant (Maj H K Trivedi from the Grenadiers) discovered him in that state during his early morning surprise rounds of the Block, caught him in the act, awarded seven ‘restrictions’ to  him on the spot, and went ahead with his round. This smart cadet, with the logical deduction that the Adjutant’s round being over, it would be safe to go back to sleep. So went back to sleep he did  at the same venue but was twice unlucky to have been caught again in the ‘act’ by the same Adjutant who decided to re-check the class room – just in case.

            The next day, the Academy Order had this interesting post – No …… C/4-  Cadet ……… Awarded 14 days restrictions; Charge – “Was found sleeping in class room No ---- at 0730 hrs by the Adjutant and had the audacity to repeat the performance within ten minutes of having been caught.”

            Then there was this Geography instructor who would come dressed always in semi-transparent terry cotton  full sleeves white bush shirt and trousers with his ‘fatte wala kachhchha’ visible through it, black pointed shoes with red colour socks and the ubiquitous ‘hat pith riding’ covered with translucent white nylon film. (I am sure his riding skills would be similar to mine but why he wore that riding hat was and remains a mystery to me.) He would always accuse a particular cadet in my class of copying during tests because of the latter’s unique ability to keep an open book above his knees and stick them to the underside of his desk which facilitated copying without being detected. During one such session, the teacher was agitated enough to force the cadet to stand up which resulted in the unauthorized object falling down for every one to see. The enterprising cadet, on being questioned about the book, replied, “Sir, I have these tall legs and my knees collide with the underside of the desk while sitting. So in order to provide cushioning to the knees, I put a book between them and the desk.”

            One night, after some punishment drill, one enterprising cadet emptied the contents of his water bottle in the rain gauge installed outside the geography lab, Next morning, when the instructor came to take the class, made this opening remark, “Last night when I went to sleep, the sky was clear. I must have slept like a log because I did not realize that it rained heavily during the night. It is only this morning when the rain gauge readings were shown to me did I realize that it rained 44 mm over night.”

            Then we had the ‘Hitler’ with the ‘Workshop’ as his karmabhoomi. During a ‘welding’ class he dozed off sitting in his iron chair and an expert cadet welded his chair to the floor.

            Who can forget the by now legendary question by the maths teacher Mr Prem Singh? When he was going on his scooter with his wife on the pillion, a cadet remarked – “Beauty and the Beast”. He stopped the scooter in mid tracks, looked back and shouted, “Who called my wife a Beast?”

All Form and No Substance - The Drill Square

            Whenever I used to glance at the Training Programmes on the Notice Board in the Squadron Lobby, this quote would always stare at me – “Drill is the bedrock of discipline”. Despite my best efforts, I failed to comprehend its meaning till about ten years later when I read Edwin Boring’s thesis on the ‘Psychology of Military Incompetence’. (To those of you who may not have read it, I commend it even at this stage of life.) It was much later that a scientific study revealed that regular banging of heels on the ground over a prolonged period causes irreversible damage to the brain. Do you still wonder as to what causes the perceived absence of substance and an undue emphasis on form in the military?

            After equitation, drill would definitely be the next for its pure entertainment value to the cadets. I was so influenced by its all encompassing impact that I penned a full article on it. (In Hindi of course as I continued to think in Hindi till quite late in life till the realization dawned on me that translating Hindi thoughts to English frequently results in free humor for the reader.) If I find that article, (which I am trying my best to do) I would definitely share it on this forum.

            Off all the tales of the Drill Square, (some facts and most fiction born out of wild imaginations of cadets due to the constant deprivation of entertainment in daily routine) this true incident must go down as the ultimate. One wore ‘drill boots’ for drill (how obvious) which had thirteen nails on its outer sole (thank God not on the inner) which were inspected by every one who was your senior in whatever way before, during and after the drill period.

            So during this particular drill class, the ‘ustaad’ in order to facilitate proper inspection of our boots, made us get in one line facing him. He then marched smartly to a position exactly behind the first cadet on the left and shouted the word of command, “Left Foot Up” for the simple task of inspecting the presence (or absence) of the prescribed thirteen nails on the outer soles of every ones’ left shoe. All of us promptly lifted our left feet so that the leg would become parallel to the ground while the foot with the shoe would be at ninety degrees to the ground. One bright cadet, who happened to be standing next to me on my left in the line, smartly raised his right foot instead of the left with the result his right and my left foot came up together and proudly displayed the thirteen nails for the benefit of the ‘ustaad’. The ‘ustaad’ was not at all amused with this blatant insubordination and hence shouted – “Yeh kaun cadet donon paon upar kar ke khara hai?”

The Human Buoy

            From the second term onwards, cadets are encouraged to join a hobby club. Since I was a naval cadet till I decided to change my mind in the fourth term in favour of Army; (for the simple reason that OG colour would suit my complexion more than white) I and Arvind Sinha of 'E' Sqn decided to try our luck with sailing.

            With a lot of enthusiasm, we both pedaled our cycles uphill till the Comdt’s House and then down hill to the Peacock Bay. A large number of sailing boats moored along the jetty and we found one particular boat whose main sail was up and the jib was fluttering in the light breeze. Since we didn’t know how to rig another boat, we promptly took it without knowing that a more knowledgeable pair of cadets had left it half rigged due to some technical flaw in it. On being reminded by the Navy ‘ustaad’ to don our life jackets, we did so and on his query if we would be able to manage on our own, we displayed the legendary NDA confidence and nodded in the affirmative (because we did not want to tell a lie – morally up right you see.)

             So since the boat actually started moving from the bay to the open lake and after some pushing and shoving without much maneuvering of the sail, we both were elated beyond our expectations and just sat back to enjoy the ride. Once the boat reached the open lake, since the wind was in the required direction, it picked up speed increasing our elation in geometric progression. We both congratulated each other for having selected just the right hobby which was not as difficult as we thought it to be.

            We were not aware of the fact that a sailing regatta was to take place in the lake the next day for which lanes had been marked with buoys which had multi colour flags mounted on them. Our boat was soon headed towards the nearest row of buoys while we were completely engrossed in the joy of effortless sailing. Soon we heard loud warnings from a distant boat that we should sail clear of the buoys. This brought us to the ‘water realities’ and we started struggling with the sail and the jib in order to change the boat’s direction. Now it is very easy to study laws of physics in theory but rather difficult to control their effect in practice. So, despite our struggles, the boat refused to change the direction and continued ‘full ahead’ till it  had dislodged  half a dozen buoys before turning turtle dislodging its untrained crew as well. Thank God that we were wearing life jackets so remaining afloat was not much of a problem. (for limited period of time only)  The ‘distant’ motor boat immediately came close by and the Petty Officer in-charge started hurtling choicest adjectives at us both for having spoilt their ‘regatta lane’. The officer in-charge (the infamous ‘Sacchu’ for the NDA guys benefit) was also near by in another motor boat and came to the scene a little while later. He first told us to put our up-turned boat right side up which we couldn’t. Furious at this, he told us to remove one flag each from the buoys and keep afloat in the water holding the flags vertically till further orders as human buoys. While leaving, as an after thought, he also passed instructions to the Petty Officer to delete our names from the Sailing Club list.

            So that was the beginning and the end of our Sailing hobby at the Academy.

My first date with the Horse

            On popular demand based on the feedback about ‘My tryst with Destiny’, I would devote the next few posts to my experiences at the NDA. Interpolating Anjit Bose’s thoughts – you can take an ex-NDA out of NDA but you cannot take NDA out of him; let us live in nostalgia for a while. (Some ‘padding’ has been done deliberately for non-NDA friends on fb – NDA types will have to bear with me please.)

            Of all the training (or otherwise) activities at the Academy, horse riding would easily beat all others hands down as the most ‘entertaining’. It not only entertains the ‘ustaad’ and the ‘horse’, it also entertains the un-affected fellow cadets watching from the side lines in the hope that a similar fate does not befall them in the near future. As for my learning from the equestrian lines, I don’t know if I learnt riding or not, but I definitely learnt how to mount and dismount the animal including the inescapable involuntary dismounting during the lane jump in fourth term.  

            So on my first day at the riding class, after being told about the name of the animal (pure ka nnam, ‘ghoda’- angreji mein ‘horse’) and three parts of the horse and how to recognize whether it is a male or female; (by counting its teeth of course – as the cadets are not expected to do look for the obvious sign which is only for the civilians) we were given a demo as to how to mount and dis mount the animal. Then it was our turn to select one horse from the line-up and practice the act repeatedly. Now, to tell you the truth, I was not very keen to mount any horse and so, was deliberately slow in approaching the animal line-up. By the time I reached my destination, all horses were taken up and the one which was left was the tallest – would have been definitely six and a half feet at the saddle as I could barely reach it standing on my toes. So I looked at the ‘ustaad’ with appealing eyes and made the obvious statement, “Ustaad, yeh to bahut uncha hai. Main is par kaise mount karun?  His reply is still fresh in my mind – “To apne pitaji ko letter likh kar ek sirhi mangwa lo.”

            With no scope of changing the horse, I stood on my tip toes and managed to hold on to ends of the saddle and gave my self a push in an attempt to jump and mount as demonstrated. The horse must have realized my predicament and decided to increase the degree of difficulty for this ‘piddly’ cadet. So it started initially a slow trot, then a canter with me hanging on to the saddle for approximately five hundred meters before the horse decided to start galloping. I had no option to loosen my grip and fall in the drain next to the area. When the 'ustaad' saw me in this unscheduled act, he galloped on his horse to my location and added insult to the injury, “Abhi yehan khare hoke sirhi ka intezar karega ya ghora lekar wapas ayega?” Needless to say that whatever little enthusiasm I may have had for riding, died then and there and I some how managed to clear the basic and reached the final term (fourth) for riding.

            ‘Lane Jump’ is the ultimate test of mating (not literally) of the man and animal together in the poetic “do jism, ek jaan” fashion. So you are made to mount a saddle less horse (obviously without stirrups). Its reign is knotted short over its neck which you can hold by leaning forward. There are ten obstacles of various heights and widths in a lane which I think is about 500 meter long. So the average distance between two consecutive obstacles is 50 meters. The 'ustaad' leads the horse and the rider pair to the beginning of the lane and then gives one whip of his cane at the back of the animal prompting it to start galloping without the word ‘go’. You are taught during practices to lean forward during each jump and also shout “aage”. Whether this “aage” is meant for you or the horse remains a mystery to me to date. Most of the riders manage to survive till the middle of the course before falling off the animal and then running behind it to get hold of him.

            I leaned forward and shouted “aage” three times but at the third jump, only the horse managed to go “aage” while I fell off “peechhe”. Somehow, no limbs were broken and after a not very long chase, I did manage to retrieve my horse and hand it over to the “saees”. Thankfully, this was the last equestrian event of cadets’ training at NDA with no more involuntary dismounts and running behind the animals.

My Tryst with Destiny – Joining NDA

            Here is an honest confession – I was never the ‘Army type’ of guy. Perhaps this would be equally true even if converted to present tense. My close friends may give their honest opinions.

            But I had a tryst with destiny – that of joining NDA. Sometimes I wonder as how can a person of my lineage – born in one of the most retrograde villages of the most dehati of all districts of (as per Akhilesh yadav - Ubharta & Ummedon ka) but still a backward Pradesh. For those of you who don’t know, Kanpur Dehat is the only district in India with the suffix ‘Dehat’ added to it officially. Why in Bhartendu Harishchandra’s name could they not have thought of a more civilized term (say Gramin) beats me?

            Somehow, I had to keep my ‘tryst with destiny’ and despite an initial shock (of being declared medically unfit for 44 NDA Course by Command Hospital Pune in May 1970) I was found medically fit for 46 NDA Course a year later by Air Force Hospital, Bengaluru (sorry, it was Bangalore then). It is pertinent to note that I supposedly had ‘splenomegaly’ (whatever it means), did never suffer from any disease prior to the medical check up, had no symptoms whatsoever and never went to any doctor after the medical declaration let alone get it treated during the intervening year. Mysterious are the ways of our medical services – a friend of mine joined the Army after being found medically fit in all respects in 1975. In 2005, when he suffered from some bodily ailment and was undergoing all possible examinations in a military hospital, it was discovered that he had only one kidney. The doctors asked him as to where was his second kidney to which he rightly answered as to how the hell would he know if the doctors didn’t.  So, because they wanted me to keep my tryst with destiny, the Bangalore doctors found me medically fit in all respects.

            So on the appointed day in July 1971, with crew-cut hair, a conspicuous tilak in the centre of my forehead and a largish garland of makhana & chhuhara with a conspicuously large nariyal in the centre and a large entourage of my dehati folk who had come all the way to bid me farewell, I boarded the a third class compartment (there was no sleeper class in those days) of 44 Up, Lucknow-Jhansi Mail – which was the fastest train on the route and connected with the 5 Up Punjab Mail to Bombay at Jhansi with a two hour layover. It was not surprising that a group of four NDA cadets; (who, as I learnt later, were my immediate seniors in the Academy and were called to report early to pass certain tests that they did not clear in the previous term) guessed that a new NDA murga was on the train. So when I got down at Jhansi after a five hour journey, they gheraoed me and asked if I was going to join NDA. Since I was briefed extremely well by my good friend M K Tyagi, (who incidentally never made it to the NDA but joined IMA the same year as me) I smartly evaded the trap by replying that I was going to join the AFMC. Although the ‘wolf pack’ which was hounding me was sure that I was lying, they decided to let me go for the time being. So I had the second leg of my journey to Kalyan without any trouble and boarded a connecting train to Pune for the third leg. The ‘pack’ was closely monitoring me throughout without of course troubling me in any way.

            As per the joining instructions sent by the Academy, I was to disembark at Kirkee (now Khadki) railway station. So I disembarked there. Immediately I was confronted by the leader of the pack with the question, “You? Why have you got down here? You should go to Pune instead as you are joing the AFMC.” Now I was in ‘kaato to khoon nahin’ situation and gave the famous blank look which NDA cadets learn within a day of joining. So the first thing which I learnt while keeping my tryst with destiny was how to front roll on the ‘bajri wala’ platform of Khadki railway station in full public view which appeared to be immune from the proceedings. Words like – “you thought you can fool your pop?” and “we will teach you how to tell lies” were distantly audible throughout my learning session. After about fifteen minutes of this learning session, I was rescued by some ‘sahebs’ who were to muster the new cadets and herd them in the waiting transport, which in my particular case came out to be a three ton.

            So that is how I kept my tryst with destiny – riding a majestic three ton along with a few more freshers along with our bags and entered the Academy for more ‘learning sessions’ to follow on our arrival there. 

Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind (Hands Free Flush Toilets)

            Occasionally I like to visit military establishments, messes and clubs to boost my false ego that once I belonged to the elite class. There is not much that I do there as no one invites me to official high tea or mess functions. It is just that a couple of them happen to be located on my daily commute route and after a long wait at Hazratganj crossing due to perennial jams, my bladder refuses to hold the accumulated liquid and I have this urgent and unavoidable compulsion to empty it ASAP. During one such emergency visits recently, I noticed (with much pride and satisfaction) that the toilets are now equipped with hands free automatic flush system. No need to press any lever or turn the old fashioned knob in the anti-clock direction.

            With a great sense of elation, I approached the sparkling china receptacle, opened my zipper and let go. While I was deep in the process of letting go, I noticed a red LED light having locked on to my eye balls. An involuntary shift of my position made it blink and, in addition to blinking, it began emitting and repeating a short beep. Before I could realize as to what was happening, the auto flush triggered itself and discharged it American Standard one gallon water into the receptacle. Two tiny jets from the discharge system were aimed directly at the area adjacent to my zipper and before I could say “Robinson Crusoe” that area was wet in a most ridiculous manner. I had no option but to stop my ‘letting go’ mid stream, close the wet zipper and retreat backwards till I reached the safety of my car. It is a different matter altogether that on reaching home I was greeted by the ubiquitous taunt from Keerti as to when will I learn to ‘let go’ without wetting my self.

Close Encounters of a Different Kind – My First Tryst with an ATM Machine

This one goes back to 1986 when I was ‘down under’ for my year long Staff Course. We were to travel to Sydney-Newcastle area for the first official trip of the course in the month of March. I had an ATM card since I landed there in January and had never used it (did not know how to use it would be a more accurate description). So I took the first major decision of life against Keerti’s advice – not to carry cash. You don’t know, I told her – this is Australia and not India. I would use the plastic money on ‘as required basis’.
So we flew to Sydney (soldier class in a RAAF Hercules C-130) and were ferried to our hotel at Kings Cross. Iqbal Hussain Qazi– a gunner from the Pakistan Army was my chosen companion for sharing the room as neither he nor I was still at home with the Aussies and thought why not make use of the opportunity to know each other a little bit more. (Iqbal Bhai, correct me if I am wrong.) In the evening, after dinner, we both decided to go for a short walk and also make ‘All OK’ calls to our respective wives from the public telephone booths located on the street. While Iqbal went to make his call, I found an ATM machine and decided to draw some cash using the still unused card with me.
On approaching the machine, I found it had an adjustable half inch wide slit through which one could read the message for the user in the dot-matrix mode. (Those were the early days for ATMs when 15 inch screens were still unheard of in them.) What followed after this is resurrected below:

Machine – Please insert your card in the slot to your right as shown in the figure.
I – Inserted the card as instructed.
Machine – Please enter your four-digit PIN
I – Entered the PIN as required
Machine – Please press D for deposit, W for withdrawal and Q for query.
I – pressed W
Machine – Please enter the amount in figures without decimal point.
I – Entered figure 50.
Machine – 20 X 2 and 10 X 1 or change. Press C to change and ‘Enter’ to accept.
I – Pressed ‘Enter’.
I heard a few whining sounds followed by some beeps, then some more whining and more beeps and then a long continuous beep. I was looking at the cash slot all this while in anticipation of 20 X 2 and 10 X 1 but nothing emerged from that slot. Since the beep was continuing, I looked at the message slit and found this message – WRONG PIN, PLEASE WITHDRAW CARD.

So, I withdrew the card and was weighing the options before me in my mind when Iqbal appeared after having spoken to his wife and asked me if I had got the cash and spoken to my wife. I told him about the just concluded proceedings at the ATM machine. So he advised that I should take cash form him and repay on our return to Queenscliff (the place the Staff College was located). Now, I was in a larger dilemma with international and diplomatic ramifications. Taking money from his Pakistani counterpart would have been the ultimate humiliation for an Indian Army officer – I mean how could he even make such an offer? With a lot of indignation, I thanked him politely but declined his offer and instead, decided to have a second encounter with the cash vending machine.
So I repeated the drill described earlier but the final outcome remained the same – WRONG PIN, PLEASE WITHDRAW CARD.

Iqbal again offered to lend me cash. His logic was irrefutable – I was not taking money from him either in Indian or in Pakistani Rupees but in a neutral currency – the Australian Dollar. There could be no international or diplomatic ramifications for this neutral exchange. But my proud Indian self would have nothing of his logic and decided to have a go at the machine a third time. 

This time the outcome was not only different it was also more cryptic – CARD RETAINED BY MACHINE, CONTACT YOUR BANKER. (Notice the missing “Please”?)
Furious after having to suffer the indignity and humiliation of having to take (albeit in neutral currency) cash from a Pakistani officer, I rang up my banker the next day and gave him the piece of mind for taking away my peace of mind. He sincerely apologized and asked me as to where should he arrange to deliver the required cash to me. I told him not to worry as I already had the ‘neutral’ currency from a ‘biased’ party. So he promised to keep a new card ready before I returned next week.

On my return and visit to the bank I was given a new card by the manager with instructions about where to find the four-digit PIN. It was then that I discovered that I had thrown away that part of the paper when my (now confiscated) card came by post to me in January and instead noted the postal PIN written somewhere in the covering letter.