Six Life Lessons for Aarya

The best way to recognise good friends

1. Good friends will never encourage you to do anything wrong. Watch out for a friend who offers you the first cigarette, or the one who asks you to tease a girl or spike her drink. 

2. True friends never instigate. They act. A friend who tells you something that upsets you and suggests that you take action on it should be the first one to be kicked to a side. A true friend would have taken action on your behalf and wouldn't have bothered to tell you. 

3. True friends never keep count. If someone starts reminding you of things done or purported favours, it's time to say goodbyes. 

4. Good friends do not mind calls at 2 am. They probably will abuse you when you do so but will always come to you at 2:30. 

5. True friends never crib or play blame games. They may get annoyed at times but are fine by the next day. 

6. Instead of finding good friends, be one. You will automatically be surrounded by good friends. 

The girl friend rules

1. Never spend money on girlfriends. Go Dutch. 

2. Never fight with a friend over a girl. Remember - Friend's sister & Sister's friends - are out of bounds!

3. Always protect her honour and dignity. Never disrespect her or let anyone do so. Never embarrass her in any way. Best to never reach a situation which would cause embarrassment - so avoid places, people and actions which have the propensity to result in something like this. However capable you are of handling the situation, the mere fact that a situation arose indicates failure. 

4. Everyone will treat her the way you do so. So, treat her the way you would want everyone to treat your girlfriend. 

5. Never force her for anything - sentimentally or otherwise. 

6. Remain a gentleman - always. Even in goodbyes when parting ways. Remember, the behaviour of others should not define yours.

The Rules of Marriage

1. Remember, it's more important to marry someone who loves you than someone you love. It's ideal if you get a combination of the two.

2. No amount of familiarity will prepare you for the reality. 

3. If you do want to see your future, see the parents of the girl. If the mother dominates the father, your would-be partner will dominate you in life. If the father is dominating, she will always be submissive. Try and find an ideal mix of the two.

4. Do not rush into marriage. It's a lifelong commitment - formal or not. 

5. Do not rush into Children unless your marriage is rock solid. Babies do not make a marriage stronger - they only prolong the agony - plus you end up ruining their lives. 

6. When there is no respect in marriage, it's time to end it. Try your best not to reach that stage. 

On the Diving Board .....

14 Aug 2020

Am at a cross road today when I want to venture into the unknown. There’s something that I’ve been doing for the last 25 years, something that’s almost become second nature, a part of me – even if I’ve hated every bit of it for the 9130 odd days that I’ve been at it. Never wanted to do this, but then life has its own way of spinning its web around you – trapping you below layers of security, family, obligations, fears, insecurities and the final topping of the absolute lack of confidence that your closest one have in you – the biggest resistance that I’ve faced while trying to break through this web, my closest ones. Surprisingly, it has never been an “I’m there for you” but always an “it’s not that easy”. Almost fringing on “you won’t be able to make it” instead of a “well face it together”….

So, come the second thoughts. The sentimental blackmail of time for children, lifestyle, household help, status & the worst – “you’re good at this”!

What if I’m better at something else? What if I am able to give my children a better future than what I can afford as on today? What if it’s finally a question of my happiness?

I read somewhere that you can never find out how deep the water is unless you take a plunge in it. So am the diving board now. Let’s find out how deep the water is. Question is are you on the sidelines, are you just waiting to watch the fun & give a “I told you so” or are you in the water training to save me in case I drown…. Time will tell. If nothing else, this’ll atleast tell me who I’m swimming with!

06 Nov 2021

Its been one year of intense studies. Am much more confident of my abilities and learnings. I often laugh at the interview I gave for ingram micro in September last year. Even I wouldn't have hired me then. Battling a new challenge now. The challenge of finding a job. You are either over qualified or lack industry experience. Many do not want to hire a veteran - say they have too much ego or are too old to learn. I wonder when and where will I strike the balance. There of course remains the weight of having shifted bag and baggage to the UK and having invested my lifes earnings into education. They say that good education never fails you. I hope it is true .... 

TIGERS OF THE PANTHER GOLF COURSE

It was a funny sight. The golfer was almost prostrated on the ground – the word to describe someone standing at 45 degrees angle escapes me – the ball almost a good three feet away from him. Having played to a decent level of golf myself, the sight was truly amusing.  As expected the swing missed the ball. However, other than me who suppressed his smile out of politeness, everyone else patiently waited for the second swing which struck gold! No flight but the ball rolled onto the green. Everyone cheered & appreciated the shot in a manner typical of golfers nudging each other on. Hands quivering, a smile played on the golfers lips as he trudged along. At 78 years of age and quivering hands, flightless shots or even missed swings were all eclipsed by the spirit.

This was definitely not golf at its best but the spirit of life at its zenith – the indomitable spirit of the super veterans at the Panther Golf Course at its best. And not that he was a one off exception! The course was teeming with many other such golfers, clearly outnumbering the younger golfers. Here was an example of enjoying life at the prime of their youth – psychologically if not physically! You couldn’t get younger & healthier at heart. Regular at the course, they’d come in car pools, some too old to drive but not too old to play. The coordination of the tee off time was probably the most important task of the day. Laughter rang out incessantly right from the first tee off! Jokes, wisecracks at the shots of fellow golfers & abundant appreciation of a shot hit well filled the green environs with a festive atmosphere. Their shots consistent – straight & steady!  

And here I was, completely floored by the way this lot was living life to its hilt at the golf course.  I was the focus of their amusement today.  On leave from my posting at Leh, I was caddying for my father – another veteran golfer. They found it very amusing to see a CO (commanding officer) sahib pulling a trolley on the course.  They’d all pull their own trolleys, some had caddies of their own & an occasional odd who couldn’t walk the course had his own golf cart. Father wasn’t too keen to let me pull the trolley. It was going to be difficult going back to pulling it on his own after this pampering but between this and the happiness or pride of having his son caddy for him, I think the happiness won. After all this was all about happiness.

The nine holes were full of anecdotes on battles fought, the places served in were described intricately & fights picked up with bosses were given a special place of pride. My occasional two bits at attempts to impress them were scoffed at and paled in comparison to their experiences. And their battles still continued – maybe more now than ever. Some were fighting Parkinson’s, some Vertigo, some Alzheimer’s, some had sacrificed their knees to posts climbed, actual battles fought, injuries in sports and general rigors of military life. Many were fighting loneliness – their children fighting their own battles in far away places. But the one thing common to all of them was that they were all giving everything negative a run for its money & living life to the fullest.

I wondered if I would be able to live this life when I was old. This generation on the greens belonged to an era when the army was considered a way of life and not a profession. All, without exception, had been through atleast one war. They knew the price of life and so knew how to live it. Their careers were built by their own styles, their own rules of engagement. They didn’t know how to butter up seniors. They were not careerists. They were life-ists!  They had donned the uniform & hung it at almost the same time. Army Welfare Housing initiatives had given them an opportunity to settle close to cantonments. My generation is not so “life” oriented – we’re a serious lot – out to make a killing in the rat race of life. We would never be able to live life the way they were.

It was then that I realized that this was the Golden Age of the Panther Golf Course (or Environmental Park and Training Area). The age and creed of golfers would never be repeated again – anywhere. I was fortunate to be a witness to this era, to learn the lessons of life from them – to get an opportunity to let their indomitable spirit rub off on me. Golf would continue but not these endangered Tigers at the Panther Golf Course, Amritsar. 

GOODBYES

Goodbyes are painful. Have never liked them. Over a period of time realized that different people have different ways of dealing with them. Some like to build a wall around themselves right before you’re about to leave – as if steeling themselves. Some like my wife cry – maybe it helps them lessen the grief of parting. Some like my brother are simply indifferent – its just an opportunity to give space (maybe enjoy some too) and get back rejuvenated. For me they’re slightly different – having understood the inevitability of them – I then start thinking why we met in the first place & when we’d meet again. But this write up is not about the types of goodbyes or which ones are better. This is about the goodbyes that shaped my life.

There was this one where I left home. I had faught with my mom. Penniless, I came back a few days later. The goodbye showed me my place in life – how much I mattered to those who mattered to me – what love or the lack of it was. It helped me loose expectations, surrender myself to fate or the inevitability of it & left me directionless in life. Have written about it in one of my posts.

Then there was one which never was. She just disappeared. In an era where letters were the only means of communication there wasn’t much one could do if someone would stop responding. I initially kept writing, hoping I’d get a reply. It never came. This one taught me that one could be a disposable commodity for someone, that the world didn’t revolve around me & that love didn’t always have a happy ending.

Another one was forced on me. A meeting that I was desperately looking forward to on a very special occasion was eclipsed by someone who drew a promise to break a heart. Sentimental blackmail! Don’t know how I could do it but between the secret meetings, the discussions on goals in life & stolen kisses, I bid goodbye. And I curse myself for what I did. It taught me that some people have to be shunned – that some people have to be given a no for an answer. It left me with a guilt for life, didn’t know whether to be happy for the occasion or whether to cry for my loss. Cried bitterly in the arms of my brother but could never speak about what had happened – he never asked – perhaps he understood that I would have broken down only if something had happened which was beyond repair. Some part of me was broken, some part stolen, some part went missing for life.

My work also gave me quite a few opportunities for goodbyes. Every time my son would ask when I would return I would think if my profession was worth it. Every time my daughter would cry I’d wonder even more. The long drawn loneliness which followed would often question if this was the life that I wanted.

However the goodbye that I remember the most was when I was perhaps in 5^th grade – 1987/88. I’d gone to meet my uncle in Dimapur. Spent quite a few days with uncle enjoying Nagaland, which at that point of time was a peaceful paradise – shopping baggy jeans (an “in” thing then), buying cassettes of Modern Talking, playing Tambola at parties and what not. And the person who made all this happen was my uncle. As the holiday grew to an end & we were about to leave, I jumped into the waiting army truck – eager to get home. I didn’t even hug or kiss my uncle goodbye – something that I immediately regretted and something that clung onto me for the rest of my life. He passed away a few days later.  I can never forget his face as I waved goodbye – smiling, understanding & happy at my happiness. How I wish I could have said goodbye properly. 

The Story So Far - Sairah

It was a chilly morning in end January when Diya & I sat in the porch of a guest room in Sukna (Siliguri). She was a whopping 78 kgs & you could now start to see the baby feet on her bump occasionally. As the morning fog started to clear, we sat remembering the journey that got us here.

Till about a year ago the doctors had ruled out having another baby. She suffered from acute thyroid & neurocysticercosis. While the thyroid wouldn’t let her conceive, the fits kept reminding us that the pregnancy wouldn’t sustain. Numerous second opinions, visits to Dargahs, Mandirs & Gurudwaras, special aahuti from shrines,water from lakes were undertaken & finally everything miraculously stabilised. The thyroid from being super high stabilised itself. The fits stopped. We couldn’t believe it & waited for a year before seeking a go ahead for a child.

The obstacles didn’t cease here. Being posted in Bagrakote (about one and a half hours from Siliguri) and with no doctor (forget hospital) around, monthly trips to the Hospital in Siliguri were preceded with ample prayers to both – God & the car, to help carry us through the broken road for an hours journey to the hospital & back. Through all this, He kept holding our hand & as an angel sent a boss who gave me a months leave to shift Diya to Siliguri for the ninth month.

So we sat, patiently biding our time. The pregnancy had progressed fine. The baby and mother were doing well. It was any day now said the doctor. The guest room was bliss – totally isolated. Next to a forest, we would only need to sit in the porch of the room (the only building there) and watch wild elephants pass by or see the wild boar family stutter around in the evening. It was perfect “us” time.

As we slept one night, I was woken at around 3:50 in the morning by Diya’s movements. I hoped as hell that everything was fine as I switched on the lights. There lay her trembling body in the throes of a neurocysticercosis attack. I watched helplessly as her body thrashed around. The doctor had warned us that a fit at this stage could be fatal for the baby. The bed was wet – could it be the water bag? Hundreds of scenarios of the worst possible nature rushed through my head. Suddenly the seizure attack stopped and I tried to rouse her. In a semi-conscious stage we managed to reach the car parked outside. I forewarned the doctor as I sped towards the hospital. Meanwhile the seizures started again. The short journey to the hospital was probably the longest I ever undertook.

As I pulled into the emergency entrance, I realised that the seizures had stopped, she was unconscious and the body had gone rigid. I screamed for the nurse & we struggled to get her out of the car. Meanwhile the doctor alongwith the surgeon had already started preparing for the operation.

Within a few minutes of her being wheeled in, I received a statutory form from the operation theater asking for consent to operate which read, “patient in comatose. Chances of survival minimal. Operation necessary to save baby.” As I signed, the thoroughly professional nurse asked me arrange for blood & apologised for “my loss”. “My Loss”?? Tears streamed out. This couldn’t be happening. A few hours ago we were laughing at the antics of the baby boar and the elephant rumbling by. Life couldn’t turn upside down so fast. God couldn’t take so many tests! If they were asking for blood, meant that chances of her survival though less, were still there! It was 4:40 and no one would attend my call. The battery started to dip. My frustration & helplessness didn’t help. Finally I got a call through to my angel – my boss who told me to pray – everything would be fine & to leave the rest to him. As I sat praying to Sai Baba & Guru Nanak, I got the confirmation from one regiment that some boys of the required blood group were on their way. In the meanwhile, another friend who would have seen the missed call, called back to check & promised help asap.

In a matter of minutes, a burly khalsa in uniform was running in the corridor towards me. I was shocked when I met him as he was the same driver who was driving Diya & me around 14 years ago in Leh trying to find a place of worship to get us married. Neither did he know that it was me who needed help. As we struggled with our astonishment, he rushed to the blood bank to donate blood – he was the same blood group as Diya.

The pediatrician meanwhile walked out with a small bundle nicely wrapped up. It was a girl & she was healthy as per the doctor. The doctor asked me if I’d thought of a name for the miracle baby & I said “Sairah” – split into Sai – rah (she who would walk on the path of Sai) for this wouldn’t have been possible without the divine intervention.

Before I could ask her about Diya, she rushed to place Sairah into the incubator in the Neonatal ICU. Meanwhile the gynecologist came out of the operation theater with a grim face. Three concurrent operations had been performed on Diya. The baby delivered, a blockage in her throat due to some liquid getting stuck there which caused her to stop breathing & lapse into coma had been cleared by the ENT specialist & her tongue which had been bitten during the seizures had been scraped & stitched up by the surgical specialist along with the ENT specialist. However, she was still in coma & nothing could be said as of now.

It was the 13^th of February. Today my son also turned 9!. Our daughter had been born on the same day as our son. As he came to the hospital, he innocently asked for his birthday cake & quietly asked me friends coming to his birthday next year would get different gifts for them or a combined gift. Since we couldn’t celebrate his birthday, I took him to the coffee shop nearby & made him cut a slice. Diya would have wanted him to be happy. Soon he left with his grandparents for our home in Bagrakote & I sat outside the ICU praying for her to revive. The next day, the matron asked about the baby & I realised that I hadn’t even seen her. I rushed to the ICU & held Sairah – my little Diya – our miracle baby – for the first time. For the next four to five days I would come every two hours to the Neonatal ICU, don the cape & slippers & with a bowl & spoon feed my darling & make her burp. Many a times I wouldn’t be able to control my tears as I held her & the nurses sobbing away wouldn’t help at all.

On 15^th February, as I stood next to Diyas bed, her hand gripped mine & she whispered “Happy Birthday” before losing consciousness again. We were thrilled! The doctors & staff upbeat. She gained full consciousness on 16^th. I distributed sweets throughout the hospital. Diya & the baby were united with each other on the 21^st – eight days after her birth! By the 27^th we were out of the hospital with our miracle baby – our gift from Sai Baba – our Sairah! A little sister with her elder brother!

The Wonder Years ......

As a kid Tripta aunty, as I would fondly call her (all the others were “ma’am”) introduced me to religion. She taught me the “Panj Pauris” & I grew up listening to stories of Guru Nanak, of faith & brotherhood, of how it was mandated that as a Sikh you were to stand up for the weak & downtrodden – which got me beaten up really bad once but that’s a different story. So I firmly believed that if would pray & talk to god with complete sincerity, he would listen to me & never disappoint me – which he never did.

I started the wonder years eclipsed by the pressures of being born in a middle class Indian family where you thought you were expected to match up to a genius elder brother (& you saw no logic in doing so). His fantastic performance needed to be supported by finances which were difficult to come by on a fauji salary. So mom taught in schools, dad toiled in fauj & I pondered on the sense in doing so well!

At some point of time, before I left the rat race & was still trying to match up to the benchmarks set by my brother, isolation, loneliness & desperation at not being able to adapt to the Indian education system of mugging up, got to me. It started with attempts at social recognition, of a sardar trying to blend in with Biharis – of trying to look cool. Very  soon it graduated to the usual experiments with beer, smoke, fights & brawls. I would desperately pray for someone with whom I could share my fears, apprehensions & aspirations – someone who could lead me away from all this. My brother was too far away. Parents were desperately trying to support his education & balance it out with building a house while in a fauji environment. The experiments with Dads plastic bottle of Peter Scot or cigerettes or attempts at slashing my wrists didnt help. With no one to share myself with, I turned to God & would desperately pray for someone with whom I could talk, laugh, love, be myself without fears of prejudice or judgements.

Thankfully, he listened to my prayers & sent a lovely girl in my life – Sona, my first love (the story in my blog above). Life was bliss! Self motivated & willing to take life head-on, I toiled away trying to balance out the by now warped, contorted heady mix of books, babe & bhaigiri! Everything was still in fine balance till one day she left me. No explanations, no good byes, no reasons. She just left. It had by then become long distance love – perhaps too difficult for her to handle. I realised that day what pain was. No physical hurt could compare to this.

The fear of getting dumped took hold so strongly that as a teenager, I could never commit to a girl for fear of going through the pain again. Did meet a lovely, smart & intelligent girl then - Pam. We’d meet up in DSOI Dhaulakuan, sit on the diving board of the pool holding hands and chat. However, when the relation started to get mushy & serious, I bailed out. Couldn’t risk going through the pain again. Kept in touch for years after that. We’d often share notes on our kids & parenthood. Maybe someday we will sit together & laugh about those days while watching our grandchildren play.

Meanwhile, the dismal academic performance in school didnt help. My long hair would constantly bother me with truck loads of dandruff on my scalp acompanied by itchiness. Dad would help out by shearing off some hair from the middle so that I could still tie them in a bun on my head. One day as it was at its irritating peak & Dad was out of station, i thought I’d shear them myself. Couldn’t dream of asking my mom to help out – she would not just baulk at it but beat the hell out of me. Never realised when I’d cut them too short in my attempt to don the role of a barber. All hell broke loose when I got out of the washroom. I got the beating of my life. Between my sobs I asked my mother if she loved me or my hair. I don’t think that helped too much because she asked me to get out of the house. By now I was so hurt that i walked to the neighbourhood barber & got my head shaved. When I came back home, another thrashing followed & i was asked to leave the house. With seven rupees in my pocket, I left home. Took a bus ride to the railway station, bought a platform ticket & sat and cried on the platform till I saw Dadar Amritsar Mail standing on my platform. Having grown up for many years in Bombay, I boarded the train as it left Delhi. Whatever money I had, had already been spent on the bus ticket & the platform ticket. Penniless, I started the journey hiding in the toilet of the general compartment, under the seats and travelling between bogeys. By the second day I was starved. Had been surviving on water for the last almost two days. The core of the apple eaten by a co-passenger was yelling at me to pick it up. It looked so juicy & delicious. There was so much of it still that could be eaten. I realised that day what hunger was.

Never got a chance to pick up that apple core because the Ticket Examiner caught me before that. The next half an hour was spent in begging him to let me go. I dont know what impressed him but he took pity on me & left me. I realised that day what helplessness was – what begging was.

The rest of the journey was eventless. Three days without food led me to think of God & why I was going through what I was. Was keeping hair so important to God? He carried me through, loved me & made sure I got back home. Friends acted as messengers who guided me well all through. A nice thrashing was again in store when I got back – this time it was Dads turn. The stash of mens magazines (some of which were dads) hidden in my cupboard added fuel to fire. I guess, they gave up on me doing anything meaningful with my life thereafter.

By now bhai was settled in whatever he wanted to do – pursuing an MBA at IIM Ahmedabad, life was set for him. And here I was – pursuing a B Com in Khalsa College, Amritsar – a cultural shock from the open society of The Army Public School, Dhaulakuan. God helped here too & sent me a friend, Nike, who’d help keep my sanity alive in a place where I was considered an exotic alien specimen. We’d watch movies together, explore eating joints & go for rides on her moped. I never realised when the relationship took a serious turn for her.

Meanwhile relatives also helped out. Would spend hours discussing life with Munna. She’d cry about her problems & me about mine. She introduced me to blind faith. I saw her struggle with her apprehensions, cry her heart out but never let herself stray from the path of righteousness. Her faith in God was unwavering. She’d religiously go to the Golden Temple & pray. I woud often accompany her & it was here itself that she later met her life partner. She never let the doubts of her own parents  about our relationship – funnily, conveyed to mine, affect her or us. She taught me to stand by my beliefs & convictions & not let anything in the world affect me. Maybe my turn towards religion & faith saw me through this phase & I cleared my National Defence Academy written exam & the interview.

By now Nike wanted  a serious & immediate commitment which was virtually impossible with a four year training ahead of me. We parted ways only to meet years later. I guess life has a predefined path chalked out for us all. She’s doing fantastically well with two angels & a wonderful husband. We often catch up on life.

The news of my clearing NDA was perhaps when I saw Dad the happiest. We went shopping for bathing robes, trunks & other items for my training on his Bajaj Chetak. He& his friends even taught me front rolling on the drawing room carpet – I didn’t know whether to feel shocked at what was in store in the training or happy at how happy he was. Could never gather the courage to tell him that this was the last thing that I wanted to do in life. Inspite of the gruelling schedule, physical abuse & mental torture that followed for the next four years, I never had the courage to take a stand & say that this is not what I wanted to do. When I did do so at one point of time, the cost of training was so prohibitively high that even though Dad was willing to stand by me, I couldn’t bear the thought of making him go through it all.

Meanwhile I met the one girl that I really really wanted to spend the rest of my life with. However, perhaps because of the hearts that I’d broken, God decided it was payback time. Her sister gave me a sob story of how I was ruining her life. How, instead of helping her, I was styming her growth & potential. Finally I gave her a word that I would step away from her so that she could grow & achieve whatever she wanted in life. Perhaps my pain was recognised by God who made me bump into my furture wife soon who stood by me in hail & storm. The journey so far would have been miserable had it not been for her. Would have probably quit ages ago had it not been for her.

Twenty one years of my life – my prime youth, my best years went doing what I never wanted to do and there are still three more to go..... These were the best days of my life – my wonder years!

Experience

Someone asked me about experience. Wanted to try out something but the typical judgemental Indian nature wanted to pass the decision on my fate without even letting me have a go at it...
So what experience did I have??
Actually nothing .... Nothing that I'd ever experienced would be of use to me in whatever I wanted to try.
I couldn't justify that pulling dead bodies would prepare me better for pulling sacks of potatoes or food.
Digging trenches could never be of any use unless I was planning to make a living out of shoveling snow off the sidewalk.
Firing a gun would never be of any use because I couldn't hold one without firing it & the CIA wasn't too warm to recruiting me.
I really don't know if setting uniforms immaculately or spit shining shoes would be a job option at all.
I was useless - no useable experience at all. Written off for life!!!
But there was one thing I had - lessons from life ....
When I first killed someone - I learnt nothing was permanent in life. Your best plans could be laid waste by the movement of one finger.
When I ran through a hail of bullets & survived to brag about it but saw a fellow soldier die from a road accident in my arms, I learnt that you couldn't fight fate.
When I jumped without knowing what lay beneath, I learnt that if you don't jump you'll never know how easy it was.
Life taught me a new lesson at every step... Whether it was the resilience of my body, mind or spirit. It pitted me in all kinds of places from Siachen - the highest battlefield in the world to the dunes of the Thar desert. It made me serve under the widest spectrum of bosses each with a spectacular set of idiosyncrasies - very different from the others. It taught me to write articles, reports & assess as well as run behind terrorists & kill, if necessary.
.
.
And here was this guy, who himself never had the guts to take the plunge himself & advertised the ribbed & dotted condom line of "Play Safe"... , passing judgements on what I had not even tried so far ....
Let me try atleast?? Give me a chance - one go at it?
Fate has kept the chance at bay once again .... I presume, for my good! But give up - I will not! I may be down but I'm not out... For the one thing that stuck on from years in olive was the fight in me. I may have lost this battle but the war is yet to be won & win I will !!!!

20 POINT AIR INDIA/ KINGFISHER REVIVAL PLAN

1.            Before take off/ in flt upgrades at nominal but effective cost.

2.            Last minute fares for normal class travel  –  like the tatkal service – start 5 – 6 hrs before the take off – avlb only online – no manual scope for hera-pheri.

3.            Downsize – shift manpower from flts to ground staff – especially into customer care.

4.            Reduce ground crew – make them effective, available & helpful.

5.            Prune down food on aircraft – too much in excess, too elaborate & not palatable for a normal person. Make food suit the sector of travel. Outsource it to local caterers in the port of embarkation. Ask crew/ mandate checks for actual consumption/ feedbacks.

6.            Take feedback from passengers. Incorporate prizes for effective feedbacks. Publicise.

7.            In flt entertainment – pay per view games/ movies. X Box consoles on hire basis in flight.

8.            Wi-fi on flts.

9.            Lucky draw/ gift tie ups. Tie up with portals like AHA/ Fashion.com etc.

10.          Publicise in flt sales – give a cut to flt crew for sales.

11.          Quantize performance – reduce/ restrict pay but include allces based on performance, sect, number of flts, number of complaints.

12.          Reach out to the public – advertise and ask for their participation.

13.          Care per person               -              introduce concept of amount of hospitality being showered on a passenger.

14.          Go social – Facebook/ Twitter/ Orkut.

15.          Better ground services – lounges/ ground support staff/ baggage staff.

16.          Improve baggage handling – introduce personalized baggage transfers post flight.

17.          Tie up with railways & cty cabs for end to end transportation.

18.          Tie up with hotels for destination accommodation.

19.          Introduce courier service through flights.

20.          Hire me as a consultant!!!!

THE NIGHT

(This post is a pure piece of fiction. Any resemblance to any person - living or dead , is purely co-incidential and absolutely unintentional.)

 

 

 

      Naam – the reputation of your paltan (Regiment) is a strange thing. There are recorded instances when the “naam” of a paltan has been upheld right up to the last man alive- in situations where it was known that victory was impossible. It has been carried forward by generations in other cases – hanging onto a single torn piece of cloth – the last remaining evidence of the valour and bravery of their fathers and forefathers. Even though 90% of the population of the country would never even know that such a paltan existed but 400 odd trained and motivated men would willingly lay down their lives for the sake of the “naam” of their paltan and at times – take a life too!

The Night

      It was a cold dark night somewhere in Punjab. The phone call had been frantic. There was a tinge of panic in the voice of the Tiger as he asked Akshay to come to the base of Alpha company. Two terrorists had been picked up in a covert operation carried out by Alpha company and in the not-so-humane questioning that had followed, one of them had lost consciousness. Akshay wondered what could have gone wrong as his 4x4 rumbled along the broken path leading to Alpha company. He firmly believed that the only good terrorist was a dead terrorist. He wondered if the Tiger wanted these two to be “taken care of” and whether he would be asked to do so. Somehow, he had always avoided getting into such situations in the past – it seemed demeaning to kill a captured terrorist. The only way to fight or kill was after giving him a fair chance to fight back. As his vehicle pulled into the base he was met by Ranjit – the commander of Alpha company. Perspiration showed on his forehead even though it was a cold night. No words were exchanged as Akshay walked up to the room where the body of the unconscious man lay. He opened the closed eyes of the man and flashed his torch onto the pupils – the eyes were visibly dilated. There was an apology of a pulse on his wrist. A jawan held a thin plastic pipe inserted into the nostrils of the man trying to get oxygen inside.

      “I didn’t do anything” murmured Ranjit as he and Akshay walked out of the room. Jamwal, the youngster who had just got commissioned into the paltan a few weeks ago had been conducting the interrogation of the now-not-so-conscious man. He stood next to the body trying desperately to work a miracle and blow life into the body – sometimes pumping his chest and sometimes trying CPR. Fear danced in his eyes mimicking the flickering flame of the kerosene bottle which lit the room. He had just been exonerated in a case in which an innocent had been shot after mistaking him to be a militant. And now this man lay in front of him – his life ebbing away. Akshay bumped into Rohit as he walked out. “He’s gone”, was all he whispered as Rohit refused to enter the room.

      The Tiger reached the location within a few minutes along with Purohit – his staff officer. No pleasantries were exchanged as he walked into the room. As he checked the pulse of the man, it stopped altogether – as if the man had been waiting for him to come and die in his arms. Panic ensued – six men commissioned by the President of India to be officers of the Indian Army tried frantically to become a mix of Doogie Howser and Mother Teresa - unsuccessfully.

      It had been half an hour since the incident – half an hour of deafening silence as the five sat together in a state of total loss of words. “So what should we do now?” asked the Tiger, something very unusual from a man who was accustomed to dictating what he wanted others to do. Akshay spoke up first, “Sir, it’s out of question that we declare what has happened – especially after the incident where Jamwal shot the civilian. No one will accept blood on our hands again and so soon at that”. Silence followed as everyone pondered over what had been said. Ranjit asked if an encounter could be faked to turn the deaths into acceptable killings of militants. The silence that followed was shattered by Rohit’s merry ringtone. It was the DSP asking him if he had apprehended two workers of the youth wing of a political party. Elections were a week away and there was a lot of political pressure on him to find the missing men. Rohit refused. Atleast the identity of the two was confirmed now.

      Tears welled in Ranjit’s eyes as the helplessness of the situation dawned upon him. He was responsible for the incident and as if the Tiger had just intercepted his thoughts, he launched into a tirade of “I-told-you” at Ranjit. His ravings continued till he ran out of breath. Suddenly age showed on his face. Somehow, even in the dim light of the candle and the situation which existed, Akshay could see the resignation and despair on the once radiant and cheerful face that he would see at the golf course a few years ago. Responsibility and the pressure of leading such a team in operations could really weather a man within a year. He was jolted awake as the Tiger called out his name for the second time. “So what do you think should we do?” asked the Tiger. “Sir there are only two things – one, that we declare what has happened and be prepared for the consequences which will follow and the second, to kill the other person too and dispose off their bodies”. He was amazed at the ease with which these words came out of his mouth. Was he actually suggesting that they murder the second man too? “Help us to choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong…”, the lines were ringing in his ears. He had recited them atleast a million times during the three years of training at NDA. His thoughts were cut by an “I agree with the second option” from Ranjit which was echoed by four others in the room. The six had just sentenced a human to death. No trial, no tribunal, no judge, no courtroom. Swift sentencing........ Or was it cold blooded murder!

      Declaring this incident would not only mean that the Tiger, Ranjit and Jamwal would be sealed as far as their career was concerned – to say the least. But it also meant disrepute for the paltan which had performed outstandingly in all operations prior to this. It had earned various commendations and was considered one of the best so far. Officers vied for taking over its command and others considered themselves lucky to be posted in it for regimental duties. Not only would all this be wiped off, but the present team would be remembered for ages to come for having been the lot to bring about its downfall. This incident and some others which would invariably come to light would make case studies which would be debated and discussed at training institutions and various fora across the services. The hardwork, dedication and patriotism of men who had given the best years of their life in service to their nation would be annulled and disreputed. The officers sat around huddled as all this and much more started to sink in - till each of them was convinced that this was the only option left.

      “The only difference”, thought Akshay, “was that after what they would do now, not only the ones responsible  for what had happened but all the others would also be guilty of what had transpired - to be jailed - not just dismissed from service, if caught”.

      The officers had left. The boss had left Akshay behind to oversee that everything was executed as planned. Ranjit had chosen his best men and they had been explained briefly by the Tiger on what was to be done after which the Tiger had also left. The second arms peddler was taken to a separate room and made to drink liquor till he passed out……and then stifled to death.

      The two bodies were stripped naked and covered with salt to help them decompose faster, thrown into a pit meant to be their grave and their belongings burnt.

      In the days to come, sleep became a prized commodity. Akshay stopped taking a bed sheet on his body when he’d sleep at night. It reminded him of the salt covered naked bodies in the pit. He could sleep in a pitch dark room - the darkness threatened to engulf him. He would think of the parents of the two whose only sons would never return home. He too had only one son and they had been told by the doctor that they may never be able to have another one due to a medical condition of his wife.

      It was six in the morning as Ranjit’s phone rang. His wife had slipped and fallen. She’d been rushed to the hospital and he’d been asked to come as soon as possible. As Ranjit boarded the plane, Rohit's phone rang. A dog had badly mauled him - his face would require reconstructive plastic surgery. Hundreds of kilometers away, the three year old son of Akshay ran to the bathroom to play with water. He loved the bubbles in the bath. His mother was on the phone talking to Akshay when they heard a thud in the bathroom. An ever increasing pool of blood covered the bathroom floor.

       Five years down the line, Jamwal’s received a call from his wife. He’d just finished a gruelling session of badminton and was going for a swim to the pool. His wife wanted some milk powder for their new born. He rushed to the pool to finish his swimming routine before going to the market. A few lengths of the pool tired him out completely - enough to ensure a sound sleep.

       Sometime later, as the cleaners started to switch off the lights of the  swimming pool, a body floated up. There was no pulse as they frantically tried to revive the drowned person. An officer had lost his life - their job was on the line of fire. Meanwhile, somebody’s revenge was complete ...... 

OPERATIONS

(The Operations mentioned below are ones in which the author has participated himself and are true and actual incidents. Some of the narratives may be a little too gross and are not meant for the weak hearted. Reader discretion is advised.)

OPERATION MULE TRAIN

My first experience on a post was a little too much for any sane human. But then neither were we sane nor human. If the tinned food, being restricted to the three bunkers for three months, lack of space to move around, no bath for 3 months or the same old constipated faces to see were not enough, lack of professionalism in people who were at places which mattered added insult to injury. As a young gun – raring to go and prove my mettle, it was all a little too much to digest. There existed a silent cease fire based on mutual understanding between the Pakistani battalion and the one in which I was based. This perhaps because of the funny deployment on ground. The top of the hill had both – a Pakistani post and an Indian. On the slope that came down was a Paki post and then an Indian (mine) and at the foothill were both the sides again. Every night the sentries would exchange the profoundest profanities possible. Sometime when they’d get along they’d exchange notes on Benazir Bhutto and Sonia Gandhi (which I better not delve into).

All along I’d heard my course mates brag about how much action they’d seen while on the post and how both the sides would carry out operations against the other – with weapons and severed heads as trophies to bring back. And here I was listening to the sentries gossip about Benazir and Sonia at night. Before the helplessness could get the better of me, I decided to take things into my own hands. One night I quietly rolled down a large stone on the Paki post below. As it rumbled down, the Pakis didn’t know what hit them – perhaps it was a landslide or perhaps the Indians sneaking in for a raid. The whole outpost was on its toes. We witnessed mini Diwali. They fired every possible illuminating device they had and were up the whole night while I smiled to sleep. This continued for the next couple of nights and became a joke on my post. Anyone feeling bored would simply roll down a stone and everyone would gather to see the fun below. We would just love to see them run around and man all stations the whole night. Now one night the Paki post above us observed what was happening and decided to give it back to us in the same coin. We would get rations and drinking water in cans mounted on mules which would come from down below. As the mule train wound up one day, the Pakis were waiting with guess what? Stones! The poor mules bought it and one fell into a nullah below. Not willing to accept the casuality of a mule, the Infantry battalion finally decided that they had had enough. An eye for an eye, blood for blood and a mule for a mule. But the only Paki mule that we could target couldn’t have been hit even if the Olympic champ threw a stone. The next best thing was a bullet. The planning and co-ordination that went into Operation Mule was phenomenal! Every post was asked to be prepared to target the next Paki mule train. Posts were stocked with rations and water. Movement was restricted. Weapons were cleaned and ammunition readied. Imagine the surprise of the Paki porters the next day when the whole battalion opened up with every weapon held on the mule train. The firing continued till late at night. Tracers shot across and bombs rained. Thankfully there were no casualties – neither of the men nor of the mules. But the lesson was learnt, the thirst for action quenched and peace restored. Like good soldiers we reported back – 478 rounds fired, 2 mules shot.

OPERATION TREE TRACKS

The General was coming for a visit and the Officers Mess we had just taken over was in a ‘mess’. Trees (actual full grown “trees”) were planted overnight, walls painted and a 5 star guest room set up according to the likes and dislikes of the Brigadier and his wife. She even supervised cutting of the tufts of grass in the lawn – we finally had to do it with scissors – it was too fine to be done with the lawn mower (I never paid so much attention to trimming my beard – well, then that’s how the Army teaches you to keep an eye for detail). However, there was a small thing that we overlooked – a crack in the wall right in front of the entrance. It had to be covered at any cost. Since there was just one night left and no time to inspect things later – the task was left to the Commanding Officer who delegated it to the Adjutant. To cut things short – it finally found its way to the junior most youngster in the unit. Displaying “out-of-the-box” thinking at its best, he decided to cover it with a creeper. Men worked at it the whole night – right from a stem coming out of a pot, to leaves on the wall (stuck with stick tape) which covered it just appropriately. The finished product would have put even the best of Bonsai artists to shame. The whole thing went off very well and the General was very impressed with everything. While leaving he just had one thing to say to the Commanding Officer – he also wanted a sapling of the Mango tree which grew like a creeper on the wall – for his own house.

OPERATION MC DONALDS

He loved them more than he loved us. Us? We were scum for him – he probably loved them more than he loved his own children. He had been looking after them right since the unit was in Punjab. These were the Commanding Officer’s GEESE. When the unit was to move from Punjab to Assam, we dreaded undergoing the pain of looking after them in the train and then in the new location – in the heart of insurgency infested Assam. All our efforts to explain the risk of infections enroute and bird flu in Assam went in vain. The message went out loud and clear – heads would roll even if one of them died.

Every morning the Commanding Officer would walk to the “play area” for the geese and feed them their breakfast. He just loved it when they would come cackling to gobble up their food and even made it a point to take all visitors to see their display of affection. And god forbid, if the birds decided to sleep a little longer or were not feeling hungry, all hell would break loose. Anyone coming across the Boss that day would get a mouthful. The word would soon be out that the geese had not eaten and people would not step out their offices. There had to be a way around this. Operation Mc Donald was conceived and launched. A dedicated sentry was detailed for the geese. His only job was to make sure that they were up and running in the morning much before the Boss came for his customary visit (even if it meant that he ran after them with a stick to get them up and kicking). The birds were not given any food from evening onwards so that they were at their hungriest best when the Boss came in the morning. A small pool was constructed so that he could watch them frolic and play in the water.

Then one day as I entered the headquarters, I found a person distributing sweets. One of the geese has laid eggs. Things were at their happiest zenith – that is till the day, she decided that she’d had enough of sitting on the eggs while the others played in the pool and joined them. Grief descended on the whole place. Now there would be no “babies”. Besides catching terrorists, I was tasked to “manage” the eggs to be hatched somehow. Like a good soldier, I found the solution – a commercial hatchery which hatched hundreds of eggs. We co-ordinated all aspects, the eggs were kept in a special container and sent in a jeep (to ensure minimum bumps). In the meantime the Boss went on leave. Every evening, he’d call and check about the eggs. Everything was going fine till one day there was a power breakdown. The “egg hatching machine” got switched off and in an instant – all the eggs were ruined. Besides our eggs the poor guy lost some 500 odd other eggs too. But who gave a damn about the others.

There had to be a way out. An operation was launched in the whole area. As many as 5 teams were out scouting for – no, not terrorists, but geese who had just laid eggs or had chicks which were new born. We finally located one farmer and persuaded him to rent out the chicks (he just wouldn’t agree to sell them). The chicks were introduced into the group and were soon accepted (after a few initial hiccups and a little coaxing). Imagine our relief and the Boss’s joy when he came back and saw the chicks. They carried us through for the next three months till our Boss got posted out and then were dutifully returned. As for the geese – you should try it sometime – as tasty as duck!

(more to come ............ )

101 Reasons (that women use) for Refusal in Bed ........

1.   Headache  .... the most common one.
2.   Its "that" time of the month.
3.   Its too cold.
4.   Now its too hot.
5.   My mom is not well and all that you can think of is this!
6.   Atleast sometimes connect on a spiritual level.
7.   Please brush !
8.   I haven't brushed ... and I am too sleepy to do it now.
9.   My toe nail broke... :o(
10.  I'm too sleepy.
11.  I've had a very long day.
12.  I burnt the food ... Its ok love .. Ok, then will you do the dishes before this?
13.  I am too tired but you can rape me if you want.
14.  Can't you wax all those hair?
15.  I think we should have a baby.
16.  Please hurry up and get over with it - I have a long day ahead.
17.  I think I heard our son cry.
18.  He has to sleep with us tonight - can't you see how scared he is?
19.  He has to sleep between us - he'll feel more secure.
20.  I haven't waxed ... It's ok - I like hair. You pevert - don't even come close to me!
21.  I'm having a tooth ache.
22.  My stomach is upset.
23.  First say that you love my mom.
24.  Tomorrow - promise!
25.  When we go on a holiday.
26.  (When you are on a holiday) All that you can think of is this - atleast lets enjoy this place.
27.  Who was that girl you were talking to? Go to her only! (when the whole world would've gone to sleep).
28.  Don't you dare touch me! But what did I do? Don't ask me - ask yourself!
29.  Your feet are stinking!! (And by the time you wash them and come back - she's in dreamland).
30.  Didn't you have a bath? Eeeuuggghhhh !
31.  This hair cut of yours really puts me off (now where do i find a barber at this hour).
32.  (no words - just a slap on your hand / face)!
33.  (no words - she justs yawns while you are at it)!
34.  (no words - she starts looking for her glasses or searches for something to eat or starts to send a sms)!
35.  My periods last three days before and three days after too ...
36.  Did you know that the female mantis rips off the male mantis's head before doing it?
37.  I'll bobbitise you if you touch me!
38.  Theres a lizard on the wall ... and I think its looking straight at me!
39.  Theres a mouse in the room !!
40.  My back aches.
41.  This bed creaks.
42.  I think your mom and dad in the next room can hear us!
43.  First say you love me ... I love you .. No, but how much do you love me? How long have you loved me? Will you love me forever? Will ... ? How ...? What..? Where..? When ..? zzzzzzzzzzzzzz......
44.  I'm loosing so much hair .....
45.  Can you rub some balm on my forehead .... and then you can never get it off your fingers!
46.  Grow up! (thank god for small mercies - she said UP and not Long!)
47.  Can't you shave off your moustache? (and look like Mohammad Yousuf?)
48.  I think your rubber just caused an allergic reaction! (so what if you've used the same brand for years!)
49.  I need to get up early.
50.  Why does your mom have to be so bitchy? (such conv can come anytime - either before starting or in the middle of it)
51.  I need to go to the loo ...
52.  Can I catch up on the news also?
53.  I'm sore!
54.  We just did it last month and you want it again?
55.  (She burps just as you're about to kiss!)
56.  First arrange your shoes and socks, clean your almirah, put those dirty undies in the washing machine, clean your comb, throw the garbage out ,....... (the list is endless).
57.  I am not opening my clothes - do it like this only!
58.  Use a magazine or a CD!
59.  Wow! Your breasts are getting bigger than mine... (maybe we can shop lingerie together).
60.  Is this normal? (and we are NOT refering to size - are we?)
61.  I think I have fever.
62.  I think I caught an infection (UTI ???) when we visited your relatives last week.
63.  I think you have an infection. Get yourself checked and get a medical report. Come to think of it - where were you yesterday?
64.  Today is Tuesday ...
65.  Today is my San#@&$| mata's upvaas or jagraata....
66.  The navratra's are on ... or worse - I've taken a celibacy vow for three months for your long life!
67.  Just as you are about to start - I've got a cramp!
68.  Today is Amavasya (New Moon) ..!
69.  Swamiji said that abstinence takes you to a higher spiritual level. (Don't they have an Osho Communique close by).
70.  As soon as you start, she closes her eyes and starts chanting  "Jai hanuman gyan gun sagar..." (or some thing else)!
71.  Please wear 2 rubbers! I am not taking chances.
72.  We'll do it only after you get a vasectomy done!
73.  I think our dog is scratching at the door!
74.  The bell rings and its your favourite neighbour asking for sugar!
75.  After all this, when she agrees - your mom walks in! Now you need a new house for privacy !
76.  Listen ... why did (your) mother say this? If you persist ... You never want to talk to me - all that you are interested in is this!
77.  I don't like this cologne you're wearing ... take it off! (What? Am I supposed to take a bath now?)
78.  Practise some more ... (even after all these years of doing just that?)
79.  I think there is someone outside the window .... No, no, so what if you've checked? I'm not in that frame of mind now!
80.  How can you watch all this?? (you're sick & need professional help!)
81.  I'm just not in a mood right now!  ....  (...after two minutes ..... What about now?)
82.  I've got mehndi (henna) and egg in my hair.
83.  I think I've got an infection in my tooth / throat / lungs / wherever!
84.  My breasts hurt ... Do you think I have cancer?  (and then she doesn't even allow you to check up ..!)
85.  (If you're on a holiday and its a religious place - actually she'll find a temple everywhere - religious or not) .... Here also? Have some shame!!
86.  Is that how you do it? (You mean to say you do it in some other way? When? With whom? ... Oh God!!)
87.  I think I'm going to be down!  (and the feeling stays for a week before she actually is).
88.  I think I just lost my ring / ear ring / nose ring / toe ring !
89.  Why is Mrs So-and-So so friendly with you? I don't know. So why did you have to be so pal-ly with her? Now go to her only!
90.  Your teeth are hurting!! (wish i had dentures - I'd take 'em off instantly!!)
91.  What did you have to drink?  Eeaauuggghhh!!   (and I thought beer smelled nice ...)
92.  I'm not "comfortable" .
93.  If you're too fast - Idiot!  If you wait - Do it on your own now!
94.  I'm too ticklish! Just don't touch me while doing it!
95.  How cute! Is it up?
96.  Can't we just hold hands?
97.  If we have sex, will you leave me alone?
98.  Ohhh Abhishek (Bachchan??)! ....... (and YOUR name is Arjun).
99.  Damn ... WHERE is it???
100.  WHAT HAPPENED TO THIS!!!! 
101.  Is it in ...?




COMING UP NEXT : 101 Ways to get around these !!!

Disclaimer : The post is meant to put a smile on your face .... It is not a representation of any individual or survey. Please read, smile and move on ... 

The Story So Far

It was four in the evening and the flight had already been delayed for two hours when the airlines announced its cancellation. Diya rang up home to inform her parents that she wouldn’t be able to make it to Krish’s wedding. Krish and she had grown up together; their parents had worked in the same organisation for years and shared a close relationship. As it is she wondered what had gone wrong with her friend to have fallen in love with a sardar and that too one who had a proper beard and moustache. Eek! How could someone love a person with a moustache and that too a sardar!! She herself was about to get engaged with a friend. He was smart, caring and they’d been together since college. That was all that mattered – this thing about love was a little beyond comprehension. As she disconnected the call and started to walk towards the exit, the airlines announced that the flight would finally take off but after another short delay. She wondered if going to Chennai after such a long wait at the airport would be worth the effort and finally gave in and walked towards the check in counter.

Krish gave her a quick run down about the whole affair as they got ready for the dinner. She definitely was in love – and that too with a sardar! When Diya finally met Karan - the groom, he seemed to be a nice and warm person. Atleast Krish was happy and that was all that mattered. He introduced his family through the crowd and pointed out his parents and brother to her. Even though she couldn’t make out half of them because of the crowd and the din of the loud music, she pretended as if she’d seen them all. They all would be sardars - bearded and turbaned. As Krish pointed out Arjun, her brother-in-law, she expected the young boy in “Kuchh Kuchh Hota Hai” – counting stars at night, to come running! Sardar kids were always so cute – she wondered what happened to them once they grew up – how could a butterfly change into a hairy caterpillar instead of it being the other way around. Anyways, she could not see any small kid but only the helm of an off white Jodhpur jacket. Her head moved back as she craned her neck up to see a tall, smart and handsome man with neatly cropped hair. Her heart skipped a beat.

Our eyes met through the dancing petals as they slowly bowed to the magic of the moment gracefully gliding onto the floor as my brother, Karan, and his (now) wife, Krish, completed the last few rites of their marriage. Was she really looking at me or was I just imagining things? Even Nimoji, my only friend in the wedding seemed to think that she was and smiled glancing knowingly towards her. I didn’t even know her name and was leaving the next day - had to go back to my unit which was in the Siachen Glacier. Just as I started moving towards her, father called and I lost her in the crowd. Why did these things happen to me only?

It was night and the reception in honour of the newly weds had started. My eyes searched for her but she was nowhere to be seen and as if to add to my woes, I’d been asked to run a dozen errands. Most of the guests had left by the time I’d finished the last one and got back. Dejected I walked straight to the food counter to have dinner. And there she was – as beautiful as ever - sitting right next to the dinner counter talking to Prithvi. Talking to Prithvi!! What was he doing talking to her? This couldn’t be happening! As if God was right there listening to me, Prithvi left to get some water. I walked over and introduced myself – “Hi! I’m Arjun. Karan’s brother”. Oh God! Why did they have to make a movie by this name ... this sounded so clichéd! “Hi! I’m Captain Arjun”. “Captain? Captain of what?”. Now this was an unusual one. “Captain of what? Captain in the Indian Army”. “And I am Lady Diana”, she replied. Now we were getting somewhere. That was a nice name except that it sounded very familiar. I’ll figure that out later, I thought and asked her if she’d like to join me for dinner. Join me for dinner! Now what in the world could have made me say that. This was not going anywhere nice. Why would she want to join me for dinner? And as if she’d read my thoughts, she told me that she’d already had her dinner. “Then would you like to give me company while I have mine?” Now I was convinced that I’d been taken over by some evil spirit which did not want me to get to know her. Why would she want to watch me eat? “And why do you think would I want to watch you eat?” Oh God! She could read my thoughts too! For once I was relieved when Prithvi walked in and asked her for a dance. That atleast stopped me from making more of these faux pas. The only good thing about the whole evening was that she came to say goodbye to me after about half an hour - the half an hour that I spent eating the tastiest worst meal of my life. Why couldn’t I have asked her for a dance? Where did the dinner come in from? I’d spent only five minutes with her – five minutes in which I made a complete fool of myself. Couldn’t you somehow rewind time and let me ask her for a dance?

My sister-in-law refused to give her contact details to me. All that I got to know was her name – Diya. On the day I was to catch my flight to Leh, Krish, very magnanimously, gave me her email ID. I somehow managed to get myself manifested in the next day’s flight and ran to the nearest cyber cafe. After waiting for about two hours outside the cafe and checking my mail inbox atleast a dozen times I got a reply from her. What followed was the movie “you’ve got m@il” truncated into an hour. I finally got her number and spoke to her. We laughed about the dinner and she confided how she’d enjoyed pulling my leg. The next morning I caught my flight to Leh.

Siachen had no means of communications – at least not with the “normal” world. After a couple of weeks of absolute misery, God answered my prayers and sent an Enmarsat (a satellite phone). So what if it was seven odd kilometres from my base. I’d walk down or take a ride to reach that place and hang around till night so that I could get to talk to her for longer durations after all the others who wanted to make calls had left. One night my immediate boss in that location enquired about our relationship and wanted to know what was between us. Not convinced with my reply that we were only friends, he decided to call her up and find out for himself. It was one in the night when he got through to her number. I don’t know if it was the sleep or the irritation of being called at one in the night by someone who she didn’t even know, but she said that she loved me. I was too happy for words and the silence that followed was broken by a simple, questioning and expectant “Well?”. Well? Well what? What was I supposed to say? She asked me if I loved her too. I told her that I’d tell her tomorrow and disconnected the call. My revenge for the dinner was complete. Did I love her? Did I love her? More than anything in this world!

The next step was telling father and convincing him that the five minutes I’d spent with a girl he wouldn’t even remember, had driven me insane enough to spend the rest of my life with her. His reaction was very expected and polite. Like the Brits, he was very subtle in suggesting that I hardly knew her and perhaps it would be nice if I chose someone from our own religion if not our caste. A hint which in plain Indian language meant – forget it! But the optimist that I was – I took that as a hint that I needed to spend more time with her. So the next holidays, instead of going home, we toured Jaipur and Udaipur. What could be a better than this to get to know her? We were so happy together and felt so complete in each others company.

Before I knew it, my holidays were over and it was time to go back to my unit. In the months that followed, we kept talking and writing to each other. However, inspite of all my reasoning and pleading father refused to give his consent to the whole affair. Bowing to his wishes, I asked her to move on with her life as I could never think of hurting my family. Life suddenly turned into a shade of lifeless grey. As if fate had also been bribed, I was asked to go to a post on the line of control. It was an isolated place – with no means of communications. The three months spent there seemed like three years. My heart literally bled from what I had done to her and what I’d lost out in life. I’d spend days sitting out there in the open, staring into oblivion. Even the Pakis got sick of me and stopped threatening that they’d shoot me – perhaps the anguish of love – if not love itself – transcends all boundaries. When I came down from the post I decided that something had to be done – I couldn’t continue living the life of a loser. But there was more in store. Easy are not the ways of love. The parliament was attacked and tension grew at the border. I moved from Siachen to Kargil. Going on leave was a foregone conclusion. All communications had been cut for security reasons so I couldn’t even talk to her. Due to shortage of officers I was asked to move to one of the forward most posts again. Gun duels raged everyday and once after a particularly intense round of firing, I realised that life was too short to keep everyone happy – you got only one chance at it and you were a looser if you didn’t utilise that.

As soon as the ceasefire was announced, I asked my boss to de-induct me from the post since I wanted to sort some personal issues out. I was lucky to have a helicopter flying out that way and by nightfall I was back in civilisation – or whatever came closest to the rocky hell of those hills. Telephone lines had been connected again and I rang her up to apologise and plead for another chance. Through tears of joy, sorrow and love, we made peace. The sky seemed so much brighter (so what if there weren’t any clouds), my step seemed lighter (so what if I’d lost six kilos on the post) and I was hopelessly in love – so thats what the whole world seemed to be smiling about. Life was beautiful. I was detailed to go to Leh to organise a function. It was going to take a few days there. So I rang her up and asked her to come to Leh. Shocked, she asked me the reason. Reason? To get married – simple! So what if the government couldn’t do it – I had to send across a strong message – we meant business – or rather – marriage!

He’s got to be joking, Diya thought as she lay wondering at what they’d just spoken about. It was almost the end of the month and she’d spent whatever was in the bank shopping. They said that shopping was the best antidote to sorrow – and it sure worked. But she was broke and getting a return ticket to Leh was impossible. As she lay brooding over the problem, her roomie suggested that she check with the airlines if they could encash whatever frequent flier miles she’d accumulated for a return ticket to Leh. And to her surprise – they agreed! The taxi stood waiting outside to take her to the airport. She was late. Even if it was for one day only, she still needed to think what would be required in Leh. It seemed like all the cars of Delhi had decided to come onto the roads on that day itself resulting in the longest traffic jams ever. By the time she entered the airport, they were announcing the departure of the flight to Leh. She ran to the counter and enquired about the flight. The manager pointed out to an airplane which was taxi-ing out to the runway. This couldn’t be happening. How could she loose out on something after coming so close to it – this was torture – inhumane. Tears welled into her eyes and she started to sob at her helplessness. The manager enquired what had happened and Diya cooked up a story that her husband had been wounded in shelling in Kargil, was in a hospital there crying for her. That seemed to do the trick. He radioed to the plane. In five minutes she was running on the tarmac, the manager carrying her bag, while a stair was being rushed to the aircraft. The flight to Leh had taken off after a slight delay – and Diya was on board!

My Boss had to leave for Siachen where part of our set up still existed. This was ideal. I was in Leh and Diya’s flight had landed. We immediately rushed to the Patthar Sahib Gurudwara. The priest there was from our setup and it wouldn’t be a problem convincing him to marry us. However, when we reached the gurudwara, he chickened out and refused to marry us without my boss’s (who was his boss too) permission. We were stuck – the matter would be reported within minutes and we’d have people hunting for us to stop the marriage in half an hour. We rushed to the Kali temple in the Buddhist Monastery but they didn’t know how to perform marriage rites. All attempts to convince her for solemnising our marriage with God as witness failed. We searched all places in Leh which had any connection to God but drew a blank. Either the priest was not present there or he didn’t know how to conduct marriages or was too scared to marry a couple which had eloped. By afternoon I had become a certified tour guide for a religious tour of Leh. The last thing left was a gurudwara made in a small house by the few odd sikh families which stayed in Leh. When I approached the head priest, he told me that the decision would have to be taken by the Sabha. So a meeting of the Sabha was called which consisted of five sikh gentlemen in a run down shop in Leh market. After reasoning with them, sentimentally blackmailing them if they’d like a sikh to go to the mandir to get married and giving a small donation to the gurudwara, the marriage was fixed an hour later. We spent the next one hour trying to search for a suit in Leh market since my dahling Diya was in trousers and hadn’t even thought of getting a suit along. So much for all that packing! We finally found a pink one in one of the shops. The driver, cook and waiter alongwith me became the witnesses and a friend who was also posted there consented to do the kanyadaan.

She caught the next flight back and I informed everyone that we had got married – the marriage being a mere token of our commitment to each other. We told our families that we wouldn’t formalise it or start living with each other till they permitted us to do so and got us married properly. Chaos and mayhem followed. My boss went crazy and drove down immediately. Father disowned me. Some congratulated us, some laughed at the whole affair. Some supported us while others took the whole affair as a source of inspiration. After two years of separation, bickering, pleading, apologising and reiterating our love for each other, our parents finally gave in and decided to get us married – by both Hindu and Sikh rites. Love reigned supreme and we became one – forever!

This story is the true life incident of a couple who married eight years ago, are parents of a son and still madly in love with each other.

NDA Special.....

(NDA special is a biannual train that runs between New Delhi and Pune carrying NDA cadets to their homes during term break and getting them back. The train used to take 7 to 10 days to reach Delhi from Pune and an equal time to get back. It was last priority for the railways and the cadets would get 10 to 15 days at home. It was a unique experience since you learnt Spiderman (hanging by the fan with your feet on one side and the hands on the other), Superman (keeping your feet on one side of the upper berth and your hands on the opposite end) and much more. It was an extended ragda which ate away a good part of your leave. You were mandated to travel by it unless you belonged to a place which wasn't covered by NDA special - and it pretty much covered all places north of Pune. This continued for some time till it became a butt of end of term entertainment show jokes much to the delight of the cadets and the discomfort of the instructors and logistic officers, and a commandant decided that something needed to be done about it. It then started to run as a regular train covering the journey from Pune to Delhi in 2 to 3 days ....) 

The Run Up

Had just passed my 12th - much to the surprise of Ms Zutchi, my class teacher - her predictions didn't hold out against my mom's prayers i guess, and I decided to fill in my NDA entrance exam form. I thought Navy would be a better choice since they were always in Bombay or Cochin or such nice places as compared to the Jorhat or Faridkot that I'd been to as a kid and so opted for Navy. Dad had got me admission into Khalsa College Amritsar, so that I could get to know my roots better (somehow couldn't convince him that the roots would flourish better in Delhi) and I was now desperate to get out of that place. The examination centre was a buzz of activity - kids with thick Manorma Guides and mathematics books (which I'd never touched in school and so made no sense touching now), parents coaching them and giving last minute tips and an occasional vendor selling UPSC exam guides guarantee-ing 100% success. After the first exam there was a break for 45 minutes during which I came out to the garden outside the centre and was lying down listening to the same vendor making a sales pitch. The next thing I knew was him shaking me and asking if I was also appearing in the exam. The park was empty and the second exam had started 15 minutes ago!!

The interview call was for Bangalore. Had heard of MG Road and Brigade Road..... I couldn't have asked for more. The mere fact that had cleared the exam was good enough for me to last through 3 years staying in Room No 27, Nabha Hostel, Khalsa College, Amritsar!! Met a few people leaving the SSB centre who told us that no one had made it from the past 5 batches of over 300 people. Well, who was bothered about the interview..... it was Brigade road that I was interested in!

Met Bisht- a jawan who'd come for selection as an officer. He knew how to sweet talk the sentries at the gate into opening them for us after we came back from pubbing at 1 in the night and laugh our heads off at candidates who were still studying (god only knows what) when we got back. To everyones shock we were the only ones to be separated from the "baba" lot and like sahibs our luggage was shifted into rooms for the medical check up candidates. The medical was even better. The Air Force hospital insisted in making everyone go through all tests irrespective of whether they were applicable or not. We were only too happy when the pretty eye specialist took a little extra time to clear us. Somehow the eyes could never focus on her lens when she'd bend over to look into our eyes but would invariably stray to her plunging neckline!! We'd been warned about the medical specialist ... he was very stern and accepted no nonsense. So there we were - 5 of us, standing in our birth suits in front of him - waiting for our turn to bend in front of him and cough while he squeezed and checked our family jewels! (talk about medical procedures). The procedure was going painfully smoothly till a Brigadier, accustomed to barging in without waiting for his turn, walked in with his wife. There was no where to run and no where to hide. So five young men made his wifes day by wishing her good morning the way she would have never heard it ever before - and I don't think he would have ever rushed into the Doctors room out of turn ever after that. The incident seemed to loosen up the doc a bit and as he "checked" Bisht, the doc asked him if he smoked. Without batting an eyelid, wincing in pain, Bisht blurted out "yes, I'm sure smoke would have started coming out by now". That got us off the lid. The doc laughed his head off and we got away without any more squeezy procedures which were in store!

Dad had left the decision to join entirely to me. After days of deliberation I asked him to take me to Karol Bagh. When he asked me why, I told him that I needed to buy night suits as it was mentioned in the list of things to carry along. So, that was sealed then. (He bought me a bath robe too - another mandatory thing to be taken along!!!)... :o)

First View of NDA Coming Up!!

"Kilo" shouted the Adjutant as my turn came and I became a "killer" for life. Everything in Kilo started with K. Now you people know where Ekta Kapoor got inspired from. Kill em Kut em but Kneel Knot, Killer Khalsa, Klu Klux Klan, Khas-um-khas, Kaatils, Komarades ... the list was endless! I met Dhillon outside the mess - one of the four Khalsas who were allotted Kilo Squadron for this batch! Both of us had trunks to carry and so piled one on top of the other and started walking towards Kilo. As we crossed a building with a colourful "J" written on it, three guys sitting in the lobby shouted out and called us. Very warm reception we thought. This was a nice place with warm and helpful people - I was quite sure they would help us take our trunks to wherever Kilo was. 5 minutes later we were doing push - ups, squats and running around trees and sweating like pigs! Our crime -walking while crossing the ground in front of J (Juliet) squadron - so what if we were two people, new in the academy, carrying two loaded trunks. Juilet was a sworn enemy of Kilo. While Juliet was known as Kollege, Kilo was the Kommando Squadron of the academy. Just my luck!

Killers Kill .. Killers don't Run!!

The first thing to come up was the Novices Cross Country. The route went in front of Kilo Squadron and I wasn't too comfortable tummy wise when we started running on the final day. So when I was crossing Kilo, I decided to answer natures call in the comfortable confines of my squadron. I completed the route and came in the bottom lot and was mentally prepared for some "solid" ragra after this. We had overall come 13th (out of 15) and were very dissappointed. As we gloomily entered the squadron, jalebis and namkeen greeted us. Midterm Mood (a time when you can do as you please and take all liberties which were otherwise term specific) was "ranted" to us and life was rocking .. atleast inside the squadron. It was Kilo tradition to come in double figures in cross country and we had lived up to it .. .because Killers Killed .. they didn't run!!

Do you Know Who I am!!!

If you are not sure who you are, how could I be?? So this guy came whistling on a sparkling new cycle, looking all important. As we crossed him, we continued to talk amongst us which must have hurt his ego.. How dare an Ikkeeee talk in his august presence!! Sacrilege! He stopped us and shouted at the top of his voice "Khalsa! How dare you talk in front of me!! Do you who I am?". Well, I sure didn't. So I whispered to Chahal (who was standing next to me) if he knew who this guy was. Chahal, in one of his moods retorted, "Menu kee pata, ehnoo puchhle" (How would I know - you ask him only)! I think it was a little too much for his celebrity ego to digest! Just imagine someone not recognising Amitabh Bachchan in India!! Anyways, he told us to note the alphabet behind his cycle and ask our appointment incharge to meet him and cycled off (no longer whistling). We happily told our cadet incharge about the incident. That night when I got up to go to the loo at 1, the poor fellow was climbing the stairs wearing a big pack on his back and looking as if he had just come after taking a dip in the swimming pool. PT trophy was a tradition in Kilo ... no wonder these people trained so hard....

By the way, till the third term, cadets were more or less the stress busters of the squadron. Whoever wanted whenever to do whatever to them could get away with it. So it was Ikk"eeeee", Duk"eeee" and Tik"eeee" with the "eee" signifying shrieks of agony. After the third term one started enjoying the finer things in life, like sleeping in shorts, coming out of your cabin with only a towel under your bath robe or having a music system in your room - of course the volume was dictated by the term you were in or being privileged to wear sneakers instead of "Kelachandra" canvas shoes for games! And so after the third term "aaaah" was suffixed - chauk"aaah", panj"aaah", chhakk"aaaaaahhhhh" - the "aahs" signifying pleasure and satisfaction.

Table Sessions

Everything in NDA had a tradition or so it seemed. Every Ikk"eee" had to sit next to a tikk"eeee" - who would teach him the finer aspects of table manners. So Kilo, again to my good luck, had a tradition of ragging on the table too! Before I learnt how to drink soup, I learnt to make a square meal with it! Take some soup in your soup spoon and make imaginary squares in the air!! After every square, pour that soup back into the dish and fill it up afresh to make fresher squares.... for the food must always be fresh! This was interspersed with general knowledge questions - no, nothing related to the country or foreign affairs but things like "Why is the Ashoka Pillar red?", "How many trees in front of the mess?", "How many swords in the mess?", "How many rolls possible in the 1st floor corridor of a squadron?", "How many tiles in a room?" and the list was endless!

Soon the sardar instincts took over and inspite of the tikk"eee" shouting on the table, we'd hog as much as possible and then get punished later. One night after a particularly fulfilling dinner, as I stood outside waiting for three more people to come (you could go from one place to another only in groups of four or more - called a squad), a Sergeant Tanwar of I (India) Squadron called me and told me to run around a tree. He didn't seem to be too impressed with my running as I came jogging back and gave me an even longer route which went close to my squadron. As I was approaching the turning point there was a power failure and the whole place went dark. Seizing initiative, I sprinted inside my squadron and went off to sleep. In the meantime, Dhillon - another sardar of my squadron - finished his dinner and stepped out to wait for a squad. Imagine the Sergeant's surprise when he saw the Khalsa whom he'd sent to run around the tree standing next to him waiting to go to his squadron! Dhillon came back at 1230 that night - wet like he too had had a bath with his clothes on!

10 Meters Jump!!!

The only exposure I'd had to swimming was with a tube in a pool where my feet could touch the ground. 25 meters was the mandatory limit for first term and I was like solid lead in the pool. The ustaad who'd teach us was particularly fond of taking the learner to the deep end and then pulling his leg down to make him get over his fear of water. Reasons for not entering the pool varied from swollen privates to father sick at home to skin infections.... anything one could think of to get away from him. To my misfortune, one day I came under his scanner. As my turn approached, I excused myself saying that I had an upset stomach and went to the loo. Once inside I quietly picked up my belongings, jumped out of the window and ran back to the squadron. As I reached my room I was really ashamed of the escapist attitude adopted and decided to go back the same way. In the meantime alarm bells went off when I didn't return to the pool after such a long time. A search was launched for me and when I wasn't found, everyone was about to go back. Imagine their surprise when I stepped out of the bathroom which they'd just checked and found empty. In all this chaos I got saved from the drowning glory of Ustaad Panigrahi and was perhaps the only cadet to learn swimming without having drunk water in the pool.

I had barely managed to cross one obstacle when the second one popped up. The 10 meter jump. Every term all the cadets had to jump from the 10 meter high platform. While standing on top of the 10 meter diving board, the pool below would look like a match box. On top of it I knew someone who had dived and fallen outside - the episode left him paralyzed for life (God bless his soul). Three days before the jump, all conversations would get highjacked around stories of people who had not jumped the right way and burst their family jewels or who could not come back to the surface and had to be fished out. Seniors would counsel juniors on how they should be brave and not feel scared of the jump. The hype built around the whole affair made it even more fearsome! While waiting on top, some would box the air to get the adrenalin flowing, some would pray and some keep asking the one behind to move ahead till there was no one left behind. But jump each one would have to. There were the ones like Suraj who tried to turn the jump into a dive and landed flat on their tummy and then had a red, aching front for days, or some who jumped with their legs open and came out with blood seeping out of their trunks when they stepped out of the pool. Some wondered why the water wasn't coming and looked down to see and never made that mistake again. Yet others like Motilal refused to jump and when an officer tried to push them down, they took him along in his full uniform. Others like me bragged about it when they went home while swimming with their dad and had to do it for him and his friends to see! They learnt to keep their mouths shut. The jump would start from "dukki" term. The ritual was akin to a ghoulish KKK ritual. Pin drop silence. Hundreds of cadets sitting by the poolside being lined up one by one and asked to jump like Another Brick in the Wall. In my "dukki" term, I managed to get into the academy golf team. It had its own privileges like simpler PT tests, late breakfast and outings. During one such 10 m jump, I was also required to be at the golf course. I hoped like hell that the officer in charge would see me at the swimming pool and ask me to go to the golf course instead. As I fidgeted around, my prayers were answered and he spotted me shouting out in surprise as to what I was doing there when I was supposed to be at the Golf course. My joy knew no bounds - my plan had worked. As I prepared to leave, he dropped the bomb shell. "On the board before you leave". No one had jumped till now! The whole battalion was looking at me. Some sneering, some laughing and none feeling pity - thats the way NDA is... I started the Battalion jump in my dukki term!

Escape and Evasion

Most of the junior terms went into mastering "management" and escape and evasion. The aim was to save yourself today - tomorrow will be faced tomorrow .... and tomorrow never comes!! The first three terms were a sophisticated version of "hide and seek". We hid and the seniors seeked! It started in the first term when we were being hit around during a routine night ragging session in the loo. After an hour or so, as we rolled aroung under showers dripping alternate cold and boiling water, Jain suggested that I faint and he'll carry me back to the cabin! So it was decided. I stopped moving and lay down. Jain immediately sounded the alarm that I'd fainted. Not ready to give in so easily, my caring seniors threw boiling water on me - but they'd met their match - I didn't move. I was taken away to a cabin closeby. As we huddled around our anger grew at being manhandled so badly. So we took out rods and came out shouting - ready to beat up the seniors. The mutiny had started....... and crushed within minutes!! We were rolling again although after a promise that we wouldn't be touched again.... As they say, "When rape is inevitable, might as well enjoy it"!!

And after that - enjoy we did . I learnt to hide in the almirah, inside my trunk, to put a hanky on my head and pretend to be a bag in a corner, lock our cabins and climb back in through the window... name it and we atleast attempted it!

The Golden Girls of Social Science Block

Perhaps the only good thing of the academics blocks were the lady instructors - the "golden" lining to the perpetual cloud over the miserable life of the cadets. Some like Rita would bend over your shoulder to hold the mouse and send the cadet into blissful coma. Even the healthy Meena and Beena sisters became the stuff that dreams were made of. Every computer class was spent gazing and absorbing every move of K. She would often check me for glaring at her till it became a joke in the class. Once when the class broke off she told me to clean the blackboard before leaving the room. The whole class left while I was still cleaning it. In the meantime, she switched off all the lights and came and stood right behind me. As I started to leave, K very huskily told me that the board was not clean as yet. Was this my imagination or was this my lucky day!! Something suddenly snapped, I freaked out and ran off saying that it was clean enough. We never looked each other in the eye after that. Memorable moments were also spent learning french from Ms Advani, in the chemistry lab and the workshop too. Those were good days.

And then there were the few who had the capability to send a shiver down your spine - specially in Social Science Block. Not to be deterred - some cadets even managed to get punishments from them for "giving meaningful looks"....

Periphery Hera Pheri

The Periphery had a circumference of 5 kilometers (approx) and had wild shrubs and trees growing there. It was an excellent place to hide or sleep or to get away from someone. Once when the academy was particularly "hot" and juniors were getting roggered everywhere, I decided to take the periphery route to get back to squadron. As I was crossing the lone road which intersected it, I heard a car approaching. I dashed across but was too slow. The driver, a major who was an instructor and had been nicknamed "Academy Sergeant", saw me and stopped the car. Thankfully I was some distance away and was confidently out of his reach! I had never imagined in my wildest dreams that this major would start running after me to catch me. We ran where there was no route, we ran on pathways, we ran tearing away at bushes with him screaming at the top of his lungs for the khalsa to stop - neither ready to give up! Finally youth won and I managed to give him the dodge leaving him with atleast a 4 km walk back to his car! What bliss and satisfaction!

Golfie

I had heard that the best way to escape all ragra was to join some academy team - you'd get all the spoilings of an academy team player, get passed in PT tests and if you were in the Golf team - unlimited breakfast and cold coffee on sunday mornings!!!! So, Golf it was! It wasn't so difficult getting into it since I already knew the game. Imagine Golf in the morning, a good hearty breakfast and then sleep under one of the trees in the fairways! Some tournaments were in Pune city and so you also got a chance to go out. During one of these competitions Sundaram (a team mate and senior) and I decided that we would play in civil clothes and come back to academy also in the same - something unthinkable for the lowly ranks of the ordinary cadets! So, it was decided. While returning, as we approached the gate we found Subedar Raman, the most foul mouthed and ugly drill sergeant of the academy, on duty to check people entering NDA. There was no going back now, so I walked ahead. The beard, longish hair and a put-on lousy walk helped me get by. As Sundaram crossed the ustaad, he shouted, "yeh cadet tham" (this cadet halt) and Sundaram, instead of ignoring it, stopped and was caught. Well, not willing to go through this alone, he told the ustaad that I too was a cadet and I got caught too! The next seven days we ran 5 kilometers every afternoon and cursed each other. Some friends are always there for you ...... and some make sure you are always there for them!

Night Fright

It was a dark gloomy night!!! Dark because I'd just washed my hair - they would keep coming in front of my eyes and because of the black colour of my bath robe. Gloomy because all the juniors were being ragged in the toilets!!!! Just as I was about to drift into dreamland, I was woken up by a junior asking me to come to the toilet where the "session" - as these ragging periods were called, was going on. A cadet was missing - hiding somewhere in some cabin and so this was a task for "the specialist". After about two hours of sneaking into cabins through windows and peeping in through wire meshes, I gave up. I'd searched everywhere - under the stairs, in the backyard, in the bushes, in each and every cabin - much to the annoyance of some who were going through "nice" magazines with a torchlight and shared maggi with some who were having a midnight snack - but not found Durgapal - the missing ikk"eeee". Dejected, I walked back to the toilet and reported my failure to my seniors. I was sent back to my room after being admonished and warned to improve my hunting skills. Just as I was about to drift off, a junior again knocked on my door and told me that I'd been called to the toilet again. I cursed Durgapal and wearing my bath robe trudged back to the toilet. There was Durgapal - huddled in one corner - shivering, red eyed and frothing in the mouth!!! He'd been found in the toilet above in one of the loo's in this state. After a lot of mollycoddling Durgapal's story of his encounter with a species of a different kind came out. As he was climbing the stairs to the 1st floor he saw a wild black creature with long hair and red eyes! The creature would sometimes climb walls and sometimes vanish into them. Scared to death, Durgapal ran to the top floor but to his shock the creature followed him there too. He hid in the toilet and as he looked up at the ceiling - the creature was smiling at him - after which he blanked out!! Now, we all knew who this wall climbing "wild creature with long hair and red eyes" was.....! Sardars truly are a species apart and after this I was never given such mundane jobs...

End of Term

Every end of term, from the third term onwards, the whole academy would participate in the march past for the passing out cadets!! To my misfortune, my drill was so good that in my second term itself, I was made a part of this contingent!! So while my coursemates would be standing on the mast smiling away, I would be marching to the drum and spit mixed ear deafening shouts of the drill sergeant. They too were from a different world. Their demands were simple - when the foot stamps - it should make the clock tower fall down, deafen the ears of the Adjutant, break the tarmac beneath.... The dig while marching should be so deep that water should flow out of the earth, form a pond with frogs which should die because of the sound of the march!! And we tried till we were wet - not from the water of the pond but thanks to the sweat which poured out of every pore in our skins!! And there were my dear coursemates smiling away, standing on the mast or participating in PT displays forming pretty flowers with colourful placards and ribbons! Well, I made a vow that I'd march only for my own passing out after this term. So the next term I walked on stilts - new display introduced!! The term after that I was part of the nautanki (dramatics) team and this continued till I almost missed my own passing out too!!

Destiny

Before I knew it, the sixth term was midway and I was in the middle of my Naval service subjects, mastering da-da-dit-da (morse code) - ready to become a "nevala" or a "naval dope"!! On an OJT trip to the naval dockyards in Bombay, while on a ship, I wondered if my free spirit could be confined to the limits of a ship. As I looked at my instructors and other naval officers - I only saw hard working and tensed up faces who were struggling from one milestone to another. On the other hand the men in olive were the happy ones - on a peace posting after years in field - they were living up the good life. This was the kind of life I wanted - happy, with no tensions and free! So I put up an application asking for my service to be changed to Army - chaos followed. I was interviewed by the Commandant - a naval officer (and golfer, who also went on to become the Naval Chief later) and called for a whole lot of interviews and discussions. During one of these discussions, the whole naval fraternity was called and I was asked by Grewal - the Naval Chief Instructor, why I wanted to join the Army and leave the Navy. We sparred for some time with basic replies like leading men into battle, adventure, fighting for the country, etc, etc. After some time, still unconvinced, he ran out of patience and asked me to tell the truth. Having run out of excuses, I shot back asking him how many of his officers in that room were actually happy. A hushed silence fell upon the room. I quoted incidents in which naval instructors were involved in embarassing acts in the academy and in contrast asked him to name one such incident involving army officers - who seemed to be really happy and enjoying life. Not too amused at my reply, Garry shouted back, "Thats because they live in Kupwara and Dimapur and compare themselves to the headman of that village while my officers live in Bombay and Chennai and compare themselves to Tata's and Birlas". I got up from my chair, all eyes on me, the silence deafening, and said, "But at the end of the day, even though they are in Kupwara - they are happy sir, while these people are not". The next day I was a Pongo - an army cadet!

After years of passing out, when I look back now and remember all the silly things I'd done and the not-so-silly ragging I'd faced, I remember my Alma Mater with fondness. Each corner and stone there stretching from the farthest corner of the Khadakwasla lake where my sail boat would get stuck so many times, to the wall of Garware estate which we would try to peep over for he was supposed to have a pretty daughter, from the dhobi ghat in Khandwa used so commonly to go on FL, to the dhaba that we'd trek 10 kilometers to have butter chicken in Pirangut, are memories which I'll cherish forever. Memories of friends who've stood by me in thick and thin, friends who achieved what every soldier dreams of for his motherland, friends who may have lost touch with me but will always remain in my fondest of memories. Friends forever .......

Sewa Parmo Dharma

http://nda.nic.in/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXdAFfjhB7E

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ayDIfP6OtDw&feature=related