I can’t believe it. It has been such a landmark for us in South Bombay, within walking distance of the Naval Dockyard. I have spent hours going through and buying music at Rhythm House.
We are a family of music lovers. We have neither been rich nor poor. In our middle-class hand to mouth existence, music has been food for us – food for soul that is.
I can relate dozens of anecdotes about this music shop but the one that best describes our junoon concerns my younger brother Dr JP Singh.
I was a Lieutenant posted on INS Talwar as Signal Communication Officer (SCO), on my first posting after undergoing the Long C course at Signal School, Cochin.
JP, my younger brother, was studying in St Xavier’s College, graduating in Economics.
Salaries, at that time, used to be dispersed in cash. I used to get about 1400 rupees in hand, which was enough for me to pay for mess, wines, movies and other sundry expenses to keep body and soul together. JP used to receive money orders from our dad to pay for his studies, hostel etc.
One day, in the beginning of the month, on a make and mend day (Wednesdays and Saturdays are called make and mend days in the navy, from the days of the sail when sailors used to make and mend their sails in the afternoons on these days. Nowadays, these are just half days), I had retired in the afternoon to my cabin after the three Bs: that is, Bridge, Beer and Biriyani.
Sleep had just settled over me like fog over the hills when there was a knock at the door. I opened the door and there stood JP. He had bluffed his way at Lion Gate security and had reached the ship entirely unescorted; an impossibility these days of heightened security.
He was visibly shaken. He said his Money Order from home hadn’t arrived and since he hadn’t paid the hostel mess bill, they were at the verge of throwing him out. I was aghast at their cruelty about throwing out my younger just because his payment was delayed by a few days. But, it came out that JP, due to “some urgency”, hadn’t paid the bill for the last two months.
I reasoned it out with him that although I had just got my salary, I too hadn’t yet paid my mess and wine bills and that’s all the money I had.
He countered that by saying since I was on “permanent (he stressed on this word) commission” in the navy, they were unlikely to throw me out whereas he would be out on the street.
I relented and after keeping just a hundred rupees with me, gave him the remaining money. I went to sleep after seeing him off.
I had merely dosed off, when after about 30 minutes or so, there was another knock and there stood JP again, holding dozens of Long Playing (LP) records in both hands and arms. He wanted keys to our wardroom turn-table so that he could play them. This was his story:
“Bhaiyya, after getting money from you, I didn’t take a cab or bus back to the hostel. I said to myself that it is my bhaiyya’s hard-earned money and I have no right to waste it on cabs and buses. So, I started walking back to the hostel. On the way, at Rhythm House, what did I see? There was a sale of records. I peeped in just to have a look and found that all my favourite records were being sold at half the price. I said to myself I would indeed save huge amount of money if I were to buy the complete lot. So, that’s exactly what I did.”
In the next few days we listened to all the records over and over again and got our money’s worth of fun. With the hundred rupees that I had kept with me, I went to the Central Telegraph Office, booked a call to dad and got him five hours after booking the call. I managed to convey to him to expedite sending money to JP. Until then, we lived on love and fresh air and music.
And now, they are thinking of closing down Rhythm House. Why couldn’t the idea occur to them when JP was walking back from my ship to his hostel in St Xavier’s on that make and mend day in 1981?
P.S. To be fair to JP, I might as well admit that if our positions were reversed, the chances of my doing anything different were remote. All’s well that ends well. After a week or ten days, dad’s money order arrived (the only order from my dad that I really liked) and the rhythm of our life was restored.
This is in good humour and should be read in that spirit only:
The year is 2023. In a solemn ceremony, veterans (those who are stll alive, that is) have gathered fondly at the venue of their fiercest and bitterest campaign field; not Kargil, not Poonchh or Khemkaran, not even at Siachen, but, at Jantar Mantar. They are celebrating the golden jubilee of their campaign to restore OROP that was taken away from them in 1973.
I am just about to touch seventy but there is still enthusiasm in covering mammoth events and rallies.
I overhear an old veteran telling another with immense satisfaction, “We were lucky that although we won the Kargil War in 1999, lost and wounded nearly 2000 soldiers and it was indeed a great victory, the government of India still didn’t punish us as they did after 1971 War.”
To this, one really old veteran, barely able to stand even with his walking stick, responds, “Indira Gandhi was different. Her way of rewarding the victors in war was to reduce their pensions. But, thankfully she didn’t follow in the footsteps of emperor Shahjehan who cut off the hands of the chief architect who made the Taj Mahal”.
Now, it is the turn of the first veteran to interject: “Yeah, she was a kind lady. No wonder the Congress refers to her as Priyadarshini (delightful to look at).”
They would have continued on and on like…like…well, like talking old soldiers but then Major General Satbir Singh, SM, OM, Retd., arrived at the venue. If you are wondering what OM is, it is an OROP Medal that the government introduced in the year 2016, just to keep the agitators in good humour. This medal, the government was proud of proclaiming, had been made after melting all the other medals that the veterans returned in end 2015, showing their displeasure at the government’s apathy towards veterans.
Soon after that babus, police and para-military personnel demanded OM to be given to them too. The government had tough time reasoning with them that they couldn’t have their cake and eat it too; or in other words, have OROP as well as OM. As always, babus, police and para military personnel were not convinced and demanded that the government should give them too adequate medals so that they too have something to return when they don’t get what they want.
General Satbir is old but his face still has that glow and his eyes still have the glint that only those have who believe in honest and straightforwardness and for the cause of their men more than for themselves.
The shouts of, “Sadda haq, itthe rakh” ( Our right, give it now) fill the air. It has been a great war-cry. JP Dutta, the veteran film-maker, in the year 2019 made a movie with this title. The movie had remake of a popular fauji song: ‘Sandeshe aate hain, hamen tadpaate hain’ to tell the plight of the veterans receiving messages from the Prime Minister Narendra Modi that finally the full OROP was just around the corner but the veterans still not seeing light across the tunnel.
Sandeshe aate hain, hamen tadpaate hain (Cartoon courtesy: sainikdarpan.blogspot.com)
It is 14th Aug 2023 and they find an extremely frail, 91 years old, Grenadier Vishambar Singh, stumbling across to the venue with a naked torso. General Satbir noticing him shirtless asks, “Vishambar ji aap shirt ghar bhool aaye, kyaa?” (Vishambar ji, you forgot your shirt at home, or what?)
Vishambhar replies, “Nahin saab ji; kal azaadi diwas hai. Aath saal pehle, aaj ke din, pulsiyon ne mil ke meri shirt faad di thi. Ab saab ji itane paise to nahin hai jo har saal nayi shirt banwaayun. Isliye ghar chhod ke aaya hoon.” (No, Sahib ji; tomorrow is the Independence Day. Eight years ago, the police tore my shirt (here). Now, Sahib ji, I don’t have enough money to buy a new shirt every year. That’s why I left it at home.)
Colonel Kaul whispers from behind General Satbir Singh, “Theek hai. But, we should be ashamed. Men are losing their shirts and sleep over OROP but the blasted OROP is nowhere in sight.”
General Satbir, “I have been told it is just around the corner now. They have nearly sorted out the VRS issue by coming up with a formula that decides your share of OROP depending upon your medical category, age, retirement age, rank and number of years left for superannuation. Of course, it would still be denied to you if you don’t follow the family planning norms. That’s the latest clause introduced by the babus“.
In the background, a reporter is heard talking to a Times of India reporter, “Massive rally by the veterans. I hope this time, at least; you are going to cover it”. The ToI reporter replies, “We have normally been giving it space next to the Obituary column as both are serious and dead issues. Let me see, if someone dies we shall give adequate cover to his body and to this grave issue”.
Just then a plush limousine slides to a halt in front of Jantar Mantar. A happy veteran alights in his worsted suit, gold tie-pin etc. All the other veterans are agog with envy and ask, “So, you actually got arrears of OROP, did you?”
“Nothing of that sort” the wealthy veteran replies, “I took General Satbir’s call for Black Diwali seriously. I invested, in the last eight years, money saved from lamps and crackers, in Narendra Modi’s Achhe Din Aa Rahen Hain Fund (Happy Days Are Coming Fund). The bourses gave me hundred to one on my betting correctly on the outcome of the promise and the fund. I also bought 100 shares of Mann Ki Baat Radio Services at 10 rupees a share. Each one is a lakh rupees a piece now.”
Ninety-one year old Vishambar starts crying uncontrollably. He lost his shirt for nothing.
Life in the armed forces, as anyone would tell you, is tough. Armed forces are not a vocation but a way of life; and hence, one is on duty 24/7 throughout the year. You hardly have any family life. With the perpetual shortage of officers in the armed forces, you actually end up doing the work of your absent friends, in addition to your own. Hence, when you retire after nearly 37 years, as I did, all that you are looking for is some well deserved peace and quiet. You know that with your armed forces’ savings you cannot have too much of a comfort and would get just about 900 feet of accommodation poorly constructed house in an Air Force Naval Housing Board colony; poorly constructed being more a norm than an exception in AFNHB (Air Force Naval Housing Board) houses.
After retirement, I shifted to this flat I had bought through AFNHB in installments. I soon found out that because of poor construction, most flats leaked and most flats had renovation going on even after eleven years of construction, causing perpetual noise of tile cutting and other machines especially on the weekends. Each one of us had to shell out more than one tenth of the original cost of the flats (available at the same rate as any accommodation in civil areas; thereby doing away with any advantage whatsoever for having found a flat through the armed forces) to leak proof the houses collectively. In addition, each one has spent more than twice the sum in leak-proofing bathrooms and other rooms. And this is for a housing colony in Indian Navy’s station whereat it has its premiere command.
To add to these woes is the fact that some denizens of our society love noise. Indeed, they have promoted, together with many people in modern India, noise as a form of devotion. They get very vociferous and violent if told to curb noise. Their reasoning is that the government, whilst respecting the sentiments of people (Please read: ‘Who Are The “People” Whose “Sentiments Need To Be Respected”?’) have permitted noise up to certain hours and hence they intend to make full use of those hours. Pleas to them that government orders only condone the noise but do not make it compulsory for people to have noise falls on – you guessed it – deaf ears (Please read: State Sponsored Noise). Reminders about the fact that throughout our fauji lives we never made religious noise in the open have no effect on them. When people all around you are making religious noise, you feel left out.
So, now, if there is one thing that the denizens of our colony guard fiercely, it is their right to make noise so that they won’t be seen as less religious in comparison to our neighbouring colonies who make unfettered noise during festivals. Indeed, it appears that if there is one thing that they ruefully missed whilst being in active service in the armed forces, it is noise. So, now that they have come out of the imposed discipline, they want to do with vengeance what they missed all these years.
Recently, when it was proposed that since ours is a colony that already has an indoor community hall for such purposes and that they don’t have to make noise in the open, they took their petition straight to God. It went like this:
God: You don’t have to rely on loudspeaker to make me hear your prayers. I can hear all my devotees even when they silently pray to me.
Noisy Devotee: We know it, God. But, we want people to hear our prayers DTH.
God: What is DTH, for heavens’ sake?
ND (looking shocked and surprised): You don’t have cable TV in heaven? DTH is Direct To Home. When we pray in the open with loudspeaker, people really don’t have to come to pooja pandal since they can hear it DTH. Also, God, what’s the point in praying to you unless maximum people come to know that we are praying to you. This cannot happen in indoor community hall. There only the devotees who are present can hear the prayers.
God: You appear to be confused; are you praying to me or to them?
ND: Don’t abandon us, God; already there are people who behave like as if they are God. Today they would ban noise; tomorrow they may have objection to our breathing too. Ham dharam ka satyanaash nahin hone denge.
God: I am not convinced. I think you are imposing your own style of worship on others who have a choice to worship me in their own quiet way.
ND: We beg you, God; don’t do that. There is hardly any religion left in this world. People hate you. We are the only ones who still have devotion for you; the noisier we are, the more godly we become and the closer we get to you.
God: Sorry. I made each one of my people in my likeness. I cannot make any special concessions for you because of your propensity to make loudspeaker noise.
ND (On his knees now): Please God, don’t take away from us our right to make noise. If you wish, take away anything else that you have given us or intend giving us. But, we are emotionally attached to having us heard on the loudspeakers.
God: You have too many issues; OROP for example…
ND (Eagerly): We can do without it, God. In any case, the politicians and bureaucrats took it away from us 42 years back. Noise is all that is left with us; something that we can call our own. What’s the point in living in a free country if you cannot make noise 15 days in a year?
God: You have water shortage in your colony; what about that?
ND: We are used to being without water. On our ships, water used to be available only once or twice a day for short durations. But, we cannot do without our right to make noise.
Listening to this conversation, I wonder what used to happen to devotion of people when loudspeakers were not invented. I also repeatedly ask myself in the nearly three months of noise immediately after the rains ‘A Quiter Mumbai – Is It A Pipe Dream?’ It is not just 15 days of relentless noise, as ND told God; it is actually a full season of noise.
Deepawali, for example, used to be a festival of lights (Deep + Awali = Row of Lights) to commemorate our Lord Ram returning to Ayodhaya after 14 years of exile. In our colony, for the last six years that I have been here, it is no Deepawali but ‘Patakhawali and Bombawali That Has Nothing In Common With Depawali’. With incessant explosive detonations during the Diwali week or ten days (it is not a day’s festival in our colony), we often feel that we are ‘In The War Zone’.
So, now that, about one fourth of the year is taken up by noise, the question is why don’t we raise our voice against this flagrant noise? You cannot raise voice against noise because that adds to the noise. We can only educate people about the ill effects of noise. Fortunately, in our colony, there are also many right minded people who are convinced that we need to carry these people too with us. Already, it has become a worrisome problem and people are engaged in finding solutions.
A number of solutions have been suggested:
When you admonish children not to watch too much of television, the incorrect method is to just rhetorically keep telling them not to do so; the more you tell them, the more they want to watch. The best method is to create an alternative to television that adds to their learning as well as is equally entertaining. Similarly, some of the members have suggested that we engage the community in something constructive in the name of religion rather than in destructive crackers and noise.
We have so much of poverty in our country and we have underprivileged children. We, as a colony, can sponsor anti-poverty programmes and programmes for the education of the underprivileged. We can collect funds to do so rather than wasting these on crackers and loudspeakers.
We can educate the people that chanting hymns and mantras over loudspeakers is not the only method of devotion and worship. We can have indoor discourses about our religion, history and heritage and even plays and drama. After all, we are all religious in our own ways and not pagans.
I am sure making noise in the name of religion or otherwise is a problem not only in our colony but also in thousands of colonies. Already, the High Courts are ruling that people can get together to have pooja pandals at a central place rather (to be shared by many colonies) than at hundreds and thousands of these places making cacophony that doesn’t help anyone. Noise by itself is bad. However, competitive noise that we have got used to now is really harming the society. Perhaps we should listen to the courts and not the politicians who have vested interests in promoting parochialism and religious noise.
When people get used to a way of doing things (Read: Whose God Is It Anyway?), it is generally very difficult to wean them away from their habits. As Abba Eban said: “History teaches us that men and nations behave wisely once they have exhausted all other alternatives”. For every argument that we present to them now, the noise-makers have a counter argument. They would probably listen after they have exhausted all such arguments.
I am, on the other hand, a great believer in the intrinsic goodness of people. I sincerely believe that we have all been made by God in His own likeness and that goodness finally prevails. I can only do my bit to nudge them in the right direction.
If you have any suggestions or even differences of opinion, please do write in the comments below.
Most defence colonies in India, this Diwali, present a desolate look as a mark of protest against the machinations of netas and babus who denied the veterans full OROP despite its approval by two parliaments. The idea of the babus, as we understand, is to discredit and dishonour the faujis in the eyes of the general public. What do they think of themselves? In a country, wherein we are often told that we have the worst bureaucracy in the world, how can these faujis continue being proud of being amongst the best armed forces in the world? It is incumbent on us babus to bring them down to our level. Now how do we do it? Simple, the moment they are long enough on the streets protesting, the public loses respect for them since they are now deemed to be of the same mould as us. If they are assaulted in the Jantar Mantar, their medals snatched, their shirts torn, it shows them in poor light to have been there in Jantar Mantar with ordinary protesters in the country.
This Diwali, the babus are enjoying the fruits of their labour and rejoicing. They feel that the general public is losing respect for the faujis in the same manner as sooner or later people lose respect for rape victims working on the analogy (since then made famous by a Goa MLA) that they deserved to be raped!
(Pic courtesy: www.newindianexpress.com)
Dear Babus, this Diwali, our homes are dark. We are saddened by your continued intransigence towards OROP and veterans. This song comes to you from us on the day of Deepawali, in remembrance of our Lord Ram having returned after fourteen years of exile. I have tinkered with the original song put together by Anand Bakshi as lyricist, Rahul Dev Burman as composer and Kishore Kumar as singer to send this earnest request across to you:
देखो ऐ बाबू, तुम ये काम ना करो
फौजी का नाम बदनाम ना करो, बदनाम ना करो
फौजी ने हँस कर सब सुख त्यागे, तुम सब दुख से डर कर भागे
जवान ने कर्म की रीत सिखाई – २
तुमने फ़र्ज़ से आँख चुराई, ओ राम दुहाई
जय जवान जय किसान (chorus)
उसकी OROP को अपनी NFU का गुलाम न करो
फौजी का नाम बदनाम ना करो, बदनाम ना करो
देखो ऐ बाबू …
OROP को समझो, फौजी को जानो, नींद से जागो ओ मस्तानो
एक दिन झेलना सीने पे गोली
खून की खेलना इक दिन होली
जय जवान जय किसान (chorus)
OROP की मौत का इंतजाम न करो
फौजी का नाम बदनाम ना करो, बदनाम ना करो
देखो ऐ बाबू, तुम ये काम ना करो
फौजी का नाम बदनाम ना करो, बदनाम ना करो
(Pic courtesy: www.spora.in)
Dekho ai baabu, tum ye kaam nA karo
Fauji ka naam badnaam na karo, badnaam nA karo
Fauji ne ha.Ns kar sab sukh tyAge, tum sab dukh se Dar kar bhaage
Jawan ne karm kI riit sikhAI
Tumane farz se aa.Nkh churaa_ii, o raam duhaa_ii
Jai Jawan, Jai Kisaan (chorus)
Usaki OROP ko apni NFU ka gulaam na karo
Fauji kA naam badanAm nA karo, badanAm nA karo
Dekho ai baabu …
OROP ko samajho, fauji ko jaano, nI.nd se jaago o mastaano
Ek din jhelna seene pe goli
Khoon ki khelna ik din Holi
Jai Jawan, Jai Kisaan (chorus)
OROP ki maut ka intejaam na karo
Fauji kA naam badanAm nA karo, badanAm nA karo
Dekho ai baabu, tum ye kaam nA karo
Fauji kA naam badanAm nA karo, badanAm nA karo
How often we have heard our CO ask us this at sea; and now, in the twilight years of our lives, we all know the answer. But, let me explain this to our civilian friends in this group:
When you first sight or detect another vessel at sea, it is like a speck. What interests you most about the vessel (contact) is its bearing as seen on the gyro compass. You have to observe its bearing for the next few minutes in order to see what’s the contact doing. It can be one of the three situations: if the bearing is steady and the contact is closing in range, then one has to worry about action by either or both of the vessels to avert collision. If the bearing is drawing aft (ie, drawing left for a contact on port side, and drawing right for a contact on starboard side), then it is generally a safe situation. If the bearing is drawing forward (ie, right for a port contact and left for a starboard contact), there is risk of the vessel crossing ahead of you at close quarters, especially if it is a large vessel. Hence, when a Captain asks the Officer of the Watch, “What’s the contact doing?” he expects an intelligent reply about what its bearing and range are doing and a quick estimate of its CPA (Closest Point of Approach).
Following conversation took place between CO of one of my ships and a close friend of mine.
OOW: Ship on bearing 120 on far horizon, Sir.
CO: Very good.
CO (after about 3 minutes): What’s the contact doing?
OOW (Looking intently through the eye-piece of the compass): Wait one, Sir, I am observing.
CO (a little taken aback but retaining his cool): Okay, let me know quickly.
CO (after some time): What’s the contact doing?
OOW (Looking even more intently through the eye-piece than earlier): I am observing, Sir, will let you know, Sir.
CO (now visibly not able to keep his cool): How long does it take dammit? Hurry up.
Despite the vastness of the sea, close quarter situations and collisions between ships occur causing mammoth losses. Early estimation of CPA and avoiding action (s) help avert such situations. VLCCs (Very Large Crude Carriers) are between a quarter to half a km in length and carry about 300,000 tons of oil. Similarly large cruise liners can be as long as VLCCs and carry up to 8000 persons on board.
By this time the ship was fully visible: a large passenger liner and it appeared to be drawing closer though not on a steady bearing.
OOW (Applying more strain on his eyes through the eye-piece and even looking through his binoculars hanging around his neck by a lanyard): Just a minute Sir, I am nearly there now.
OOW, my good friend, hadn’t observed that by this time the CO had picked up a parallel ruler as a weapon.
CO (Impatiently now): What’s the contact doing, for heavens’ sake?
OOW (Getting a good look at the contact through the compass eye-piece and the binoculars): Appears to be doing fine, Sir; they seem to have a party on board.
The thud of the parallel ruler on the OOW’s arm was sharp and decisive. It was indeed a close quarter situation with the liner and various orders were given by the Captain to avoid that.
Later in the night, in the JOM (Junior Officers’ Mess), when we were about to sleep in our bunks, I heard the timid voice of my friend asking me, “Don’t you think they should give us more powerful binoculars if they want us to know ‘what’s the contact doing’ at a considerable range?”
I agreed with him whole-heartedly that navy wasn’t turning out to be as wonderful a service as we had reckoned during our school and college days.
When I was in school, we used to have any number of these small books available helping us to pass our exams without – what they promised – tears or too much of effort. These were named, just like For Dummies series, English Without Tears, Maths Without Tears and so on.
I present you here, based on my extensive observations, Annual Inspection Without Tears.
Annual Inspection of a ship is to the ship’s company (crew) what ACR is to an individual (Please also read ACR Season). It is normally divided into three parts: Harbour Inspection in which over days the Fleet Staff Officers check their respective departments for maintenance of equipment, books, drills etc; Divisions and Rounds in which the Fleet Commander checks the ship’s company for the turnout and compartments for their cleanliness and upkeep; and finally Sea Inspection for the readiness of the ship’s departments for combat.
The preparation starts as early as a month or two before. Generally, the Fleet publishes a calendar of annual inspections of ships. However, bright, upcoming COs, in case they find out that their ships are not scheduled for inspection, call on the Fleet Commander and convince him to inspect their ships. When the Fleet Commander accepts, they return to their ships, call their Heads of Departments and address them in this manner, “I don’t know what’s wrong with the Fleet Commander. I told him that we were inspected by the last Fleet Commander less than 6 months before. However, he insisted on inspecting us next month before I finally hand over command. Anyway, gentlemen, despite my best efforts to wriggle out of it, it has become a fait accompli. Fortunately, I have the best team of HODs in the Fleet and you would hold my hand, I am sure.”
And then start the frantic preparations. The Fleet Commanders generally pass instructions that no fresh paint is to be applied unless necessary. Fortunately, bright and upcoming COs having bright and upcoming XOs (Executive Officers or Second-in-Command) do find that almost the entire ship’s painting is necessary. Their reasoning goes like this that if a ship just before decommissioning can be painted, what is wrong with painting before something as important as Annual Inspection?
What should be the focus of the other preparation? Well, I can think of many significant things.
One of the most significant is to follow Sun Tzu’s advice in Art of War: “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”
Now, you are likely to tell me that there is no war going on and there is no enemy and hence Sun Tzu is not applicable; it is only an annual inspection. That is where you err and the successful CO doesn’t. He replaces the word War with Annual Inspection and enemy with Fleet Commander and everything falls into place. If you know, and I mean really know your Fleet Commander, you will not fear the result of a hundred battles…er…annual inspections. Do your homework and find out what are the likes and dislikes of the Fleet Commander. Lets say, the Fleet Commander has suddenly taken fancy to fluorescent NBCD (Nuclear Biological Chemical Defence) stickers to be placed along the NBCD citadel in the ship, it should naturally become Priority #1 item. How to get these stickers in case these are not naval stores items? Ha, ha, haven’t you heard of the expression: Beg, Borrow, or Steal? In short, you have to become Bhutto, the PM of Pakistan after India demonstrated capability to explode nuclear devices; he said, “We will starve, we will live on grass; but we must have a nuclear devise ourselves”. And indeed, as history unfolded, they starved, they lived on grass, but they had nuclear bomb. With this kind of tenacity, he would have got ten out of ten in Annual Inspection.
An ad for recruitment in the Indian Navy acknowledges that “Attitude” is the most important attribute.
You have to make a list of all the Likes and Dislikes of the Fleet Commander and some of the influential members of his staff, eg, FOO or Fleet Operations Officer and ensure that you have answers to those.
The second step is to prepare an Annual Inspection Report. You should know that no one ever reads this voluminous report. Hence, do not waste your time getting all the facts right. It is not going to change anything. On the other hand, everything that the Fleet Commander and his staff ever conveyed to you, however insignificant it sounded, must be addressed in this report in bold or italics or highlighted. The expression that you should use over and over again is: As per Fleet Commander’s directions. For example: “As per Fleet Commander’s directions, the ship now has a full-fledged gym. Last two months’ data shows that officers and sailors alike use the gym regularly. A large percentage has also been visiting on Sundays and holidays. In the last PET (Physical Efficiency Test), conducted on 14 Mar 14, 85 percent of the ship’s company is now in Excellent grading”. You have given the credit to the Fleet Commander, where it is due, and you will live to see this being converted into excellent grading during the Annual Inspection.
Indeed, this report should be comprehensive enough to cover every little thing ever told to the ship by these important dignitaries. Another thing to cover in the report can be explained by me by giving you the example of Sachin Tendulakar as a batsman. He used to play psychological warfare with the bowlers and make them bowl to him the balls that he wanted. Some such thing has to be smartly done in the AI report. You have to carefully steer them in checking you for your strong points and not your week points. For example, lets say, you have recently kitted up all your sailors and spent time and energy in making sure they have all good fitting uniforms, your report must steer them into inspecting you there. If Jai and Veeru can get away with “Jail mein pistaul aa gaya hai” in Sholay, you can smartly channelise their energies into searching for the pistaul on your ship.
In harbour inspection, do not forget to prove the Admiral right; it will pay rich dividends. For example, lets say, the Fleet Commander is very fond of pulling up carpets in order to look for dust underneath; he would never pardon you for making him look idiotic by finding no dust underneath. A smart CO, therefore, makes sure that a handful of dust is inadvertently left there so that the Fleet Commander’s prepared ML (Moral Lecture) about stress on cleanship would not be wasted.
What about the Sea Inspection? Surely you cannot pull wool over anyone’s eyes there. Think again. Here, communications are the most important aspect. Irrespective of what action is taken on the drills and exercises given by the Fleet Staff, they come to know about it only through reports. You may remember this from one of John Winton books. When a Fire Drill was going on one of the ships that he had joined, nothing whatsoever was being done as far Fire Drill was concerned. However, all the reports between various positions involved with the Fire Drill were perfect. Hence, if the Captain was monitoring it on the broadcast he would have been reassured of the correctness of all the actions.
Here I cannot fail to give you two examples. One is of a hot-rod Gunnery Officer on one of the ships wherein I was posted as SCO or Signal Communication Officer. If he had ever come on board the ship on a Sunday to have beer and biriyani with his family and found that CO was also visiting with his guests, he would make a series of announcements about armament drills for the benefit of the Captain. The Captain would now get the impression that his Guns was so hard-working that even on a Sunday he was engaged with his men to improve drills.
The second example is that of a hot-rod CO of a ship of a sister ship. In exercises with aircraft, whilst own Gunnery radars were not picking up any of the incoming strikes, his ship would invariably report aircraft detected on certain range and bearing and then follow it up with all kinds of detailed reports. I too called the dockyard teams to fine-tune my own systems so that they too would pick up incoming strikes as promptly. But, it was of no avail. Finally, I had to invite the hot-rod CO for PLD (Pre Lunch Drinks) in order to learn from him the ropes. Beer loosened the tongue and he told me the truth that actually, even their systems hardly ever picked up the strikes. All that they did was to monitor the aircraft communications and as soon as the aircraft were within communication range, they would make all kinds of reports until they received a Bravo Zulu (Well Done) from the Flotilla Commander.
Alright, enough, guys. This is only a glimpse of Annual Inspection Without Tears. If you are interested, and your Annual Inspection is actually due, write to me and I shall give you more practical hints.
Before I close, I must leave you with a thought. Human-touch stories always are admired. So, if during the Admiral’s Walk Around the ship, you can have the lovely photographs of handicapped children that your ship adopted through Welfare Funds and these kids are photographed in their school receiving the prizes, you – not them – are the winner. Also, a few of quotes by important people (remember there is no one as important as the Fleet Commander) can be put in the alleyways. Admirals are adept at giving pearls of wisdom starting with the same letter; eg, Courage, Commitment, Consistency, Calm, and Clarity. His five or seven Cs, Gs, Ms or Ss – whatever letter takes his fancy – should be prominently displayed everywhere, preferably with his picture showing his own commitment.
If you ever go to Spain and want to watch the macho sports of bull-fighting, you would learn, to your surprise that bull-fighting is a carefully enacted play in three parts. In the third part, the bull hardly has any choice but to die. He knows it, the toreros know it, the matador knows it, the pincers know it and everyone in the bull-ring knows it. There are, however, some amongst the spectators who do not know it. They would do well to read Sun Tzu and The Art of War.
Sun Tzu giving the most important lesson about Annual Inspections!
ACR or Annual Confidential Report is the most important report on an officer. In the Indian Navy, depending upon one’s rank, an ACR would be due by a fixed date. The period of say a month or so leading up to this date, the actual writing of ACR by one’s IO (Initiating Officer), is called the ACR Season. There is no other season of the year like this. During Diwali season, for example, one is in festive and somewhat extravagant mood. Similarly, during Christmas season, one is in musical and forgiving mood. During ACR season, one is at one’s best behaviour. It is a period of great hope; but, it is also a period of great trepidation and anxiety. Thank God it is Annual and hence after one goes through it, one can live it up for the next one year. It is the time of the year when – in case you want to become something in the Navy – you have to put your best foot forward. You can’t hide, as you may do, say, during Holi season. You have to get noticed and noticed in a positive way. It has to be tackled at several fronts including professional, social and domestic.
During the year leading up to the ACR, you know that the Captain (in the Navy the CO of a ship is called Captain irrespective of his rank) has been happy with your performance. But, there is many a slip between the cup and the lip. Unless this happiness is translated into adequate PP (Promotion Potential) and PQ (Personal Qualification) marks, it is somewhat similar to ‘Jungle mein more naacha kisane dekha?’ (A peacock dancing in a forest goes unnoticed).
The Captain, therefore, has to be kept in right mood and humour until the day when he has signed the ACR, sealed and sent to the RO (Reviewing Officer). You also know that last impression is the lasting one and hence what you do in the ACR Month or Season substantially and many a times totally overshadows your performance for the rest of the year. Following measures are, therefore, only too prudent to be kept in mind:
The prudent approach during ACR Season!
There should be no attempt whatsoever to even remotely disagree or differ with the Captain professionally or socially. Lets say his favourite batsman is Kambli and you know he is in the team only because of his closeness to Sachin Tendulkar. Else, you feel he plays only for himself and lacks range of shots. But, is this the right time of the year to point out various inadequacies of this overrated batsman? For heavens’ sake NO, in capitals. This is the time to bring out what a lovely straight drive Kambli possesses and his tenacity in occupying crease for several hours – carefully omitting to add – without scoring a single run.
Similarly, why are new, shining white uniforms and peak caps lying in the wardrobe? Now is the time of the year to start wearing them. Earlier you never had time to have a proper haircut; in any case you fancied yourself looking like Amitabh Bachchan. But, for the sake of the old-fashioned Captain (who feels that an officer with a proper haircut is a smart officer), you better have a smart crew-cut.
Your Good Morning Sir also should have the requisite zing about it. You should be around to laugh the loudest when the Captain cracks those hackneyed jokes of his for the hundredth times. Your body language should exude your wholeheartedly agreeing with the fact about the Captain is the smartest and wittiest man this side of Suez.
Every opportunity should now onwards be taken to side with the Captain in any discussion. So, if he feels that RAS (Replenishment At Sea through jack-stay between two ships) is a wastage of time, you should have done your home-work to bring out how many ships in the last war, were crippled or sunk by enemy planes and other enemy action just because they were engaged in RAS. “Sitting ducks” is the expression to use with him whilst describing ships engaged in RAS.
ACR Month is also the period of the year when you must remember that Navy is not a vocation but a way of life. Hence, there is nothing like not impressing the Captain and his wife (good-lady as our army counterparts call her) during off working hours. So, when you espy them out out for a walk with their dumb looking Labrador, you and your wife should join them as almost going in the same direction. “Labs make the best pet dogs” should be your opening shot. Your wife should now chip in to say how you yourself were planning to own one as soon as you finish with the ship’s tenure. Indeed, you should add ruminatively if Lucy (Captain’s bitch) would litter, you would be the first one to take one of the pups as no one could be as adorable as Lucy.
Somehow, the Captain also has to know about your other hidden talents. These would tip the scale in your favour considering that sometimes, to decide the selected candidates in the Promotion Board, the board has been known to go down to the second decimal points of PP plus PQ marks of almost similarly qualified officers.
In this your wife’s utterances come in handy: “Vijay is (fictitious name; no need to take offence in case your or your husband’s name is Vijay in the same manner some of you took offence to mention of Pahargunj in my story Raksha. For heavens’ sake, these are just names) very fond of painting. Coincidentally, his favourite subject is dogs. In our home place Dehradun, his paintings sell like hot cakes”.
And you add with a twinkle in your eyes: “Hot dogs, that is”. There isn’t a Captain worth his salt who doesn’t appreciate humour.
You should also be alive to slipping in your other interests. “Rekha is nowhere near the truth, Sir; I hardly get time to paint these days. One comes home quite late from the ship. Irrespective of howsoever late it may be, I have to go for a few games of squash racquets…ha, ha…old habits die hard….and then, I just can’t go to sleep until I have read something in bed….so painting is only about once in a month or two.”
How about inviting them over socially during this period? A big NO, NO. Your Captain, don’t forget, is also quite cautious during this period. He has to write a pen-picture about you. All that you are doing is helping him with the right words and phrases to describe you. You overdo it and you have hit yourself on the toe with a hammer. In any case, unless you actually have a few dog paintings and books at home, there is no point in inviting them. Possibly what you can do is to take a photograph of Lucy to a local painter, get a painting made, sign it and Rekha can gift it to ma’am.
Now, the story from the other side! No one would tell you this but I am telling you.
(cartoon courtesy: www.pinterest.com)
The Captain has actually gone through this period several times in the past. He knows and has tried every trick that you can come up with. He has already assessed you during the year. However, he tells himself with a chuckle that there is no harm in pushing through important plans on his ship during the ACR season. He knows his officers would never fail him during this period. He doesn’t even have to order; he kind of suggests or requests and lo and behold it gets done. I know of a brother officer on one of the ships that I served on about whom Captain was absolutely sure that he was really sweating for his ACR. Hence, knowing that in his particular department, a whole lot of work was pending, the Captain delayed sending his report (a Captain may do so up to three months depending upon circumstances) by a few months. Everything was accomplished.
ACR is a game, ladies and gentlemen, that two can play……and, hold your breath, both can win.
I joined the Indian Navy in 1973. In a decade or so before that we had fought two bloody wars with Pakistan and one with China. The 1962 War with China resulted in shame and embarrassment thanks to the civilian leadership’s shortsightedness including the decision not to use the Air Force. The 1965 war was indecisive though we tasted many victories. The 1971 War, however, had resulted in a resounding victory; in a 12 days swift war, the Indian armed forces sorted out the problem of East Pakistan and of having the same enemy flanking us from the East and the West. The armed forces leadership covered up for the civil leadership’s indecisiveness and lack of foresight as well
The average Indians, having gone through experiences that tangibly and in many cases substantially touched their lives, were grateful and identified with the faujis. Yes, there were the business communities in Bombay and Gujarat who objected to the blackouts at nights, during the 1965 and 1971 wars, since their businesses and resultant money-making abilities were affected. But, the Indians, which had genuine respect for the armed forces, far outnumbered those that were driven by other interests including political compulsions. The atmosphere was replete with patriotic songs such as Ai mere watan ke logo, Watan ki raah mein watan ke naujwan shaheed ho, and Awaaz do ham ek hain.
Since then, there has been gradual and steady tumble downhill in the collective perceptions of our countrymen about the necessary evil called war and respect for the armed forces. Admittedly, this fall is a global phenomenon. As people become more secure, they start questioning the money being spent on and the brouhaha about security. This finds expression in such reasoning as, “Don’t be under the impression that only the armed forces personnel are patriotic. No national boundaries are going to be redefined now. I, working in my office, am addressing even more significant freedoms than a soldier does, eg, economic freedom, freedom of expression, and freedom from moral and social taboos such as homosexuality.” However, the indifference towards the erstwhile saviours of the country, the faujis is more pronounced in India than elsewhere.
These are not the only drawing – room wars that our countrymen fight. The real war against the enemies of the country is as if always elsewhere, and no one other than the faujis is involved. I am reminded of Herman Wouk in The Caine Mutiny: “War is a terrible business in which people get killed and you are damn glad you ain’t one of them.” And mind you, Caine Mutiny was written at a time when the ongoing war affected millions of people.
It is almost like the kids on the net fighting video-game wars. There are planes, guns, missiles, bombs and warships. People do get killed, there is mayhem or massacre. But, there is no real blood, no real danger, no real pain of a mother losing her only son or that of a young, just-married widow. All that the kids are interested in is similar to their interest in cricketing jamborees such as IPL: ‘what’s the score?’ An average Indian today is as close to the image of this video-games kid as you can get.
Kargil War Martyrs – Forgotten images (Pic courtesy: storify.com)
There is a fierce war going on in Kashmir. There is one going on in the North-East. There is another in the Maoist belt that extends all the way from Nepal to Andhra. There is yet another war of law and order situations in the country getting out of hand due to bad management by those actually being paid and charged with controlling such situations. But, as far as our drawing-room warriors are concerned, the fauji is fighting his own battle or war without the slightest involvement of people. The other so called freedoms interest and fascinate them more; eg, freedom to see pornography in the confines of their bedrooms.
I hope to be proved wrong but I am already proved right to a large extent by the fact that this same fauji is now fighting helplessly against the injustice done to him in case of OROP by successive governments; and no one other than him and his family is involved. Yes, of course, our countrymen pay lip-service to the courage, values and plight of the faujis. But, why is there no general hue and cry about the step-motherly treatment meted out to them? The same countrymen who were up in arms, for example, against the injustice done to Jessica Lal and about waking up the conscience of the political leadership after Nirbhay’s rape in New Delhi, are silent now and don’t even extend moral support. Possibly, singing paeans of the faujis by the people is just an effort to be counted amongst the patriotic. However, other than this, the people at large, the intelligentsia, and the media steer clear from any expression of support as if it doesn’t concern them. Anna Hazare was able to rally support for his anti-corruption campaign initially and people joined in protest in large numbers across the country and especially in the capital. However, matters of national security don’t seem to concern people. These are fit enough only to be used in run up to elections as handy tools for the vilification campaigns that our political parties indulge in.
Public outcry against Nirbhay’s rape. A soldier, in contrast, has less or no dignity! (Pic courtesy: news.mydosti.com)
The most shameful assault by the police, the henchmen of the political leaders, on aged armed forces veterans and their families, took place on the eve of the 69th Independence Day. However, our countrymen, the drawing-room warriors that they are, left it largely to the veterans to sort this out. The veterans are now forced to sit on fast unto death.
Initially, in the Kargil War, state funerals used to be organised when the body-bags of our soldiers started arriving. Nowadays, such body-bags don’t make much of a dent. It is, more or less, business as usual.
What about the rich industrialists? In my article of three years ago, ‘Armed Forces And the Indian Society’, which I recently circulated again for its relevance today, I had pointed out that the industrialists are the direct beneficiaries of secure environment inside the country and across the seas. Their businesses flourish. However, do you think anyone of them have contributed money or time or support for the OROP agitation? A few of our former services chiefs have gone to the extent of publicly saying that the continued neglect by the political bosses of the veterans and armed forces would eventually have serious consequences for the security of the country. This has ruffled no feathers anywhere.
Never before in the history of a nation the guarantors of the country’s independence have been so slighted. However, so strange is this country that there is nary a public outcry. As one of our political leaders said publicly and haughtily about the faujis: “They are paid to die.”
We, faujis, should be thankful that our countrymen haven’t (yet) asked us to pay for having been given the opportunity to secure their lives and the nation.
The biggest two techno-social changes that have happened in the last decade or so have affected our lives in a huge manner. Thanks to these two changes, everyone is a photographer now and everyone can write and publish.
People of this generation, who are already used to these two, won’t even know how difficult it used to be in the past.
Lets take photography first. At one time, as you see in various galleries and museums, only the royal people used to have their photographs taken. The camera – an equipment weighing about 5 to 8 kgs – used to be covered with a black cloth so as to save the film from unintended exposure. No one was well versed to take pictures except skilled photographers. Even after these photographers became available to general public; firstly, the cost was well beyond the reach of anyone except the upper crust; secondly, between clicking (actually it was not even clicking but a calculated exposure by removing the cap of the lens) and developing and printing a photograph a great deal of time would pass; and thirdly, because of the first two, there was nothing like photography on the move such as travel photography or even of events like picnics and birthdays.
(Photo and following caption courtesy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_photography “Boulevard du Temple”, a daguerreotype made by Louis Daguerre in 1838, is generally accepted as the earliest photograph to include people. It is a view of a busy street, but because the exposure time was at least ten minutes the moving traffic left no trace. Only the two men near the bottom left corner, one apparently having his boots polished by the other, stayed in one place long enough to be visible.
Even after the cameras became smaller and gradually SLR (Single Lens Reflex; that is looking at the subject through the same lens through which a picture was to be taken rather than through a view-finder mounted atop the camera), there were only limited pictures (generally 12) that one could click after settings that included weather, speed, exposure etc because of the limitation of camera roll that had to be installed in the camera with great care so as to avoid unintended exposure. One would know about the results of one’s efforts only after the entire roll got over and you went to a photo-studio to have the roll developed and printed.
(Photo courtesy: www.culture24.org.uk showing the picture of a man operating one of the first cameras)
You invited friends and relatives to view your photo albums but rarely shared copies with them unless they featured in the photos. Even at that, to ask photo studio to make copies of specific numbers of photos was frustrating since many times due to reel loading problems, the number occurred atop two adjoining photos.
Even after the digital cameras came up, for the first few years these were so frightfully expensive that they were beyond the reach of the common man.
(Photo courtesy: www.mir.com.my; One of the earliest batch of Leica M3 chrome double stroke model, 1954 model. Here is a lovely illustrative photo of how a typical early Leica M3 camera body looks like. It has slightly cornered top-plate, all early M3 features. Note the lack of viewfinder frame pre-selector lever near the lens mount. Year: 1954 w/Serial No. 70031x. Expected to be pricey in such a condition – to satisfy your curiosity, true enough this unit had an auction price approaching EUR10K !)
And then suddenly, every phone has a camera, everyone is taking photographs and selfies. Earlier, a video camera used to be carried on the shoulder of a qualified videographer; now, people are taking your videos when you are not even aware. Paparazzi is reportedly a nuisance phenomenon and one of the reasons behind Princess Di’s untimely demise in an accident.
(Paparazzi – The Privacy Killer; Pic courtesy: en.docsity.com)
People are posting live pictures and videos on social media such as Facebook and Whatsapp. A number of jokes have come up because of this tendency. In a cartoon, for example, in a building people are advised as follows:
‘IN CASE OF FIRE, IMMEDIATELY LEAVE THE BUILDING THROUGH MARKED ESCAPE ROUTES AND NOT WAIT TO TAKE PICTURES AND SELFIES.’
With these millions of pictures on the net, some personal family pictures and others like Google Images, to get people’s attention to view them is quite a task. Various innovative means are thought of to attract people’s attention. One method on Facebook is to tag people in the post with photographs. These people would get notifications such as: “ABC commented on your picture”. You then hope like hell they would see “their picture”. Another method is to give them an attractive and catchy title. For instance, an Income Tax hoarding had an attractive skimpily dressed female with the huge sign that said SEX. As you walked closer, the hoarding said, “Now that we got your attention, we’d like to tell you that the last date for filing Income Tax Return is 30th July”.
Even at that, to get people to see your 349 pictures of your pet dog or 127 of your granddaughter’s mundan ceremony is as difficult as say getting people to see a play titled Swadeshi. There is also this big danger that if people see yours, then they consider you are obliged to see the 292 pictures of their outing to Borivali National Park, which has failed to get your attention since you have been there any number of times anyway.
What about writing? Well, the scene is no different; it is even worse. At one time, to be published was Herculean task. You wrote and wrote and wrote and sent your stuff to newspapers and magazines. They didn’t even respond. Once in a blue-moon, if your letter to the editor got published, it was a much curtailed and edited version of what you wrote.
Nowadays, there are any number of places where you instantly post the fruits of your fertile mind. Indeed, many people do so mindlessly. I have come across people who have written more poems in a year’s time than Wordsworth would have written in his lifetime. I have also come across a blogger who regularly writes two to three articles in a day. Then there are others, who write a paragraph of three to four sentences and call it an article or blog post.
Surprisingly, the more laconic your post or article is, the more people like it and comment on it. It is, they observe, easier to read. Also, mediocrity and even nonsense sell much better than any erudite or intelligent stuff. A few months back, I started a Facebook Group called Main Shayar To Nahin. Initially, there was great enthusiasm to share shair-o-shairi (the cheaper the better and more popular) and we were adding members by dozens. A few examples:
“Bahut dard hota hai jab tum yaad aate ho,
Dard hone se phir tumhaari yaad aati hai”.
“Tanhaayi mein tumhaari yaad aati hai,
Kyaa kahun behisaab aati hai
Kuch tere aane se pehle, sanam
Kuchh tere jaane ke baad aati hai!”
“Dard ki hadd paar ho gayi tere intezzar mein,
Kyaa yehi silaa mila mujhe tere pyaar mein?”
I googled the first one and found nearly a Lakh members of that group in which such cheap poetry is shared. Each such shair has hundreds of likes and comments. And, in contrast, the moment I asked in our group to share good quality poetry of Ghalib, Faiz, Shakeel, Firaq, Daag etc, first of all very few people took the trouble to do it and secondly there were hardly any people interested in them, to like or to comment.
Social media like Facebook, Twitter and Whatsapp have an adverse effect of ADS or Attention Deficit Syndrome. No one is interested in a well-researched, well-written article. It has to be something catchy, meant for the dumbos and presented so slick that people fall for those three or four lines that you write. The idea is to enable them to respond since they are authors and writers in their own right. I have had people commenting on my articles copy pasting something that I would have written many months ago in the hope that I too would be suffering from ADS and would have forgotten that it was I who wrote it.
On the Indiblogger, which is a forum for Indian Bloggers, there is a policy of you scratch my back and I scratch yours. In this policy, people would vote and comment on your posts if you vote and comment on theirs. People have discovered that for this MAD (Mutual Assured Dalliance), they don’t really have to actually read anything at all and even if they read they don’t have to pay attention. This is somewhat similar to a minister having asked his secretary to prepare a 20 minutes speech for him and discovering that the speech actually took an hour. He complained to the secretary. She investigated and found that the speech was only 20 minutes long but the minister had read out the two carbon copies too that she had given him to be on the safe side. If you think it is far-fetched, you would do good to remember that our External Affairs Minister Shri SM Krishna recently read out the wrong speech at the United Nations; that of the Portuguese minister!
On Facebook, there is a button called ‘Like’ (Please also read ‘Like’ on this blog). It has answer to all our problems regarding reading anything at all. No matter how long it would have taken the author to write his stuff, you can press Like in less than a second and be done with. You routinely come across people who Like dozens of posts in less than a minute (Please also read ‘Why Read When You Can Like?’).
Various companies profit from this ADS of people at large. They write voluminous Terms and Conditions for their services. Just at the time when you are about to make payment and gain access, you get a message to tick the box to the effect that you have read, understood and agreed with their terms and conditions. You quickly do so without reading anything at all. In any case, if you were to actually read everything you would probably have to log-in all over again. Forget about the transient Internet. Have you ever read the reverse of your dry – cleaner’s receipt or courier consignment receipt or any other receipt? If you actually read through you’d be surprised that the companies, in their terms and conditions, have washed their hands off everything and the total onus of the correctness of their services is on you. Your Internet service-provider’s Terms and Conditions, for example, have nothing whatsoever in your favour even if their services are disrupted for lengthy durations. It is the same with Credit Card companies. Here, you even sign for ‘Our terms and conditions are subject to change’. I used to get a lot of calls from Credit Card companies promising me one Credit Card or the other. I started asking them to provide me with a signed copy of their Terms and Conditions. All calls stopped.
As far as your writings are concerned, you can master various ploys to make people read your stuff. One of the best employed was by the boss telling the secretary, “Mark this TOP SECRET; I want everyone in the office to read it.” But, beyond the ploys, finally it is consistency that pays off. If you have a small niche audience that reads your stuff, you should be happier than if you have had hundreds of Likes.
In the end also remember what Sahir Ludhianvi penned for a song in the Dev Anand movie Hum Dono. He would have never thought one day Sunbyanyname would relate this to social media where everyone is a photographer or writer but there are no viewers or readers:
“Kaun rota hai kusi aur ki khaatir, ai dil?
Sabako apani hi kisi baat pe rona aaya.”
(Who weeps for the sake of someone, O my heart?
Everyone weeps remembering something of their own.)
It is also worth keeping in mind the harsh reality that despite increased techno-social means available in the present world (that’s how I started this essay), the more people you meet on the net, the more alone you are.
It gives immense happiness to read your own articles or to see your own pictures at some later stage in your life when you look at them as another person.
On the 15th of July 2013 we bade adieu, in India, to the 163 years old Telegram service in India. It was started by the British East India company between Calcutta and Diamond Harbour in 1850. Four years later it was made availabe to the general public.
It was, for a century and half, the fastest means of communication available to the common man in India and elsewhere in the world. As soon as the use of sms, Internet and Whatapp became more widespread, the demise of Telegram was just around the corner.
Telegrams used to be the harbinger of news both good and bad, happy and sad. Many a times, due to garbled transmission or reception or both or because of sender’s mistake, unintended situations would arise. It could be as comical as mix up of Greeting Telegram numbers wherein you had intended to convey ‘Congratulations on a well deserved success’; but, the recipient got it as ‘Congratulations on the new arrival’ or ‘May God shower His choicest blessings on the newly-weds.’ Or as serious as ‘Wife expired’ when you had meant to send ‘Happy Independence Day’ message. Such mix-ups had resulted in great sadness and heartburn for people until clarification arrived.
I know the case of a fauji who finally managed leave from a forward posting from where he hadn’t got leave for a long time. He sent a telegram to his wife: ‘Got leave. Reaching home 29th’. When he reached home, he found his wife in bed with another man. He was furious; but, the mother-in-law calmed him by saying she’d check up the reason for her strange conduct. Sure enough, by evening, the mother-in-law had checked and found the reason and triumphantly announced to him, “I knew there would be a simple explanation; she never got your telegram.”
In the Hindi movies, telegrams for just-married faujis used to be delivered to them on their honeymoon nights when they would have just lifted the ghunghat of their newly wedded wives. The only message of the telegram would be asking him to report to border since war had broken out. India has fought five wars with its neighbours Pakistan and China. But, if these telegrams were to be believed, everytime a fauji wedded in a movie, especially, if it was a love-marriage that the family elders hadn’t approved of, a war would breakout at about midnight. Irrespective of how far the sender’s place was, there would be jonga waiting to take him to the war with the wife standing in the doorway of their house bidding him a tearful goodbye. Some would even run behind the jeep barefeet and remind him that Love was what they had between themselves and War was between the two countries and he, over a period of time, shouldn’t get these facts mixed up. One telegram had the power to shatter their dreams. One telegram spelt the difference between Love and War. I give you two consecutive scenes from the Hindi movie Border: the honeymoon scene and the dressing up for reporting to unit scene after the telegram:
In my case, I wasn’t called to the border, but, was sent to Andaman & Nicobar islands with the then Prime Minster Rajiv Gandhi and his Italian wife Sonia embarked on my ship Ganga. Their togetherness was at the cost of my and my Indian wife Lyn’s togetherness when she was expecting our second child. The news of our younger son Arun arriving was sent by her as a telegram which was received in Communication Centre (COMCEN) at Mumbai, who in turn broadcast the message and the ship received it. In my forenoon watch, the CO read out the message to me and I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for them whilst thanking God that He made Life and He made Telegrams.
Unlike our Army counterparts, manpower in the Navy has always been scarce and hence not only that most naval personnel serve far away from their homes, they get leave with great difficulty and reluctance. Many innovative means are devised to first obtain leave and then to ask for extension. One of the telegrams received on my ship from a sailor’s family read: MOTHER SERIOUS. COME HOME FOR DIWALI. There was another similar one received on a sister ship: FATHER BREATHING HIS LAST AWAITING YOUR ARRIVAL FOR CHRISTMAS.
The most innovatively genuine Telegram received asking for extension of leave by a sailor was on board Vikrant where I was initially posted after my Subs Courses. This had us in splits. It read: REQUEST EXTENSION 15 DAYS, WIFE NOT YET SATISFIED. After everyone had vented feelings ranging from extreme anger to pity, the XO (whose Christain motto was ‘It is better to be kind than right’), sent the following historic telegram: EXTENSION GRANTED UNTIL WIFE SATISFIED.
This XO was decidedly a soft XO. There was a hard-boiled-egg of an XO who was aporoached by a sailor for leave having received a telegram from his wife that read: EXPECTING OUR CHILD. COME HOME URGENTLY. The XO read the telegram, opened his table drawer and pulled out another telegram that read: DON’T SEND SOHAN SINGH LEADING SEAMAN ON LEAVE DURING MY DELIVERY AS HE IS A DRUNKARD AND WON’T BE OF ANY HELP.
Naturally, the first telegram received by Sohan Singh was redundant in view of second telegram received by XO from Sohan Singh’s wife. Sohan Singh was about to leave resignedly when his inner conscience goaded him to tell the truth, “Sir, you and I are the world’s best liars; you see, Sir, I am not even married.”
Now that BSNL has stuck the death knell of the Telegram, I am sure life would have undergone a sea change for Indians in general and for our faujis and sailors in particular. What would Diwali, Holi, Christmas, Pongal would be without FATHER EXTREMELY SERIOUS telegram?
When I was small, I used to wistfully look at the hobby selection of my friends. Some were good at stamp collection and had friends in distant corners of the world exchanging philately. During our childhood days, we used to have a candy called Fruitex that had stamps just under the wrapper. People would spend days, months and years collecting stamps from Magyar Posta, USSR and countries whose names we couldn’t pronounce.
Then there were others who liked gardening, photography, travel, poetry, writing, singing. One was into collecting coins too. I too wanted to have a hobby. Poetry and writing suited me most and I liked them. However, the one hobby that I really liked to spend much of my time on was Procrastination. “Don’t put off until tomorrow that which you can do today”, the scriptures taught me that. But, the thought of procrastinating things was far too attractive a temptation not to be tried out. In any case I argued that I could do all those things better tomorrow what I could do today.
The thought of lazily spending the day without much care about doing anything was my vision of an idyllic world. The man who invented the wheel was my ideal; life could go on and on, round and round, without too much of effort. One number that had attraction for me was Beatles’ Let It Be. Another favourite ditty of mine was:
And Noah, he often said to his wife,
Whenever he sat down to dine,
“I don’t care where the water goes,
If it doesn’t get into the wine”.
First of all the ring of the word itself held fascination for me: a Pro word like Progress, Promotion, and Prophylactic unlike those stupid, senseless Anti words such as Antipathy, Anticipation and Antibiotics. Secondly, the last part of the word is spelt as ‘n-a-t-i-o-n’ and I felt that I was doing my duty to the country by being an avid follower of ‘Procrastination’. In this I had healthy competition from our judges and lawyers, politicians and babus; for years, these worthies have been serving the nation by procrastinating everything. Our countrymen too, used to such inherent delays, have angrily questioned, for example, as to what was the flaming hurry in recently hanging a terrorist after merely twenty-two years of trial?
But then, a hobby is different from a vocation or way of life with some of our authorities. RK Laxman’s cartoons about such procrastination brought us untold mirth. In one of these, a politician visits his village constituency after several years of promising them water and electricity. The poor villagers were so excited that in another decade or so someone or the other from the government would look at the promise and see feasibility.
The government of India (irrespective of political parties) turned out to be my biggest competitor in procrastination. As the Republic was constituted on 26 January 1950, it declared India to be a sovereign, socialist, secular, democratic republic, assuring its citizens of justice, equality, and liberty, and endeavours to promote fraternity among them. The words “socialist” and “secular” were added to the definition in 1976 by the 42nd constitutional amendment (mini constitution). Where are we 65 years later? Are we making any serious attempts to provide justice, equality, liberty, socialism and secularism? Are we promoting any fraternity among people? Quite the opposite. But, the future is bright and in another hundred years or so our politicians would have actually delivered. Until then, they would keep arguing about what constitutes poverty.
My next competitors were the judges and lawyers and all those connected with providing justice to our countrymen. I had such a lot of competition from them that I knew that however hard I tred I could never emerge as the champion of procrastination in comparison to them. I used to think that the primary aim of our judicial system was to provide livelihood to lawyers and judges and other court officials. Now I know that it is the only reason. Procrastination is a way of life with them. Most of what they do in terms of providing justice is to give you another date of hearing. There are cases in our courts that were started in the times of present litigants parents and grandparents. Imagine if a perpetrator of terror in India’s leading city was convicted after 22 years, how much longer land and other civil dispute cases would take? Thanks to procrastination by the Indian courts, most Indians now believe in divine justice.
All those involved with the implementation of something called OROP (One Rank One Pension) for the Indian Armed Forces – the same Armed Forces that, in 1971, took only 12 days to sort out the problem of East Pakistan – deserve a Lifetime Achievement Award for their excellence in this hobby of procrastination. I could never match their skills.
Our bureaucrats or babus art in procrastination put me in total awe of them. They weild power through this art. The more they procrastinate the richer they become because people are ready to pay underhand for anything that would make our bureaucratic process – reputed to rank amongst the slowest in the world – faster. Aporopriately, this money is called speed-money. Lets say, you want to start a small factory manufacturing pipes for irrigation. Excellent idea. But, you want to start it during your lifetime itself! Problem. In order to obtain all the clearances, if you are so idealistic as to cringe from paying speed-money your factory would be a pipe-dream.
Our engineers and contractors involved in providing public infrastructure such as roads translate their hobby of procrastination into making more and more money. Projects that were to originally cost A-crores, due to their inimitable skills at procrastination eventually cost A x 10 and in some cases A x 20.
Your neighbourhood friendly doctor literally prolongs your illness as long as his/her felt need of having burgeoning bank-balance is not met. Your cure is always just around the corner.
Something called Investigation or Inquiry in India still ranks amongst the highest form of procrastination; order one and you as a neta or babu is free from the burdens of responsibility or accountability for decades.
With this kind of stiff competition, I finally realised that I cannot get anywhere in my hobby. There are Masters of Procrastination who have been doing it for generations without much competition.
I took to writing and poetry and music. Next, I am thinking of stamp-collection!
Seeing the quality and popularity of my blog posts, people frequently ask me to write and publish books. In addition to love for my writing, I know that they mean well by suggesting that I do something about my ever dwindling financial resources. When I left the Navy after nearly 37 years, I didn’t have much and I didn’t even covet much. I also know that they feel that the posts ought to be read by wider audiences.
My biggest concern is that I do not want to get into a rut wherein the quality or even acceptability of something that I am passionate about is to be measured in terms of money earned or readership.
There must be something that we do that is not done with a purpose, intent, end or aim in mind. However, in our current national and community thinking all tasks and engagements must have a specific purpose or reason. We even call into question God’s accountability and use such phrases as: “All the money that I donated to the temple fund appears to have been wasted since our son still couldn’t get admission in medical college” or “Yes, God answered our prayers in getting mataji’s health back. But, out of rupees 10000 that I paid as chadhawa (offering to God), God appears to have given back only about 2000 rupees worth”.
A few years back I started trying my hand at the game of golf. Since I am fond of open spaces (Please also read: ‘Walk Or Gym? I Like It In The Open’), I liked walking on greens, through bunkers and woods chasing a small white ball. However, soon many of my friends started teasing me, “So, you have decided to become an Admiral? This is the sure shot way.”
It must be a world-wide phenomenon; but, it is much pronounced in India. Everything has to lead to something. You can’t have friends unless they can be of some use to you when the chips are down. Indeed, many people actually think of friendship as an investment. Similarly, political people, babus, doctors, lawyers etc have to be nurtured assiduously with the purpose of providing some return when needed.
Children’s education too is seen as an investment. There has to be some return else it is not worth making him or her an engineer or even well read or well educated.
After retirement from the Navy, I started this blog with the idea of giving vent to my creative energies. It was supposed to be a leisurely pursuit. However, then I made the mistake of joining Indiblogger (Please also read ‘Blogging – Race Or Stampede?‘). Soon I was hooked on to monthly ranking: mozRank, Alexa rank, frequency of posting, and external juice passing links and the like and then it became as banal as anything that we do in our life.
The other day, I was reading this light-hearted take on blog writing: ‘It is like various stages of prostitution; first you start doing it for fun, then for your intimate friends, thereafter for wider circle of friends and acquaintances but finally you start doing it for money. My writing is still at the first stage and I am – as they say in McDonald’s ad – I’m lovin’ it.
Yesterday, once again, I was taking a class with the young executives of my company on Leadership and Team Building. In yet another talk, I reminded them about Abraham Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. In the pyramid, at the base, are the Physiological Needs, going up to Safety Needs, Love and Belonging Needs, Esteem Needs and finally Self Actualisation Needs. Privately I was thinking that we Indians are almost perpetually at the bottom of the pyramid, doing things only to satisfy some basic need or the other. There is always a purpose for doing anything.
Is there no time when we would do things because of passion, a fire that burns inside, a quest that needs to be quenched? Is there no time when we would be like the avid mountaineer who was asked why did he have to climb a
mountain and he replied, “Because it is there”?
(Pic courtesy: skreened.com)
There is no price that can be placed on a smile; and, if you can smile inwardly, without any apparent reason, it is priceless indeed. A mother does it so often with her child and doesn’t ever count the number of likes and comments her child gets or her ranking in the world because of him.
Your pet does it and you do it for your pet; you read a number of articles about how having a pet is good for you. But, those are after you have got him or her.
Love is not a reasoned emotion and yet, it is the greatest of human emotions.
There must be thousands like me in the armed forces of India; we join at a very young age (I was 19 when I joined the Naval Academy or NAVAC at Cochin (now called Kochi) in 1973) and retire when we do not have much life left to see (I retired in end Feb 2010 as Commodore at the age of 56). The other day, on Facebook, I saw security executives in my present corporate where I work celebrating four years (to them it appears a long time with the present trend of job-hopping) of having been there in the same industry. I spent 37 years in the Indian Navy and I could have celebrated this feat nine times over!
I was given the President’s Commission on 01 July 1975 and just a few days back my course-mates and I greeted one another on having completed 40 years of commissioned life. At the time of joining, some of my course-mates were suave, smart, confident and in with the naval way of life. To me, it was all very strange (if I were a girl, I would have been called Alice irrespective of what my parents would have named me!). One or two of the course-mates even appeared to have been from a different planet; one still appears thus. I must have been the most awkward and unlike a Labrador, the least trainable.
What fascinated me about the Navy? The short answer is books and movies; I lapped them up during my boyhood days and imagined myself standing on the deck of a ship like, say, Willie Keith in Caine Mutiny or George Ericson in The Cruel Sea. I also had this strange wanderlust and hence going to sea was as far as I could get from the hills of Himachal where I had been for all my childhood and boyhood years. Now that I have retired from the Navy though the sea is still as fascinating (Please read ‘The Lure Of The Sea’), my next fascination is about matters of philosophy and meta-physics (you will find my writings on these in the Philosophy section of this blog)
So, one fine day, from my home-station in Simla (now spelt Shimla), in May 1973, I took a train to Cochin to be trained (tough job for them!) to become an Indian Navy officer. Here are the last two pictures with my people before Navy claimed me:
You must have seen two things in the above pictures: the short hair-cut that I supported in preparation for the Naval life and the huge smile. As soon as I landed up at Cochin they modified both. The journey to Cochin from Simla had taken only two and half days and how much my hair would have grown in less than three days? However, the urgency with which I was taken to the barber (barbarian?) made it seem like I was some hirsute sadhu who had emerged from the caves in the hills after long hibernation. I couldn’t believe the mirror when this barbarian had finished with me; all resemblance to a wantonly college-going teenager was gone forever. My snake-leather belt, large brass buckle and my bell-bots were all gone. Even civvies for us were the muftis with a neck-tie. Uniform became a way of life in profession, in spare time, in thoughts and even in sub-consciousness.
The next were my seniors who appeared to be direct descendants of Goebbels; they made me wipe my smile as if it was an ugly scar. One of them got used to ragging me with a simple monosyllable word repeated ad-inifinitum (one of the two in his extensive vocabulary; the other being No). An intelligent conversation with him went like this:
A: Why didn’t you report to me yesterday?
Me: Sir, I broke my leg.
A: So?
Me: I reported to the hospital.
A: So?
Me: They put my leg in a cast. It is still in the cast as you can see.
A: So?
“So, Sir, I prayed whole night to God to make me a bird” I wanted to add, “But, then He told me I would have to do without a brain because He had given you the bird(‘s)-brain.”
I also found out that neither my seniors nor any of the staff at NAVAC respected time of the day or night; one could be asked to do front-rolls immediately after dinner or do somersaults in the middle of the time. I was also to learn, at great cost to my dignity (or whatever remained of it) and physique that during war we may have to change various rigs in less than a minute each time lest the enemy should steal advantage over us. And, in order to prevent enemy from seeking this advantage, those of us who couldn’t finish rig-changing in a minute’s time had to go through the kind of torture that the enemy would have unleashed on all.
These staff and seniors, totally bereft of even the remotest traces of civility, made me do things that were well beyond my own endurance and stamina and against my loudest protestations. For example, they predicted that if they threw me in the deep end of the swimming pool, I would automatically learn swimming. I knew it was impossible and I tried my best to tell them so. However, they insisted on the correctness of their theory. Lo, and behold, after a few dunkings and after my having drunk gallons of chlorinated water, it is they who were proved right and I automatically learnt swimming. Late at night in my bed I formed the opinion that it wasn’t correct that God listened to the godly and righteous people; He also listened to such devils.
In likewise manner, I automatically learnt many a thing and discovered newer limits for my own endurance and stamina.
I learnt, for example, that one could go to sleep whilst standing erect on the bridge of Cadet Training Ship Delhi with binoculars in hand tied to a lanyard around the neck.
I also learnt about Relativity of Time; four hours spent in the club (Officers Institute) in the drunken company of my course mates would pass in a jiffy; whilst the same four hours during the middle watch on the ship appeared like four years.
To add to the misery of training days was the naval lingo that had quaint feel about it. One had to say “Aye aye Sir” if one wanted to say “Yes Sir”; port for left, starboard for right, and “very good” whilst acknowledging a report even if the report was about an impending collision.
I remember seeing the Daily Orders for the first time and laughed that even in an official document personnel were called by their nicknames such as Popti for our physical training instructor until it was explained to me after considerable front-rolling and bend-stretches that it wasn’t Popti but PO PTI (Petty Officer Physical Training Instructor).
Armed forces are, I gradually learnt, always training. Many years later, when I was the Director of Maritime Warfare Centre at Mumbai (I am the only officer who has been Director of all three MWCs in the Navy involved in tactical operational training of Command teams), the motto on the Large Screen Display in the auditorium was by General Patton: ‘The more you sweat in peace, the less you bleed in war’. Armed forces, therefore, are always sweating.
On Cadet Training Ship INS Delhi, our only contact with the civilian world was to be taken for what was called RWR (Road Walk and Run) along the Marine Drive in Bombay. What a world awaited us, we thought; Bombay, the dream city of Hindi films (not yet bastardised to ‘Bollywood’) and glamour, the city of marines and window to the rest of the world, the city of money, and the city of possibilities. And when I finally joined it, honestly, there was this air about us that put us on a pedestal. During those days, you rubbed shoulders with the elite and they were dying to be seen with you. During my Acting Sub Lieutenant days, we could sit in the Ante Room and enjoy the company of Nutan and Tanuja. A video of those days is going around showing really big film stars, singers and music directors attending the Navy Ball.
Forty years back, I remember, I had gone in uniform to receive a senior officer at Bombay Central. After receiving him, as I stood in the queue for a cab to take me back to my ship INS Himgiri, a cop who was directing people into cabs, beckoned me at the end of the queue, stopped the next cab for me, put me into it, without any protest or demurring from anyone ahead of me in the queue. It felt really nice being a uniformed naval officer.
And what about going abroad? For a boy from a small town in Himachal, who was awed by walking and running along the Marine Drive in Bombay, stepping on a foreign shore was ecstasy indeed. Our CO said we were to be ambassadors of our great country and as I covered in ‘Foreign Jaunts’, it felt great to be in the naval-diplomatic role wherever we went. Many decades later, in the year 2001, as the Indian Navy organised its International Fleet Review in Mumbai, the motto selected by them was ‘Bridges of Friendship Across the Seas’. I remember our visit to Odessa in erstwhile USSR (now in Ukraine) on Himgiri, my second ship as a commissioned officer after three weeks on Vikrant in harbour. The official reception was held on the second evening. All the lovely Russian damsels attending the reception asked us why the officers were not attending the reception. We were flummoxed until the mystery unfolded. In foreign shores, sailors go on shore leave in uniform whereas officers go out in civvies. Some of these damsels, fascinated by naval uniforms, gave company to some of the sailors over drinks, dancing and dinner. When they inquired from these sailors the meaning of two crossed anchors badges on their sleeves, the sailors responded that they were officers (conveniently forgetting to add that they were Petty Officers!) and hence permitted to wear uniform ashore whereas the other ranks had to perforce go out in civvies.
In Split, erstwhile Yugoslavia, my first foreign visit as an officer
The fascination for naval uniform abroad was to be seen to be believed. I have seen in real life and in pictures people stopping to have their pictures clicked with men in uniform.
During the training period and in our formative years in the Navy, we almost totally forgot about our families. My only sister, for example, got married when I was a cadet, holy-stoning the decks of INS Delhi (erstwhile HMS Achilles that took part in the famous Battle of the River Plate against German battleship Graf Spee, together with HMS Ajax and HMS Exeter. The movie was shot in 1956 and the ship had already been transferred to us in 1958. During the shooting an aerial photo shoot was to be redone because when the reel was developed, it came out that a Sikh sailor, complete with his turban, had come out on the upper deck of Delhi!). I never attended her marriage or any other marriage; I was married to the Navy.
We did manage to fall in love and get married (Please read ‘Lyn And I – Scene By Scene‘); but, the Navy proudly and correctly told our wives that Navy happened to be our first love and they could, at best, be Number Two. The wives themselves had no doubt and never tried to be Numero Uno in our lives. Strangely, the ladies too learnt the ropes through the automatic process that I mentioned above. Whilst we had learnt quick rig-changing, my wife learnt the art of quick packing and unpacking both on permanent as well as temporary duties. They also automatically learnt how to get the best from MES (Military Engineering Service); for example, how many incandescent bulbs of what wattage they were entitled to in exchange for how many. They waited endlessly for us to return to harbour; only to see us off again on another mission, which, they complained the newspaper man and the dhoodhwalla knew all about; but, which “thanks to your stupid secrecy norms, you don’t tell us”.
Our first child, Arjun, was born immediately after my father’s untimely death in an accident and hence under trying circumstances. Our second child, Arun, was born when I was away for a month to Andaman and Nicobar islands on my ship INS Ganga with Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi and his Italian wife Sonia embarked. Lyn, my wife, walked to the hospital, quickly delivered and returned home so as to look after the first one too. Now that we were raising a family – and in my case, under most difficult conditions (as you would have gathered from the blog ‘Lyn And I – Scene By Scene’) – for the nth time, the automatic process came in handy. Both the children too became fiercely independent (Read ‘Diminishing Dad‘), capable and accomplished almost entirely on their own. The other day, my erstwhile coxswain of INS Aditya, a retired Petty Officer, brought his daughter for selection in ICSI (Institute of Company Secretaries of India) run institute called CCGRT (Centre for Corporate Governance Research and Training). She is from a small town in Andhra and just 12th standard pass. She had to compete against graduates and diploma holders but she easily got selected, thanks to the automatic learning process of the armed forces.
During our days there was a joke about a naval officer’s involvement with his family (I believe the joke is still prevalent). A naval officer was asked how big his two children were. He pointed out with his hands, not vertically, but horizontally. This was rather quaint way of bringing out the size of his children and he was asked to explain. He responded, “I see them in the bed only; when I leave in the morning they are still in bed, when I return late at night, they have already gone to bed.”
Naval families ‘automatically’ grow up and learn to stand on their own feet.
Ask a naval officer as to what are his most nostalgic experiences in the Navy. With very few exceptions, he would answer:
#1, the Midshipman Tenure. It was a rank unique to the Navy when one was not quite a commissioned officer yet and also not a cadet. This lasted for only six months whereas we would have wanted it to last a lifetime; you’d start getting some perks of being and officer and yet not too much of responsibility. Indeed, in the naval slang a Midshipman used to be called Snotty as he would be frequently wiping his nose on his sleeve. Our Midshipman tenure was on INS Tir, an erstwhile River Class Frigate of the Royal Navy; and we had a ball, even though we had to do hot-bunking (the number of bunks in our mess being much less than the number of Midshipmen on the premise that a certain number would be on duty by rotation all the times).
#2, the Command of a Ship, Submarine or Aircraft. A Commanding Officer is next to God. Indeed, as the old timers used to say: “Ham God nahin hain, par, God se kam bhi nahin hain.” (I am not God; but I am no less than God). The responsibility that the nation places on a CO of a ship, submarine or aircraft at sea is as mammoth as the unfettered powers given to him; you can’t afford to make mistakes; people’s lives are dependent on you. During our training years we used to wonder how the CO, even whilst asleep in his cabin, instinctively knew what revolutions the ship did by the sound of the engines and whether we were headed into danger. Two decades later when I commanded my own ship, I realised that it comes to you automatically.
#3, to be given an official transport (vehicle). Ahh, for this, during our days, one had to be a very senior officer! And then, the moment this honour (Read: Navy And Staff Cars) was bestowed on you, you sat at the left rear of an Ambassador car, saluted back with a flourish all those who saluted you and failed to recognise your erstwhile friends lest they should ask you to share the prized possession.
Nearly 37 long years went as if in a jiffy. And before you can pause, the Navy retires you. Three days after I retired from the Navy on 28th Feb 2010, I wrote a blog ‘I Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest – Did I?’ in which I concluded “I have no desire to fly over the cuckoo’s nest. The loony bunch is family, for heaven’s sake.” There is nowhere to go. Five years later, after working in India’s largest corporate, there is still nowhere to go; Navy is the only home I knew, the only life I had.
We hadn’t seen any life on civvie street at all. The civilians must be smart in their own ways; after all they command large organisations, governments and countries, whereas all that we do is to command ships, submarines and aircraft. However, frankly, I haven’t met anyone half as smart as a naval officer! In my case, in the Naval Academy, in the Ante Room, I distinctly remember that we waited for someone smart to switch on the television as one, we hadn’t seen one before; and two, with its complex sounding controls such as Contrast, Brightness, V hold and H hold, people would laugh at us if we didn’t know how to get a picture that didn’t jump on the screen. Years later, we were handling with ease, the most complex Electronic Warfare and Action Information systems. The Navy lets you learn all these – well, by now even you know the process – automatically.
Navy was life, a system that used to work; and I know it still works. We were always responsible and accountable for all our actions and non actions; except perhaps during our Midshipmen days. And then you are faced with the lack of discipline and accountability to that extent wherein people die and no one is to be blamed; wherein brand new bridges collapse and no one is accountable; wherein after 40 years of promises and more promises, we still don’t have an OROP (One Rank One Pension) and everyone assures you it would be there shortly.
A Navy man is totally at home when he is at sea as I wrote in Lure of the Sea. But, the moment he is out, he pines for the sea, the only life he’s had.
Now that after retirement I am employed in a corporate, I am able to see the difference in work culture: you have people specifically for specific duties as given in their JDs or Job Descriptions. In the armed forces, one is expected to do everything as and when the need arises; and many a times someone else’s job too. No one tells you how; you learn as you go along. If the armed forces were to be a play or drama, there is rarely a prepared script or dialogues or plot; you ad-lib the entire thing. People’s lives are at stake, at times, and hence you better get your role right; the first time itself without any rehearsals. For example: “That over there is Tiger Hill. Now get it vacated of intruders.”
Why did I think of the Navy as a drama or a play when I was in active service? Well, come to think of it, even life is like that. But, I had one more reason: my fondness for acting and directing honed from my school and college days. In the NAVAC or Naval Academy, on the positive side, I was much in demand for plays and skits, even extempore ones during camps. On the negative side, I recall that a boxing bout between me and my course mate was stopped by the referee on the ground that whilst the entire thing looked very impressive complete with wincing and all that, he was sure that we should stop acting and get on with real boxing for a change. Actual blood and bruises followed after that and then only our officers and instructors were happy. Histrionics have their time and place elsewhere in the Navy, I learnt.
One such opportunity came my way when I was posted to Navy’s Leadership School at INS Agrani in Coimbatore. One fine day, our CO called a senior colleague and me to his office and said a letter had arrived from Southern Naval Command at Cochin for us to field a team at the Annual Dramatic Championship. He said the responsibility for taking this task on rested on my shoulders since I was the junior most officer posted there. He said my colleague Amarjit Bajwa would help me out.
Bajwa and I took our task rather seriously and that night discussed our strategy over several bottles of beer that continued till wee hours of the morning. In our drunken stupor a brainwave hit us; which is, that in order to enact a play, we require a script. So, next day we started searching in our library for play scripts. We found that the library was loaded with books on current affairs, history, poems, stories and the like; however, there was not a single play. In the next few days, we ransacked various libraries in and around Coimbatore; but we couldn’t find a suitable play.
We even went to the Staff College Library in Wellington by Bajwa’s Bullet mobike. But, it appeared that whilst in real – life in the armed forces, everybody is acting, there was a dearth of good play-scripts to help out people acting on stage.
After these expeditions, we involved a few sailors in doing a play. Various problems came our way. One prominent one was that most of the play scripts had some female cast. Our tall Regulating Petty Officer (Naval Police) was persuaded by us to put on a saree and shifting his role from being a terror in office to being a terror at home. But, somehow even the donning of Saree made no difference to his austere and upright naval police looks.
We tried a few sailors for their suitability in various roles and found that they were typically suited only for one role!
Dejected, one day, I performed various roles for Bajwa that I had performed in school and college and some that I would have wanted to do. In his no-nonsense mood, he wasn’t tickled. In one of these, I made him sit on a bench complete with his turban and beard. But imagining him as a girl, I approached him with a large sunflower, and wearing a tapori cap and started a dialogue that I had heard in one of Sunil Dutt’s movies, “Dilo dildaar, gulo gulzaar, ahd-e-bahaar, rango khumaar, film star, mallika-tarunnam, malika-e-jahan….” Before, I could finish with “….roop ki raani, baharon ki mallika…” Bajwa had given up on me as a gone case nut.
The date for staging the play was getting closer and it had come to last one week. Let alone rehearsing the play for a prestigious event, we hadn’t even selected a play. That day Bajwa was so annoyed with me that he could have eaten me alive.
That night, I wrote the script for a three-act-play titled Hamara Drama. Whatever we had done in search and preparation for the play was put in the first two acts. In the last act, Bajwa and I were sitting dejected that we still didn’t have a play and that everything had failed. And then yet another brainwave occurred to me and I tell him, “Why don’t we present our search for a suitable play and a cast as a play…is mein khushi hai, gham hai, bebasi hai, suspense hai, comedy hai, tragedy hai….aur kahin kahin to paagalpan bhi hai…hahahaha…hahahaha..exactly like our navy life..” The play ended there with a freeze shot. Bajwa and I, until the last day, kept adding to the dialogues in order to make them more satirical and comical.
When we went to Cochin for presenting the play, our hearts sank seeing the plays of other establishments. Each one of them had elaborate sets, cast, background music and other props. We had nothing. But, now, at that late stage could do nothing about it.
Ours was the last play on the second day. Each play was to be one hour’s duration with ten minutes given for changing sets. During our preparation time, Bajwa and I were sitting with the audience in uniform. When the curtain opened, we got up from the audience and performed on stage. It was a riot. The audience roared with every dialogue. For example, at one stage, I told Bajwa that I could do the famous Rajesh Khanna’s Anand movie dialogue, “Babu moshaye, ye zindagi ek rang manch hai aur ham sabb ismein kaam karne wali kathputliyan; in kathputliyon ki dore ooper waale ke haath mein hai. Kab, kahan, kaise kis kis ko uthana hai ye koi nahin jaanata…ha, ha, ha…ha, ha, ha..” And Bajwa asked me on stage, “But, what has this got to do with the naval audience?” And then I told him that we could modify it…and I enacted the modified dialogue:
“Babu moshaye, yeh navy ek rang manch hai aur hum sabb is mein kaam karne waale afsar ya sailor. Ham sabaki dore DOP (Directorate of Personnel) ke haath mein hai. Kabb, kaise, kahan kis kis ka transfer ho jaaye yeh koi nahin jaanata..ha, ha, ha…ha, ha, ha...”
I espied C-in-C and his wife in the front row having side-splitting laughs. It was difficult to proceed from one dialogue to the other throughout the play as the laughter and applause won’t die down. No one could believe we could actually present a play, a humorous take on how we did things in the Navy or for that matter in the armed forces.
The jury was unanimous in voting for Hamara Drama as the Best Play and yours truly as the Best Actor.
Some pictures of the play are still there with me but they are lying in my home-station Kandaghat in the baggage yet to be unpacked, after my retirement in Feb 2010. I shall, subsequently, put them up when I visit Kandaghat next. In the meantime, Bajwa could persuade his wife Jaya to search in his baggage and find some pictures (he himself is on his ship at sea). She was able to find one and I am putting it up:
Persuading one of our sailors to showcase his talent in Hamara Drama. The background prop was from the play preceding ours!
Many years later, in the year 2003, I directed the inaugural play in Mulla Auditorium in Mumbai. The Chief of the Naval Staff was the Chief Guest. My son Arjun acted in it. I adapted it from a Moliere’s play and called it Suddenly In The Park. Navy is a life’s drama in which your families are also acting and involved!
I did many other plays. For example, in Peter Shaffer’s farcical play called Black Comedy, I was Schuppanzigh, the German electrician, sent to repair the fuse since the entire play is as if performed in the dark.
After repairing the fuse, I as Schuppanzigh move to the light switch, saying “God said: “Let there be light!” And there was, good people, suddenly — astoundingly — instantaneously — inconceivably — inexhaustibly — inextinguishably and eternally — LIGHT!”
I also directed and acted in Mahesh Dattani’s play on incest called ’30 Days in September’. The fauji audiences are normally used to only two type of plays: comedies and suspense-dramas. We were not sure how the audience would view a serious play on incest. Our C-in-C summed up the response by saying, “If Mahesh Dattani had been present tonight at the staging of his play by this team, he would have really felt proud. I was, of course, the bad guy, the perpetrator of incest. For many months after the staging of the play, women and girls, in naval residential areas would scream and run for cover after seeing me.
The last one I did was in 2007, a Neil Simon play called ‘Come Blow Your Horn’. I also acted as the father of Alan and Buddy Baker. Just before the curtains, Aunt Gussie who was all the while only talked about made her appearance. The only problem was that we hadn’t got anyone to do Aunty’s role. So, after my last appearance as father, I quickly changed my clothes and make up and appeared as Aunt Gussie!
Me as father Baker with my elder son Alan Baker, who lives the life of a playboy.Me as Mr. Baker with Mrs Baker. Our younger son Buddy is seen in the backgroundMe berating the younger son Buddy Baker for having been spoiled under the influence of his elder brother Alan.
In the final scene of this three act play me appearing as Aunt Gussie with Buddy, the spoiled brat
That was true reflection of what Navy is all about; we change roles together with the situation; and, we do absolutely strange roles that people least expect us to do. We don’t ever say we ain’t ready for a particular role.
We also do many roles on the stage but not half as difficult or strange as in real life.
They look at my gaunt frame and ask:
“What keeps you so fit and lean?”
I tell them try to look inside the mask,
And see all the running I have seen.
When I was small I used to run,
From poverty, violence and abuse,
The taunts of my classmates were no fun,
It almost made me a recluse.
They teased me for my long hair,
Since I was born and brought up as a Sikh,
Horrible jokes they cracked on me,
Sexist, racist, I could take my pick.
At home, we always had “discussions”
My dad’s favourite subject,
Anger and abuses were the concomitants,
I used to run away in fear abject.
In studies there were these smarties,
Who always knew more than I did;
I used to race away from them,
Until my face from them I hid.
I joined the Navy at an early age,
It was indeed a dream come true;
Here I could be at peace with myself,
And the seas: black, green and blue.
But some men there that I met,
Were suave, clever and cunning;
They were skilled in pretense and deceit
And I soon resumed my running.
I made a lot of friends, but I know,
There were some that I’ve had,
I had to quickly run from them
For they made me lonely and sad.
I’ve had my share of wise men,
The so called pseudo-intellectuals;
I ran away as far as I could,
Since they were neither real nor factual.
I ran away from gathering riches,
By means that were suspect;
And hence I stayed poor at heart,
I raced from being abject.
On retirement, I didn’t have much,
But I had my running shoes,
So I kept fit by running away from
All those who often talk loose.
I joined the social media
Blog, Twitter, Whatsapp and Facebook,
But I often run away from those
Who post by hook or crook.
I have listed a few things above,
But this isn’t a list complete;
Greed, mobs, falsehood and unfairness,
Are others that make my legs fleet.
There, that’s my exercise regime,
That I follow without pause and break;
All the running keeps me in good shape,
Though I may not do it for fitness’s sake.
So, if there is one advice that I can give,
For the health of body and mind:
‘Live life, love life, love all you can,
But there are things that you must leave behind.’
‘Run away from them as fast as you can,
Don’t ever regret their loss,
Listen to everyone, and yet,
Love yourself and be your own boss.’
In the next few days we listened to all the records over and over again and got our money’s worth of fun. With the hundred rupees that I had kept with me, I went to the Central Telegraph Office, booked a call to dad and got him five hours after booking the call. I managed to convey to him to expedite sending money to JP. Until then, we lived on love and fresh air and music.
