I have done a long stint in the Indian Navy that lasted for nearly thirty seven years; I rose as far as my somewhat rebellious and irreverent nature allowed me to. On retirement, in Feb 2010, the first thing that occurred to me, and those around me, was that I Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (you will find an article with this title in this blog) and hadn't lost all my noodles and hence thought of a blog titled 'This 'n That'. I later realised that every third blog is called 'This 'n That' and changed the name to 'Sunbyanyname'. I detest treading the beaten track. This blog offers me to air 'another way' of looking at things. The idea is not just to entertain but also to bring about a change. Should you feel differently, you are free to leave your comments. You can leave comments even when you agree and want to share your own experience about the topic of the blog post. Impudent or otherwise, I have never been insousciant and I am always concerned about the betterment of community, nation and the world. I hope the visitors of this blog would be able to discern it.
I am a Punjabi Sikh by birth; my dad’s side of the family being from the village in Ropar (now Rupnagar) district of Punjab, and my mother’s side of people from village Urapur near Nawanshaher in Punjab.
From the time I was small, I have been exposed to Punjabi humour. About a year ago, I have started a group on Facebook to promote Punjabi humour. The group is called ‘Laugh With The Punjabis’. At the time of writing it has nearly 12000 members.
Why Punjabi jokes and humour? Punjabis are the only people who can not only sportively take a joke on themselves, but, can be expected to tell you two jokes about themselves for every one cracked by you. The community is now counted amongst the most progressive and generous communities in the world. You can always join the group (it is free to men and women, boys and girls of all communities, regions, age and nationalities. I have ensured that none of the humour there is directed against any people. And, you don’t laugh at the Punjabis but laugh with the Punjabis. You have already read seventeen old-time jokes with the flavour of Punjab in ‘Laugh With The Punjabis – Part I’ and ‘Laugh With The Punjabis – Part II’. These are the jokes recounted by me in the group that I am nostalgic about. I used to hear them in my childhood and boyhood days. Lets continue with the old-time jokes.
Old Time Joke #18, Flavour of Punjab
Munda: Chal Jaan, picture dekhan chaliye. Pichhli seats te baithange. Kudi: Je pichhali seats diyan tiktan naa miliyan pher?
Munda: Pher picture dekh lawaange!
Old Time Joke #19, Flavour of Punjab
Sardar Ujjagar Singh jithe bhi jaanda si, transistor naal rakhda si. Ik din usane, Jalandhar rickshaw layi Railway Station Jaan layi. Uthe usane train layi Amritsar jaan layi aur uthe Ruckshaw layi ghar jaan layi.
All throughout he had his transistor on to listen to songs. In between, the news broadcast came on with the opening sentence, “Yeh aakashwani Jalandhar hai.” Hearing this he hit the rickshaw-puller with his umbrella, “Oye, tin ghante ho gaye; aje Jalandhar hi ghumaayi jaa reha hain?”
Old Time Joke #20, Flavour of Punjab
Satwant bahut padaayi kar ke Akhkhan (Eyes) da daakter ban gaya. Ik din ik mareez us kol aaya aur usne keha: “Daakter saab; marz da ilaaj dasso…ik ik cheez do do nazar aandi hai”.
Satwant (Thodi der ghoor ke dekhan to baad): “Thuaanu charan nu ehi problem hai?”
Old Time Joke #21, Flavour of Punjab
Kirpal: Bhagwaane, ajj main 5 rupaye bacha laye.
His Wife: Oh kiddan?
Kirpal: Sabere jadd main office jaan waaste bus stop te pahunchaya tanh dekhyaa bus nikal rahi si. Main pichhe pichhe nadhaya aur office pahunch gaya. Bus Ticket de punj rupaye bach gaye.
Wife: Tussi bewakoof ho ji. Sau rupaye bhi bacha sakde si je taxi de pichhe nadh de.
Old Time Joke #22, Flavour of Punjab
Santa and Banta went for a walk and came across a nice open piece of land. They rested there for a little while and started day-dreaming.
Santa: Yaar Bante je zameen saanu mil jaaye tanh aapan ki karaange?
Banta: Aapan ganne lagaawange.
Santa: Oh tanh sab theek hai, per naal waale pind tonh loki aa aa ke todange ate ganne choopange.
Banta: Nahin, aapan fence lagaawange.
Santa: Kai pind waale bade haraami hunde ne, oh fence tapp ke bhi aa jaande ne
Banta: Gall tanh teri theek hai, Sante; chal ohna nu jaake darust karde haan.
So the complete pind of Santa and Banta went and sorted out the neighbouring pind. Black eyed and wounded, the village people asked: Par saada kasoor ki hai?
And Banta replied angrily: Hore choopo ganne!
Old Time Joke #23, Flavour of Punjab
When I was small, in our village, a theft took place. All jewellery, money and costly items were missing.
However, when they searched, they found these items lying wrapped in a sheet next to the wall. Now this was very surprising and various people started giving various theories.
After listening to all theories, Joginder Singh Jagga came up with his own theory:
” Oye main dasadanh haan ki hoya howega. Chor raat nu baarah baje dabe pair aaya howega jadd saare so rahe honge. Usnu pata hona gehna, paisa wagairah kithe paya howega. Usane saara maal gadhari ch bann ke lai jaan di koshish keeti honi. Ehne ch baapu paani peen waste uthaya hona aur khadka hoya howega.”
“Pher usane daudhan di koshish keeti honi. Pehale oh darwaaze di taraf daudhya hona. Pher usnu yaad aaya howega ke darwaaze de kol tanh bebe sutti payi si aur awaaz sun ke uthh gayi howegi. Pher oh kandh (wall) de paase daudhya howega.”
“Kandh uchchi si ate gadhari (bundle) bhaari hona. Usnu hun faisla karna si ke chhlaang maar ke nikal jaawe yaa gadhri (bundle) de naal fadyaa jaaye.”
This was such an absorbing story that at this point they all asked Jagga, “Pher ki hoya howega, Jaggeya?”
And Jagga said, “Hona ki si. Iss hafda thafdi ch gadhri (bundle) andar reh gayi….AUR MAIN BAAHAR”.
Continue laughing with the Punjabis; more to follow in subsequent posts.
I am a Punjabi Sikh by birth; my dad’s side of the family being from the village in Ropar (now Rupnagar) district of Punjab, and my mother’s side of people from village Urapur near Nawanshaher in Punjab.
From the time I was small, I have been exposed to Punjabi humour. About a year ago, I have started a group on Facebook to promote Punjabi humour. The group is called ‘Laugh With The Punjabis’. At the time of writing it has nearly 12000 members.
Why Punjabi jokes and humour? Punjabis are the only people who can not only sportively take a joke on themselves, but, can be expected to tell you two jokes about themselves for every one cracked by you. The community is now counted amongst the most progressive and generous communities in the world.
You can always join the group (it is free to men and women, boys and girls of all communities, regions, age and nationalities. I have ensured that none of the humour there is directed against any people. And, you don’t laugh at the Punjabis but laugh with the Punjabis.
You have already read seven old-time jokes with the flavour of Punjab in ‘Laugh With The Punjabis – Part I’. These are the jokes recounted by me in the group that I am nostalgic about. I used to hear them in my childhood and boyhood days.
Lets continue with the old-time jokes.
Old Time Joke #8, Flavour of Punjab
This was told to me by Commodore Sukhjinder Singh, who retired as JAG (Navy) (that is, Judge Advocate General, Navy)
One day we were sitting in the Angre Wardroom and I asked him how did he become a lawyer. He explained:
“I had a good friend in Patiala. When I grew up and finished schooling, one day I was talking to him as to what should I become; when he suddenly told me:
Oye Sukhjinder tu Vakeel ban jaa yaar.
I asked him why and he replied:
Oye yaar main ik murder karan di soch reha haan!”
Kaun kehnda hai Punjabi door-darshi nahin hunde?
Old Time Joke #9, Flavour of Punjab
There was a Kissan Fair going on near Phillaur. Our man Ujjagar Singh from my village Urapur went to see the fair with his family. The greatest attraction for the farmers was their versatile stud bull (Chohtta). But, to see the bull one had to buy tickets.
Ujjagar Singh went to the ticket counter and asked for 26 tickets for himself and his family.
Ticket Window te Janaani: Praaji tussi aithe khado; Assin chohtte (stud bull) nu lai ke aande haan thuayanoo dekhan layi.
Old Time Joke #10 – Flavour of Punjab
Banta was admitted in the hospital for broken limbs and several other injuries. The doctor asked him what happened?
Banta: Hoeya kuchh nahin ji. Main chhatt te chadiya si koi kamm karan layi. Uthe mainu Sante daa joke samajh aa gaya jehda usane chaar din pehale sunaaya si.
Old Time Joke #11 – Flavour of Punjab
Santu was guiding a buffalo (majhh) into the school on a chain (sangal). It had the letters E-S-S-A-Y written on it on either side in white chalk.
Angry English teacher demanded to know what was it?
Santu: Madam ji tussi keha si Cow (gaan) te essay likh ke leyaayo. Saade pind ch ik bhi gaan nahin hai ji. Main majhh te likh ke le aaya. Theek hai naa ji spelling?
Old Time Joke #12, Flavour of Punjab
You already know that you can’t find a Sikh beggar. This one is about Sardar Ujjagar Singh Sekhon, a Jatt Sikh and it is just a made-up joke to bring out the comedy in a most unlikely situation of a Sikh begging.
In 1971 War, his entire family was killed and he lost his legs. He was dying of abject poverty and neglect and then someone suggested to him that since in any case he was dying there was no harm in begging.
So USS took out his best dress and turle waali pugg and went to the first house on his crutches and knocked at the door.
A woman opened the door and asked, “Tussi kaun ho ji?”
USS getting angry, “Mayi, dekh nahin rehi main mangta haan? Jaa kuchh khaan layi lai aa.”
Woman (taken aback): Khaan nu tanh kuchh hai nahin ji.
USS: Pher kuchh paisa gehna lata de de.
Woman: Oh bhi nahin hai ji.
USS: Sheesha tanh hai ke nahin?
Woman: Haan ji, oh tanh haiga.
Ujjagar Singh Sekhon: Jaa pher sheesha lai aa, main muchhan nu taa tanh de lawan.
Old Time Joke #13, Flavour of Punjab
From our village in Urapur, Kartar Singh went on a world tour during those days when it was not so common to go abroad.
On his return he sat under the peepal tree on a manji and related his experiences: “O ji chaar di main London reha, chaar din Paris, chaar din Tokyo, chaar din New York…..”
Ten year old school boy impressed, “Chachaji thuaada tanh Geography daa bada knowledge hovega.”
Kartar Singh, “Mainu yaad hai char din uthe bhi reha.”
Old Time Joke #14, Flavour of Punjab
Munda: Chal Jaan, picture dekhan chaliye. Pichhli seats te baithange.
Kudi: Je pichhali seats diyan tiktan naa miliyan pher?
Munda: Pher picture dekh lawaange!
Old Time Joke #15, Flavour of Punjab
Santa and another man were arguing. Santa tried to be reasonable but the other was adamant.
Finally, Santa lost his shirt and shouted: Oye tu sambhal jaa nahin tanh main tere 34 de 34 dand bhan ke hath ch fada dwaanga.
Another man nearby corrected Santa: Per paaji dand tanh sirf 32 hunde ne.
Santa: Mainu pehle pata si tu bhi bolenga; main tere bhi do gin laye hoye ne.
Old Time Joke #16, Flavour of Punjab
I saw this happening!
An old man was going down the slope in Ludhiana and rammed his bicycle into a girl. Both fell, dusted their clothes and got up.
Girl: Main keha bajurgo thoda dekh ke chalayo cycle. Sharm nahin aandi thuanu; ehni thuadi daadhi aayi hoi hai?
Old Man: O beebe, daadhi hai, brake thodi hai. Meri tanh brake fail hoi hai.
Old Time Joke # 17, Flavour of Punjab
Another Actual Incident in Ludhiana
My cousin (wadde masiji da chhota munda) MP Singh and I were walking back home after seeing a movie. We saw a massive fight going on in which several men were involved.
MP was excited and told me: Chal aapan bhi kutt katayi kariye.
Shocked, I asked him: Per Mohinder saadi ehna naal ki dushmani hai?
MP: Dushmani tanh koi nahin per eddan da mauka pher pata nahin kadon milega?
Continue laughing with the Punjabis; more to follow in subsequent posts.
I am a Punjabi Sikh by birth; my dad’s side of the family being from the village in Ropar (now Rupnagar) district of Punjab, and my mother’s side of people from village Urapur near Nawanshaher in Punjab.
From the time I was small, I have been exposed to Punjabi humour. About a year ago, I have started a group on Facebook to promote Punjabi humour. The group is called ‘Laugh With The Punjabis’. At the time of writing it has nearly 12000 members.
Why Punjabi jokes and humour? Punjabis are the only people who can not only sportively take a joke on themselves, but, can be expected to tell you two jokes about themselves for every one cracked by you. The community is now counted amongst the most progressive and generous communities in the world.
You can always join the group (it is free to men and women, boys and girls of all communities, regions, age and nationalities. I have ensured that none of the humour there is directed against any people. And, you don’t laugh at the Punjabis but laugh with the Punjabis.
Below, and in a series of blog-posts, I am bringing out the jokes related by me in the group that I am nostalgic about. I used to hear them in my childhood and boyhood days.
Before we begin, here is:
AN INVITATION TO MADNESS:
Join Laugh With The Punjabis (LWTP)
Ped de neeche khade hoke dekho kinne amb ne,
LWTP join karke dekho kinne ithe bumb ne!
LTTE Sri Lanka ch khatam ho gayi, barbaad ho gayi,
LWTP India ch shuru ho gayi, aabaad ho gayi.
Dono hi failaande ne, bharpoor terror,
Ik by design, ik simply by error.
Ikko eh group hai, jithe saare ne leader,
Saare post paayun waale, bahut kam ne reader.
Posts ehna di dekh ke, hairaan haan main,
Gussa ehna da dekh ke, preshaan haan main.
Phir sochada haan, dost ne, humsuffer ne,
Mere tanh paagalpan ch, ehi tanh buffer ne.
Ehi group join karo, ban jaayo saade beli,
Agli transfer thuaadi, howegi Agra ya Bareilly.
Enjoy.
Old Time Joke #1 – Flavour of Punjab
Punjab Mail arrived at the station and it was so full that people were sticking out of windows and doors like bees from a hive.
Sardar Ujjagar Singh from my village was travelling to the city with his peepa of desi ghee. He somehow forced his way into the general compartment and the train started. The 15 kgs tin of the Ghee was getting into everybody’s way and was turning out to be a nuisance.
So, SUS took it, tied a piece of his tamba (dhoti) to the handle and tied the other end to a chain hanging in the compartment.
This brought the train to a screeching halt and the Guard and his team came to investigate. They found the peepa hanging from the chain.
Guard said: Ai dekho is peepe ne gaddi roki hai.
Sardar Ujjagar Singh: Dekhya, desi gheo di taaqat!
Old Time Joke #2 – Flavour of Punjab
From my village Urapur in Jalandhar district (between Ludhiana and Nawanshahr), there are two ways to go to the nearest city Nawanshahr: one is via Garcha and the other is via Bohara (Bahara); the road bifurcating after Aur.
One day, one of our fellow villagers stopped at a friend’s place in Garcha. They showered on him the traditional Punjabi hospitality but they were soon to find out that their friend from our village was made of sterner stuff. He polished off 25 to 30 roti, all their dal, sabji and kheer. Finally, after early dinner, the family sat with our man around in the vehda and started gup-shup.
They asked him about the purpose of his visit to Nawanshahr.
Our man said: Daakter ji nu milana hai.
Garcha Friend: Oye tainu ki problem hai?
Our man: Daakter ji nu dasnaa hai ke mainu bhukh nahin lagadi.
Garcha Friend’s Wohti (wife) cutting in: Waapas jaandi baar tussi Bohara ho ke jaayo, oh short-cut hai.
Old Time Joke #3 – Flavour of Punjab
Santa Singh, the Lion of Punjab, landed in New York in 1954, and there was a competition going on there to see who would be the bravest to jump from the tallest building into the swimming pool below.
Santa’s friends fielded him as the bravest; the most daring.
This was going to be the most stupendous feat and there were media personnel giving live commentary:
“Ladies and gentlemen; this is going to be a feat unequalled in the annals of history. And here we see now Santa Singh from Punjab in India reaching on top of this 100 story building, waving nonchalantly to the crowds below and, …. what is this? He has decided to jump with his full clothes on….what a brave and courageous man he is from the land of the braves…..and with a great Chhpaak, he lands into the pool…..wait, lets approach him and ask him his first reaction: ‘Santa ji; you are the bravest of the brave….please tell us how do you feel after accomplishing the world’s most daring act?'”
Santa: Oh tanh ji main baad ch dasaanga; pehale eh dasso mainu dhakka kinne ditta si?
Old Time Joke #4, Flavour of Punjab
Dasaunda Singh fought elections, won, and his party won majority. Dasaunda was made the Chief Minister of Punjab.
However, being a pind wala (villager), his people guided him to be suspicious of all around him lest they should take him for a ride. “Jithe tainu shaq howe, uthe puchh layin ki ho rehya hai.”
Fortified with this knowledge, he started next day morning for the Assembly by his driver driven Ambassador. (Please remember that during those days the car gears used to make a lot of noise).
As the car started, Dasaunda heard a lot of noise and asked the driver with alarm, “Oye ki kar rehan hain?”
Driver: “Sarkar gear change kar reha haan.”
Dasaunda Singh (Remembering the advice his cronies gave him): “Haraamzaade, mere saamne saamne gear change kar reha hain; jadd main nahin hovenga tanh tu gaddi hi change kar dawenga.”
Old Time Joke #5, Flavour of Punjab
Dasaunda Singh plane chadan lagga tanh Air Hostess ne dekhiya ke aisle ch kaafi bheedh hai aur kehiya, “Wait, Sir.”
Dasaunda Singh: Oh madam, huni agge 110 kilo di aurat gayi, usnu tanh tussi weight nahin puchhya. Asin 70 kilo de haan, saada tussi weight puchhi ja rahi ho.
Old Time Joke #6 – Flavour of Punjab
During olden days, a plane had as passengers an American, an Arab, Santa, a lady and her small 7 years old boy.
The plane engine developed trouble and the pilot announced that they may have to jump out, one by one. They noticed that there were only four parachutes for five of them.
When the first call came from the pilot, the American was the first to volunteer; he grabbed a parachute and jumped out saying, “Christ is the greatest.”
At the next call, Santa grabbed another parachute and jumped out saying, “Waheguru tonh wadda koi nahin.”
At the third call, the Arab jumped out saying, “Allah O’ Akbar.”
At the next call, the Pilot announced that the plane had to be abandoned. The mother told her child, “Beta, maine to zindagi dekh rakhi hai; toone abhi shuru ki hai. Tu baaki bacha parachute le aur kood jaa.”
Beta: “Nahin mummy; hum dono ke liye parachute hain kyonki Santa uncle mera basta le ke hi kood gaye the.”
Old Time Joke #7 – Flavour of Punjab
A farmer in our village Urapur near Nawanshahr was accused in the court for having stolen his neighbour’s hens.
He commissioned a lawyer to defend him. The lawyer was a smart-aleck and soon the farmer was acquitted.
I was present in the court to witness this drama (though I was a boy at that time)
Judge: Thuayanoo baa izzat bari keeta jaanda hai.
Farmer (with folded hands, not sure what it meant): Judge saab murgiyan rakh lawaan ke waapas deniya hun?
Continue laughing with the Punjabis; more to follow in subsequent posts.
However big or small we are, whether in the armed forces or not, we have a fascination for foreigners, especially Americans (Read: ‘Is America The Perfect World That We Imagine?’). We Indians may be as far from the American way of life as we can get, but, if we have to give any really good example of humour in the armed forces, we turn to foreigners and especially the Yanks.
I have a group on humour in the Indian armed forces named ‘Humour In And Out Of Uniform’. Take this group for example. I don’t know whether an American Facebook group on Humour In Uniform has even a remote mention of anything Indian (unless it is to show us in a pejorative way) but, we relentlessly put up posts, cartoons, pictures, poems here that show their soldiers, sailors and airmen as the most sensitive fathers, exceedingly respected citizens, braves and perfect in every way; and of course very witty. I started the group nearly two years ago and I have yet to see an equivalent picture of excellent ‘humour’ in the Indian armed forces, of say, a jawan hugging his daughter whilst proceeding to battle the terrorists.
A rare cartoon by RK Laxman depicting the valour of the Indian Jawan
Our fascination takes another shape, ie, to think of their armed forces as supremely powerful and professional. Take this anecdote that has been put up here: ‘A US SEAL is being interviewed on the television. The anchor after observing that they have conducted operations in various countries comments, “So, then you must be knowing a number of foreign languages.” And the SEAL replies, “Ma’am, we don’t go there to talk.”’ Ah, what business-like approach!
Is it simply because we imagine the Americans to be what we ain’t? Or is it because cut and paste of American humour is easily available?
No, I don’t think so. When we had just joined the Navy, the Internet and cut-and-paste were not there. And yet we used to relate the apocryphal incident of our sea-going tug Hathi challenging the USS Enterprise on flashing light, “Which ship? Where bound?” and Enterprise responding with, “I am US Naval Ship Enterprise; and who are you?” When Hathi replied, “I am Indian Naval Ship Hathi”, Enterprise reportedly chuckled and flashed back, “Don’t be funny.” And we were amused to hear of the incident.
Our fascination for foreigners knows no bounds. It is another matter that the 1971 War’s East Pakistan operations by the Indian armed forces are being taught in the war colleges of the West as the finest examples of planning and conduct of war. But, we somehow imagine that the goras know and do things better.
A cartoon regarding Indian Navy’s highly successful anti-piracy operations (Cartoon courtesy: toonwala.blogspot.com)
When I was commanding a missile vessel Vipul, the Local Flotilla was hosting three French ships visiting Mumbai under the command of ALINDIEN, a French naval acronym designing the admiral in charge of the maritime zone of the Indian Ocean, and of the French forces there. Besides other social interactions, it is customary to invite them to play games with our teams.
Now, we have divided games into what we call as troop games such as hockey, football, volleyball and even cricket. But, we do look at games like Golf, Squash-racquets and Lawn Tennis as purely officers’ sports. You don’t have golf courses, for example, in our services where jawans can play.
So, when we invited the French ships to play Golf, Lawn Tennis and Squash Racquets with us, we took it for granted that they would be sending their officers only. In the two venues: US Club Golf Course and IMSC we had arranged for our own officers to have high tea with them. Imagine our discomfiture when for all these “officer-oriented games”, sailors from the French ships landed up and played with our officers in those venues whereat our own sailors are never permitted.
Bending over backwards for the foreigners, including in HIAOOU, keeps our spines erect. I finally told the members of HIAOOU to keep up the good work; the best ten posts eulogizing the Americans and their humour would get free trips (all expenses paid) to the perfect world that we imagine.
Even after this, it is difficult to keep the Indians, ie, us, not to think of putting up posts concerning humour in the foreign armed forces but to concentrate on the Indian armed forces
Not many of our people realise that Google, arguably hand in glove with CIA to spy on foreigners including Indians (as revealed by Edward Snowden), has very little to offer on anything good about the Indian armed forces; if you want to see images of the impressive International Fleet Review conducted by the Indian Navy in 2001 in Mumbai, you would hardly see any pictures. However, if you Google mishap on INS Sindhuratna that eventually led to the Indian Navy Chief resigning, every little aspect of that mishap has been documented.
Cartoon depicting the IFR 2001 at Mumbai (Courtesy: www.amul.com)
I am, however, determined to keep my group Humour In And Out Of Uniform reflecting the best of the humour in the Indian armed forces despite the carpet bombing by foreigner oriented members.
If it hadn’t been for people dying and getting seriously injured, War would be really very funny. I mean, just think, dropping bombs, firing missiles, and chucking grenades at someone or at other people just because they feel differently.
Bringing ‘democracy’ to people through Arab Spring; but with tanks, bombs and guns (Pic courtesy: www.theguardian.com)
“Wait a sec guys” you say with aplomb (since you are the mighty one), “Whilst we slam the daylights out of you for not recognizing that democracy is the best form of government. Next time be sure to vote for democracy so that you guys will be safe.”
The most ludicrous thing is that both the parties feel that they are fighting the Just War. In any case, each one of them knows, or at least used to know before social-media came in, that history can be re-written by the victorious.
Happy, smiling faces at Hiroshima in Oct 1945 after ‘good sense’ has been driven into them (Pic courtesy: www.mctv.ne.jp)
I also feel that when two grownups fight the others call them loco. However, when countries fight, and spend money, resources, time, and lives plotting against each other, it is called stratagem or grand strategy or some equally high-sounding names. This is so that when Life goes on, the business of ending others’ lives should also flourish; a kind of ‘Live-and-Let-Die’.
In peacetime, people are busy doing or not doing what they feel like. However, as soon as War starts, everyone is busy doing War; soldiers with shooting down erstwhile friends-turned-enemies, doctors in stitching up mutilated bodies, industrialists (especially defence industrialists) making themselves richer than they normally do, undertakers in burying and cremating and writers in having enough to write about; eg, stories with a ‘human (ha, ha) angle’, tales of heroism, love, romance and intrigue; singers, movie-makers, actors, lyricists, music makers in churning out films and songs on how the soldiers stood between us and annihilation. Indeed, that’s the time you realize that War keeps more people busy than the bally peace!
We always remember the origin of such wars and its unique vocabulary. Thus, however advanced the means of war may become, in our folklore we shall always keep using the expression ‘chucking stones at each other’. However, newer expressions originate and Oxford and Webster and hordes of other dictionary wallahs run up to the printing presses to bring out the latest vocabulary unleashed by War.
Indians have convinced themselves that they were never war-minded. It is because we decided not to do so in the battlefield with the enemies of the country (even Mahabharata was between brothers, cousins and uncles); but on the roads (traffic wars of gaining just a few inches more than the ones to your right or left), streets and other public arena. Wars may have been important to people abroad, but, we manage to kill more people on the roads than they do with their war machinery, nerve gas, and even nuclear bombs. We too are capitalists and we too know how to remain in business.
An everyday scene in India (Pic courtesy: www.instablogs.com)
We are the most self-sufficient nation in the world; we have our own enemy within and are never dependent upon nefarious forces outside (or as Indira Gandhi used to call: “Foreign Hand”) to do it to us what we can do to ourselves.
Patton’s famous quote ‘The more you sweat in peace; the less you bleed in war’ has been taken by us rather seriously. So, we sweat and bleed in peacetime in our country, so that there will be nothing left to do in War.
Lastly, most of us in my group Humour In And Out Of Uniform (HIAOOU for short) are eternally grateful to War or its Fear since that’s the raison d’être for us as soldiers, airmen and sailors; in short, people in uniform. No War or its Fear, No ‘R, K, and Makaan’ for us and our families.
‘No War, No Uniform’ also means that HIAOOU ceases to be a greeting between us all; one of the stupidest collateral damages!
So, lets keep our powder dry,
And preserve our platitudes;
In uniform, we fight, we sail, we fly,
To correct the enemies’ attitudes.
There is glory and there is honour,
In rubbing their noses to ground;
It also gives HIAOOU its humour,
That couldn’t otherwise be found.
War, we love you and adore you,
Avoiding you, we call as ‘deterrence’,
Thankfully there is nothing new,
No other meaning or inference.
Than to advance the concept,
Of Poly Ticks by other means,
And, in fighting-for-peace become adept,
With bombs, missiles, bullets and magazines.
My father was posted in Shimla when I joined the Navy. It was a story of ‘From the Hills to the Sea’. During those days, as perhaps now too, no one in our parts of the world was very familiar with the Navy. The only Navy that they could think of was the merchant navy. But, that, anyone could go to sea in order to fight was as unbelievable to them as coming to the hills for anything other than to seek peace (remember the rishis and munis of ancient times?)
This is what Kandaghat looked like when I was small
I was a square peg in a round hole and they used to wonder as to why a boy from the hills should go all the way south to join the Navy. I was awkward, didn’t know swimming, didn’t know how to switch on a television with its complicated controls such as vertical hold and horizontal hold, brightness, contrast etc. “Guy is a dumbo” was the verdict.
Gradually, I started being accepted in the Navy; I learnt how to switch on the telly, I learnt swimming and became as smart as the next guy; though not as clever.
Picture taken soon after I was commissioned in the Navy (01 Jul 1975), in Split, Yugoslavia during my first ship Himgiri’s foreign cruise there.
It was a damn good life and I enjoyed being at sea better than their thinking I was at sea in too many things that all the other guys from Bombay, Madras, Cochin, Calcutta and even Delhi were adept at.
Within three years of my being commissioned, my parents shifted to our present place Whispering Winds, Kandaghat and they continued being here until my father died of a jeep accident in 1984, just 9 kms away from our home.
I became a Navy man but, my heart continued being here in Kandaghat and I wrote an article about this on my blog (Read: ‘Home Is Where The Heart Is – Kandaghat in Shimla Hills’). On my Facebook Group ‘Humour In And Out Of Uniform’ I had put up an anecdote in which my father kept introducing me as an Army officer when immediately after my commissioning I visited my parents. It was very much here in Kandaghat.
If I was at sea in most subjects than any of my course mates, you should meet the Kandaghat people. Their total knowledge of the Navy could be written in the space behind a 5 paisa postage stamp.
Therefore, in the year 2006, when the Navy signal came about having a AFNHB (Air Force Naval Housing Board) colony in Kandaghat, of all the places, my phone never stopped ringing. Just about everyone known to me called to tell me that they had erred in their opinion of me and that I was the smartest of the entire lot who had managed to get a Navy housing colony made in my home place in the same manner as Indian Railway Ministers get a railway track made to their villages in Bihar, Bengal and Uttar Pradesh. One of them went to the extent of saying, “We thought of you as a total dumbo (aside: which we are sure you are), par tum to bahut pahunche hue nikale (but you are very clever indeed).”
Our house with its land is called ‘Whispering Wind,s Kandaghat’. In the background the HIMUDA and AFNHB colony can be seen.
During my next leave I went about finding out how an Air Force Naval Housing Board colony happened to come up here in Kandaghat where there is no Air Force or Naval station anywhere close by. It is like having a snow skiing range in Rajasthan.
It came out that the Himachal government in a bid to decongest Shimla made a mini secretariat in Kandaghat, 32 kms from Shimla and made a HP Housing Board colony (HIMUDA – Himachal Urban Development Authority) here. Some land was available and they thought of giving it to the Army. The Army already had made a colony in Shoghi (halfway between Kandaghat and Shimla). They thought that accepting another colony within 15 kms of the first one would get them the tag of being a colonial power. Hence, even though it was rare for a service to share the largesse with the other services, they passed on the colony to the Navy and the Air Force (somewhat similar to how the Pakis ceded Aksai Chin to China). The Navy and the Air Force grabbed it with both hands, toes and knees.
This is what the colony looked like in 2011
I am on leave here for the nth time now. I just visited the local electricity office and met the Junior Engineer there about one of our power meters not working. “Which one, Sir?” he asked me, “The left one or the right one; or as you say Port one or the Starboard one?”
I visited the Daily Needs shop at the local Petrol Pump. The owner there knows me very well. He asked me, “How long are you anchored here now?”
I am now waiting for the traffic cop to give a ticket to an over-speeding car by telling its driver, “Can’t you see 30 Knots is the speed limit in the town?”
I joined the Navy 41 years ago from the hills; and now, the Navy has come to me in the hills. I remember this from Paulo Coelho’s Alchemist, “When you want a thing strongly, the elements conspire to make it possible.”
I have recounted to you many tales about Gunners; an endless topic of mirth and bewilderment with me.
Tha Gunner’s world in the Indian Navy is shaken sometimes whilst trying to keep pace with the technological changes; eg, when the Gunners shifted focus from guns to missiles and stole the thunder from the ASW (Anti Submarine Warfare) guys.
The Army guys already know that we, in the Navy, don’t stomp our feet in the Navy; we are convinced that banging feet would sink the ships and leave nothing to work for with our enemies. Whilst saluting too, we don’t take our right hand in a wide arc away from the body, up to the eyebrow; but we take it through the shortest path along the upper body. There is not adequate space on the ships for the army styled wide arc.
Another earth-shaking (or not so earth shaking really) in the Gunner’s world was brought about to ensure that whilst in savdhan (attention) and marching, we would have fingers clenched from second knuckle. Now, this took enormous time to implement since the natural way to clench the fist is from the main knuckles.
We were Acting Sub Lieuts when this was implemented. We were in Gunnery School and we dreaded being there because fierce looking GIs (Gunnery Instructors) (all of them, without doubt, the descendants of Genghiz Khan) could check you any time including during stand easy (tea-break) periods. At one time, the GIs were marching in a squad and still kept on correcting us, “Sir, ensure fingers clenched from second knuckle, tummy in, chest out, look straight, look smart” etc.
The repeated instructions about fingers clenched from second knuckle made us have nightmares; some of us who were corrected often, even slept with fingers so clenched.
One such person was my course mate PC. The regular screaming of the GIs had profound effect on him. He even put his hands in his pocket with fingers clenched from second knuckle and had enormous difficulty in taking out change, for example, for his bus fare.
One day, he was walking from South Wardroom to Gunnery School and he encountered Master Chief GI Yadav, his bete noire. Yadav saluted him. PC was so ruffled by Yadav’s presence and smartly executed salute that he saluted back with fingers clenched from second knuckle!
The other two services are forever amused by how we, in the Navy, do things “the other way round”; for example, our wearing our ribbons and medals and saluting with our palms inwards. However, two things that have fascinated them are: PLD or Pre Lunch Drinks and Small Eats.
The former came about due to our observing Make and Mend days on Wednesdays and Saturdays. The tradition goes back to days of sail, when the ship’s company (crew) used to mend and make do rigging on the afternoons of these days.
However, later, nothing used to be made and mended on these days except everyone got together on the quarterdeck or wardroom and gulped large quantities of beer and had small eats. Small eats is the naval lingo for ‘starters’.
It was quite common, during those days, for senior officers ashore such as Fleet Commander and CinC to join in the revelry.
During one of these PLDs, on my ship INS Vikrant, where I was an Acting Sub Lieut, there was a circle of senior officers such as the CinC, ASD (Admiral Superintendent Dockyard, Fleet Cdr, COS (Chief of Staff) and our CO. Surprisingly, our Lieutenant (SDC) ( Special Duty Communication; that is, he had made to an officer from being a sailor in the communication branch) joined the group.
It was quite a sight; there were these most senior ranking officers in the Western Naval Command and then there was this Lieutenant also in their group. So, whilst the senior officers chatted and cracked jokes, our Lieutenant was, for courtesy sake, included in their conversation. He had, of course, nothing to contribute, by way of repartee, comments or anecdotes.
Gradually, it became rather embarrassing and our man was the first one to notice it. In order to get over the tense moment, he blurted out the truth, “Respected Sirs; don’t please pay attention to me. I am standing here only for the small eats (starters).” (What he didn’t say was that most starters were served by the stewards to the senior officers; who, at their age and appetite, hardly required any of them.)
The senior officers’ laughter could be heard across several ships.
John Milton would have turned in his grave with the modern-day use of, “They also serve who only stand and wait.”
On Thursday, the 8th of May 14, our first-born Arjun S Ravi weds Samira Kanwar, the first-born of Asha and Atul Kanwar. This photo-essay traces Arjun and Samira’s life leading up to the wedding. Here is their Wedding Invite:
Let me first explain the name ‘Loveapalooza‘ to you. It has been derived from ‘Lollapalooza’, that is a very well attended “annual music festival featuring popular alternative rock, heavy metal, punk rock and hip hop bands, dance and comedy performances, and craft booths.”
You see, Arjun and Sam (Samira) both are into music in a huge way. They are both directors in the music company called OML (Only Much Louder); Sam looks after the television content through a company under OML banner called Babble Fish Productions. Arjun looks after the digital content on the portals NH7 and Indiecision.
Let me now begin their story:
Early Childhood
Arjun, our elder son, was born on 14th of May in 1984. All children are god sent. However, Arjun was special since he was born two weeks after my father’s tragic death and all of us, especially my mom (his dadi (paternal grandmother)) felt that he was sent to wipe away our tears. And he did and still does. He was a joy to hold and to watch growing up:
My mom (his dadi) holding Arjun as a gift from God:
Lyn, always so beautiful, in ecstasy to hold “such a wonderful bundle of joy”:
During his early childhood, we shuttled between Mumbai and Kandaghat in Shimla Hills and then for the next three years until we went for my Staff Course in Wellington (Nilgiris) in May 1990, we were in New Delhi. This included the six months period between January and June 1988 when I was on deputation to Seville in Spain and the family (by this time our younger son Arun was born on the 22nd of Dec 1986 in Mumbai when I and my ship INS Ganga were away to Andaman & Nicobar islands with Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi and his wife Sonia Gandhi) shifted with my mother in Kandaghat.
There was nothing that he did that was not refreshingly appealing to people all around him. He had a natural propensity to love all animals and befriended cats and dogs at a very early stage. A few years back, he found that a bitch had littered under the stairs leading to his office of the JAM magazine. He found that one of the pups was not just small and weak but unable to cope up. He brought the pup home and throughout the night tended to it with the advice being received on phone by an NGO looking after the welfare of the stray dogs. He didn’t sleep at all. In the morning, he was in tears when the pup died.
Most of his toys were shaped like petsHe’d have pets even in his cot cum play-penLooking good and cute even in a trash box
He was at home with everything; as the picture above shows, even in a trash-box. The moment he learnt to crawl, he was everywhere, helping my mom and all of us with our work:
Frequent travels from Bombay to Kandaghat didn’t keep him away from looking cute and relaxed:
And then, he learnt to stand on his two feet and walk around. Here is a picture of the first step he ever did! Lyn and I have, at least one picture of all his firsts except one; the first word he uttered was ‘Goo”, all by himself. We called over friends to share with them the exciting news that Arjun spoke. Over drinks, they asked us to share with them the word and when we told them, they stared at us in amazement. It was amazing indeed.
Now that he learnt to walk, it was difficult to keep him in his play-pen:
Or, for that matter, in his pram:
Samira
She is the first-born of Asha and Atul Kanwar; born on the American Independence Day: the 4th of July. It was certainly the most beautiful thing that ever happened to Asha and Atul. Holding the gift of their love close to them was like their most ardent dream come true. Here is Asha, as in Donald Peer’s song: “Looking proud as a queen as she carried” Samira:
The sheer joy of holding her whilst the fawning husband looked on is something that is unforgettable for Asha. As far as Samira is concerned, she knows that the happiness, warmth and confidence of being in her parents’ arms can never be replaced by any other experience. Just about two years back she wrote on Facebook on a picture of Arjun: ‘My boy-friend bestest‘. However, a bird told us that until she met Arjun, she didn’t have any boy-friends and her parents and later her sister were her complete world.
Samira’s total countenance is that of being at perfect ease and trust with the rest of the world. She has a natural sense of humour. Here is one of her typical comments made with her characteristic tinkle: “My parents decided to move abroad to the Gulf to save a lakh. They decided that once they did that, they’d move back to India – it’s now been 33 years and they’re still trying to save that one Lakh”.
Samira or Sam as she is known, moved to Dubai (where Atul got his first job as a financier in a construction company. Says Sam, “Numbers are his friend unlike they are to me or my sister”) with her parents from Bombay when she was three. By that time, Asha and Atul’s love had produced another miracle that they named Anjali. Here is Asha having her hands full with doubled joys:
Sam recalls, “My sister was the cutest baby in the world.” Lyn and I, however, with the pride born out of our immense good fortune in about to have a very pretty and affectionate daughter, (exactly how Asha and Atul would gain a son in Arjun), feel that no one can be more cute than Sam. We feel that she is still a baby and she is likely to keep her baby looks for at least a few more decades! See if you can make one baby from the other in the following picture:
Growing Up
Arjun
Arjun became such an important part of our lives that we just couldn’t leave him at any time (I was commissioned in the Indian Navy in Jul 1975 and I was a Lieutenant Commander when he was born). A few pictures of his being with us:
Lyn spent hours looking at him and admiring him:
I took him everywhere with me, my Yezdi KEE 438 was the first vehicle he rode:
My mother even took him to the Gurudwara in our house for her prayers and reading of the Guru Granth Sahib:
Here is Arjun on his First Birthday; the cake had to be made in the shape of a ship since I was posted on one at that time:
And then, in Dec 1986, Arun was born. Both Arjun and Arun formed a very loving team and got along famously.
Their love and comfort level with each other was such that once after a quarrel in the daytime, when they went to sleep, in mock estrangement, Arun complained to us that he couldn’t go to sleep since Arjun was not holding his hand!
Here are some more pictures of Arjun’s childhood, having Arun as his constant companion:
During their first visit to America:
At home in Kandaghat, Arun still trying to gain confidence in the cycle-riding skills of his elder brother, Arjun.
Now this is really funny. During those days when an overseas (ISD) call used to cost a bomb, Arjun and Arun learnt how to dial the various codes and numbers and connected to my brother JP Singh in the USA:
Holding hands and going to sleep never left them, even when they were on their first overseas trip, to USA:
Picnics were part of our life and during these outings, Arjun and Arun found ways and means to amuse themselves:
During their visit to the Disney Land in California:
Both with my brother, studying in Campion School in Mumbai:
At a very very young age, Arjun became very fond of music. Here is the first picture of his enjoying music; there was no looking back after that:
After Arun was born, Arjun also gave signs of doing things by himself rather than asking me or even Lyn how to (Please also read: ‘Diminishing Dad’):
If he is seen above trying to put a knot on a neck-tie, here he is trying to polish shoes:
All in all, I feel Arjun had a very healthy, happy and interesting childhood. Did that prepare him for life and its challenges? I would think so. If there is one word in which I can describe him, then the word is ‘gentleman’. When he was studying in the Timpany School in Vizag, as a class monitor, he took his job so seriously that when the school bus from Naval Base didn’t report, he put all the kids in a few auto-rickshaws, and then left them one by one in their houses; especially the girls. Here is a picture of Arjun in the Holy Innocents School in Wellington (Nilgiris) whereat I was undergoing Staff Course at DSSC. He was all of six years old:
We moved to Kochi when he was in the 12th standard. Normally, kids should do their schooling in classes 11th and 12th from the same school for the Board (CBSE or ICSE) exams. But, it was not to be in Arjun’s case because of the Navy’s system of postings. Ostensibly he used to listen to music and play cricket; however, when the board results were announced (on the net), Lyn and I were pleasantly surprised to see him pass out with nearly 93 per cent marks (he actually stood first in all the Naval Public Schools (now re-christened as Naval Children’s Schools) in his (commerce) stream.
By this time, in the year 1998, there was another addition to our family; our darling dog Roger who was born on the 3rd of July that year. Roger was with me in a remote locality called INS Kattabomman (near Tirunelvelli in Tamilnadu) and the rest of the family missed seeing him as a puppy. On their visit to Kattbomman, here is how Roger made a place for himself in the family:
Curiously, whilst doing stunningly well in studies (Roger used to give Arjun company during his late night studies), he took part in debates and declamations and plays. One of these, during that period, was directed by me: a play titled Dear Charles. He used to be present during the rehearsals of the play in the US Club. Whenever anyone forgot their dialogues, Arjun used to help them without even looking at the script. Finally, we all felt that he could be given a role. He did superbly as Bruno, Denise’s son and won a huge applause for his performance. Then, he acted as Lieutenant Sanjay, the hero, in my adaptation of Molière’s Baker’s Muddle. I called it ‘Suddenly in the Park’. This was the first play presented in Navy’s Mulla auditorium in NOFRA, Colaba. Lastly, he acted in another play that I directed in the same auditorium: The Black Comedy; the play was presented for the farewell visit of the Chief of the Naval Staff Admiral Arun Prakash to Mumbai. Here is Arjun as the rich baron Georg Bamberger:
Arjun joined St Xavier’s in Mumbai for his graduation in the year 2001 and thereafter worked for a magazine called JAM (Just another Magazine) whilst preparing for his CAT exam. He went to MICA (Mudra Institute of Communications, Ahmedabad) for his MBA in 2005 and graduated from there in 2007. He worked for Mudra for sometime before getting back as an Editor for JAM. By this time it was clear to him that his calling was music. He started a popular musical portal called Indiecision. He joined his present company OML (Only Much Louder) and started another music portal named NH7 (named after India’s longest highway) and merged Indiecision into it. The picture below shows Arjun, Anshul and Sachin giving a performance of their band ‘The Unlike No One’s’ at MICA:
At this juncture, the Ravi family looked like this and we waited for our would-be daughter to enter our lives:
Samira
Sam moved to Dubai with her parents when she was three. After that, they moved to Muscat and her parents are still there though her mother divides time between Muscat and Mumbai (Bandra, where they have a house). Sam recalls that after Anjali was born, one day she fed her potato chips even though Anjali had no teeth. The reason? Anjali looked at Sam eating chips and Sam took pity on her! The result? Well, potato chips are now a favourite with Anjali. That she nearly choked on the chips is not remembered by both Anjali and Sam.
Much like Arjun and Arun, Sam and Anjali made a great and almost inseparable pair:
Here is another adorable picture of the two (Please notice that holding hands is common between Anjali & Sam, and Arun & Arjun:
Sam did her schooling from the Indian School, Muscat until she became sweet sixteen. After this, she had to return to Mumbai since she wasn’t interested in either Commerce or Science streams and wanted to pursue Arts. She sat through the boring commerce classes in Indian School at Muscat and decided that she wasn’t cut out for Commerce.
Recalls Sam fondly, “We had a wonderful school life, growing up in Muscat. My mom is a closet event manager. She has amazing organizational skills and she’d organize games and we even had a club for kids where we’d meet up and learn, cook, play sports.” Amazing indeed.
As a girl happy with others and also happy by herself:
Love for dogs is something that she shares with Arjun. In Muscat, she enjoyed the company of not one but three dogs – Timmy, Scamp and Sheeba. Even now they have dogs in their house in Muscat: Oscar and Misha.
She then moved to Bombay and studied in Sophia College for 5 years (FYJC – TYBA). She was in the hostel for the first 2.5 years and made a lot of close friends. This is what she feels about her life in Bombay: “I became a lot bolder in college. I started to speak out and gain confidence. Bombay helped me come out of my shell a lot.”
She ended up being Student Body President in her final year of college and she majored in English Literature.
She did a post-graduate diploma course in Sophia Polytechnic in Mass Communications after which she began working in advertising film production.
After a few years in advertising, she realized she wasn’t happy so she moved to television. She visited Europe during this period: Italy, Germany and Turkey and talked with her camera. Here she is at the Trevi Fountain in Rome tossing the coin to ensure she visits again:
And then, after some years, she joined OML and she has been a part of it since 2006. In her own words, “I’ve been very happy working with like-minded people where we share a common goal of supporting the music and alternative culture scene by doing things we’re good at. (in my case making films!)”
Meanwhile last year, her sister Anjali got married to Avinash – yes younger sister got married before her – but only by a year.
Their dog Biscuit is the queen in their lives:
All in all Samira (Sam) is a love-child who had a very happy, loving, and interesting childhood and growing up. Here is what the Kanwar family looked at this juncture, awaiting the arrival of another son in their family after Sam’s sister Anjali married Avinash:
Cupid Strikes
When love strikes, all you can do is bow your head and accept the best gift that God can give you. As it creeps over you and totally engulfs you, a realisation comes over you to tell you that you were wasting your time not being the object of your love. Sam and Arjun went over this in their own unique way whilst going through their separate lives with moments of togetherness thrown in here and there.
Once Arjun decided to quit Mudra and JAM, he was determined to devote his life to covering music scene in various publications including on his own portal Indiecision that was becoming increasingly more popular.
Even though the music scene in Mumbai was small, he hadn’t come across Sam. She was the head of a production house that made music videos for bands.
Arjun had seen her at gigs and other music related events but the first time he and Samira properly met and had a conversation was at the first edition of Baajaa Gaajaa in Pune, a festival hosted by Shubha Mudgal in February 2009. She had a stall there where she was telling people about her production house and the work they were doing.
At around the same time, Arjun came in touch with Misha and Ekadish, and Sam was a common friend of theirs. So they’d meet up at parties at Misha’s house in Bandra, and at gigs as well.
Says Arjun, “That’s when we really started to get to know each other better. I remember at Sam’s birthday that year, she had a party at her house. She had quite a bit to drink and she becomes really very adorable when she’s a bit tipsy. She wouldn’t let me leave her house and even hid my cellphone so I wouldn’t leave.”
He adds: “We went on many small dates – to movies, restaurants, etc and given how similar we both are as people, it was startling, in retrospect, that we didn’t get together sooner.”
“For the next few months, a lot of ‘will they’, ‘wont they’ happened as we got to know more and more about each other. It was quite obvious to everyone around us that we would probably end up together, but we were quite oblivious of it at the time. We both have very, very similar interests, almost scarily so, and even there’s a five-year age difference between us, we got along as if we’d known each other for years.”
“Then finally after many ups and downs we finally decided that we would be together. This was in May 2010. It was in December last year when we decided that we should get married.”
Sam visited our house in Ahilya building in Navy area in Colaba for the first time in 2009. After I retired in end Feb 2010 and we moved to our house in Kharghar, Navi Mumbai, Sam started visiting us with Arjun more regularly. That we were quite drawn to her can be made out from:
And we became a family together:
So much so that last year onwards we have a Whatsapp group appropriately named: Together As A Happy Family. Lyn and I looked forward to their visits, Bacardi Weekenders in Pune, and going out together:
With all this, what is in store for the future? Only this that the days of making music separately as in the following pictures are now over:
Now onwards, it has got to be: Loveapalooza, Arjun and Sam’s Lifetime Music Fest:
Congratulations Sam and Arjun, we await Loveapalooza and its editions year after year after year:
Two small explanations are required for the non-naval personnel to understand this anecdote:
First, what’s a Mids Board? Well, a Mid’s Board is a very detailed oral examination (viva) held at the end of one’s Midshipman tenure of about six months; a Midshipman is a rank between Cadet and a commissioned officer in the rank of Acting Sub-Lieutenant. Questions related to Bridgeman-ship, seamanship and all other aspects that one is trained on during one’s stint as Midshipman are normally asked.
Secondly, ships, submarines and other crafts at sea, at night and in low visibility exhibit various lights (normally Red for port or left, Green for Starboard or right, and white for main steaming lights on foremast and main mast and stern light. These lights are in accordance with International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea, 1972. These lights can be exhibited in varying brilliance (for range or distance at which they can be seen) and varying combination to indicate restrictions in movement that the vessel displaying them has. For example, two Red lights in a vertical line would indicate a vessel not under command.
Normal Navigation Lights displayed by a Large Vessel at Sea (Pic courtesy: www.kayarchy.co.uk)
Normally, the Mids Board has three members; the senior most being the President. The drift of the questions is naturally the prerogative of the President.
Each President has some favourite subject or the other. In our case Captain Sethi’s (an ace navigator) favourite was to grill the Mids (snotties; a mishipman is often referred to as Snotty since he is perpetually snivelling especially when a hard question is asked) on the subject of Lights and Shapes displayed by ships and craft.
Those who appeared on the first day returned to tell us that a certain Moore’s illustrated book on Lights was his favourite and he’d open the book at random and ask the snotty to describe the scenario depicted by a combination of lights; eg, two vessels engaged in RAS or Replenishment At Sea at night.
During the entire night we mugged up these scenarios. We were then seeing more lights than we had ever seen in our lives. Now, if only those scenarios would stay in our minds.
The Gunroom (Midshipmen are not allowed in the Wardroom for officers but they generally pass their spare time in the Gunroom; the name came about since revolvers and pistols belonging to the ship are generally kept in a locked and glasses cupboard so that they can be sighted during the rounds) was agog with all kinds of complicated questions regarding the Lights. We even made several jokes about these. For example, the answer to the question: ‘if you sight a Red Light to your left and Green Light to the right coming towards you, what do you make out of it? is: ‘It is merely a sea plane flying upside down’.
With this new knowledge gained on the night before the viva, some of us did very well. Others were as confused as snotties make it a point to be.
One of the latter variety was my friend PLG Manu. He went in with confidence to face the board. As he answered a few simple scenarios, he noticed that instead of gaining confidence he was losing the con thing in increasingly larger measures. It is because the qs were becoming tougher and tougher.
Finally, the Moore’s page depicted a curious combination of Red, Green, White, Yellow lights and for good effect a Blue light too added.
Something similar to these lights (Pic courtesy: www.thenauticalsite.com)
Captain Sethi asked him to unravel the mystery. Manu started blinking and also started seeing some invisible lights. He shook his head from side to side. But, Captain Sethi was insistent he should venture a guess.
Finally, Manu saw the light that Moses had seen on the Mount. And he blurted the answer that should have been clear to him all along, “Sir, it is evident that a ship has rammed into a Disco”.
Generally, the best Midshipman is given the Sword of Honour (a sword is carried by officers in the Navy with their ceremonial uniforms). It was later learnt that they (the Board) had decided to give PLG the sword…….but, alas, not as an honour and at an unspecified place.
Like any other young man wanting to join the armed forces, I was mighty impressed with Netaji Subhash Chander Bose. Though not half as qualified as Nandu Chitnis of my Facebook group ‘Humour In And Out Of Uniform’ (HIAOOU) wherein Nandu has single-handedly destroyed all enemies within thousands of miles of India, Netaji could have really won us independence just as Nandu destroyed Karachi and won us war against Pakistan. Sadly for the bespectacled Subhash, HIAOOU had not yet been conceived and winning and destroying anything wasn’t as easy.
What connection do I have with NS? Only this that after finishing my bridge watch-keeping training on board Indian Naval Ship Himgiri, I was sent to Calcutta to bring a 400 tons LS HSD (Low Sulphur High Speed Diesel) tanker for Naval Dockyard Bombay, along with two other officers. One of them was the late DB Roy and the other was Sushil, the submariner, who retired as C-in-C South. This tanker was being built in a Yard in Calcutta and we had to accept it and sail it back to Bombay before the monsoons.
We were accommodated in an establishment called INS Netaji Subhash. It was a laid back no-hurry-to-do-anything type of establishment and as far from Netaji’s ‘Kadam kadam badaye ja khushi ke geet gaaye jaa’ as anyone can get. The establishment had decided that doing everything at snail’s pace was as good as reliving the memory of the great Netaji.
(Pic courtesy: www.hindujagruti.org)
The Wardroom had some of the old relics that had been looted from the East Pakistan five years ago. One of the officers who was on permanent duty there told us that after these were displayed in the wardroom, these were re-looted by a number of officers who were appointed there as Mess Secretaries and PMCs; in exactly the manner paintings on the tanker Shakti that was built for the Indian Navy in a Yard in West Germany vanished after her first commission.
The Wardroom had other old relics too. These would be sitting on the bar stools in the wardroom between 7:30 to 10:30 PM every evening and prove that they could take all the three Xs from the Hercules rum bottles that they consumed and post these against their names, presence of mind and Netaji Subhash like qualities. The three of us too joined their august company in the evenings.
Sometimes, life was supposed to be infused into the rag-tag groups of officers that had assembled in Netaji Subhash for some vague purpose or the other. One of these was this All Calcutta Officers Navy Hockey Tournament that was held on the weekends in the month of April. First of all I was surprised to know that INS Netaji Subhash had so many outlying units attached to it that a tournament with that kind of lofty name could be held. Secondly, the three of us with a few other temporary duty officers were asked to form a team. And thirdly, since I was a lion-hearted (Singh) Punjabi, the others in our team took it for granted that I knew how to play hockey.
It took me very little time to learn the game. Even if the business end of my stick rarely touched the ball, it made not-so-inadvertent contact with the shins of quite a few of the other team players. We won the tournament – as the expression goes – by hook or simply by crook. It was decided that the rolling trophy would be presented to us in the month-end Captain’s Divisions the next day, that is, Friday.
That night our joining the old relics in the wardroom of INS Netaji Subhash was very sentimental. The old relics kept telling us how superbly we played. The opponents stealthily nursing their shins admitted that we had a unique technique not ever mastered by the likes of Dhyan Singh and others. To cut a long story short, several rounds in the name of the great Greek/Roman warrior Hercules were called for and some of us became sort of unfit to attend the next day morning Divisions. One of us – no names at this juncture – was also supposed to be the Guard Commander.
These were special Divisions; ladies too were invited as spectators. Officers and ladies had started taking their seats under the awning whilst the Divisions assembled. And after the Parade Commander took his post, he screamed with all the lung power given to Bengalis that nearly won us independence, “Guard onder laayo” (March in the guard).
Our friend, the Guard Commander, not used to the meridian where Calcutta is situated, took it for granted that the guard will be called for at 7:55 AM, five minutes before the Colours, and had remembered to set up his alarm at 7 AM to pierce through his condition caused by the Greek warrior and bring him back to mother earth named after the Indian warrior. Little did he know that the proceedings at Netaji Subhash were an hour earlier.
Ten minutes before the guard was to march in, one of the Gunnery sailors had got the brainwave that the Guard Commander had not made his appearance (Gunners are very good at ‘brainwaves’ and had run up to the first floor of the building adjoining the Parade Ground (erstwhile battle ground of war named hockey tournament) to somehow get him to his feet).
The Parade Commander’s call of ‘Guard andar laayo’ at 6:55 AM coincided with his (Guard Commander’s) donning the tunic though still unbuttoned. In panic he ran to the veranda and screamed back, “Abhi laaya shrimaan” (Bringing the guard in, Sir). With this whilst still buttoning his tunic with one hand, holding his sword in the other, he ran down the veranda and steps and shouted his command from the first floor itself, “Guard baayen se tez chal” (Guard, quick march, by the left). The guard started marching, the drummer gave the marching beat, and the Guard Commander joined in just before the guard halted in front the saluting dais.
After the Parade was brought to vishraam (at-ease) by the Parade Commander, a GI (what will we do without them?) marched up to the Guard Commander, smartly saluted him and brought some semblance of uniformed service in the wantonly appearance of the Guard Commander in about 30 secs. These worthy gentlemen (GIs, that is) can change people’s appearance in less than a second when they want to; but that is another story!)
Finally, after the Commanding Officer Netaji Subhash took the salute, inspected the Guard and Divisions, proficiency awards were given to a few sailors and then the Hockey Rolling Trophy was presented to DB Roy.
As he marched (!) from the ranks of the ‘spare officers’ standing on the left of the dais facing the parade; I too had a Gunners style ‘brainwave’ and I understood why was it called a ‘rolling’ trophy. DBR rolled on to in front of the dais to receive it, almost rolled off when it was handed over to him and then rolled back to regain his position in the rank and file of ‘spare’ officers swaying in all possible directions.
Straightway after the Divisions, we rolled back into our rooms and decided to break all ties with Hercules; a historic decision that lasted with us for quite some time……..until the evening that is.
When I undertook to allow the armed forces to train me to become a good staff-officer (Read Learning ‘The Ropes’ At Defence Services Staff College At Wellington, Nilgiris – Part I’ and ‘Part II’), I also took it upon myself to let go of all that used to keep me in high spirits. It was a tough decision but I was going to prove a point to me; which was that even though I was a proud member of fauj, Sikh religion and hailing from Punjab, I could do without the elixir of life. Suddenly from an irresponsible vagabond I stepped into the sober though somewhat sombre world of the nek aadmi.
Accolades started flowing in a-plenty. In addition, I also became the butt of many jokes. I sought refuge in the friendship of SK Sharma, an Air Electric officer and a Brahmin with a keen sense of humour.
Do you remember the Catch 22 logic of Yossarian’s friend Orr who had a bucktoothed smile due to crab apples in his cheeks? He used to carry rubber balls in his hands. So when anyone teased him about having crab apples in his cheeks, he used to tell them that he had rubber balls and they were not in his cheeks but in his hands! Well I tried the same logic for my perennial sobriety, through my friendship with SK Sharma. Whenever, anyone told me that I was wonky, I used to point towards SK Sharma and say that whereas I had recently become a teetotaller SKS had been so from the time of his being at his mother’s knee onwards. In this ingenious manner my friendship with SKS helped me ward off many barbs targeted at me.
Our friendship had just begun to bloom when the blow stuck us. Sharma and I used to go by our four-wheelers (cars) anywhere and everywhere and had sold off our two wheelers (scooters and mobikes). Since we didn’t indulge, we had the spare money for the fuel and we had just begun to enjoy ourselves in our combined world of puritanism. The blow that stuck us was that the Government of India, without consulting SK and I, suddenly raised the petrol prices from Rupees 10.50 a litre (in Tamilnadu) to Rupees 13.25 – an almost 30 per cent increase.
The next evening, since it was his turn, I waited for SK to pick me up from my house in Castle Quarters to go to WGC (Wellington Gymkhana Club) to play billiards. He arrived at the appointed hour but instead of chuckles of laughter and sunniness that used to herald his arrival, I noticed that he was competing with an Egyptian mummy for years of lifelessness. I got into the front left seat of his car and we arrived at the club. Nothing was said between us since the news had killed our enthusiasm almost totally. He played the first shot and I noticed that he offered me an easy in-off followed by red potting and promise of many other geometric possibilities.
I applied sufficient chalk to the tip of my cue and took my stance for what I hoped would be a long break. And it is precisely at this time that SK chose to break the agonising silence of that evening.
“Have you heard the bad news Sir?” he asked.
“Yes” I replied icily so as to cap all further conversation until I had completed my break of at least 30 points.
“I am afraid” he continued with determination, “It is going to affect us the most.”
I had no choice but to break my stance as the Tsunami was almost at my door-step. I put the handling end of the cue down and my look asked him to explain.
“Well Sir” he explained, “Both of us don’t smoke, drink or have any such vices. In order to offset the increased cost of petrol, all that the drinkers, for example, have to do is to cut down an equivalent amount of their drinking and they land up with the same expenditure as they used to incur earlier. You and I have no such cushion.”
I was immediately reminded of a dialogue from a Smita Patil movie that went like this: “Nangi kyaa dhoye kyaa nichode?” (A poor naked woman doesn’t have enough to wash and squeeze out)
We quickly finished the game that SK once again won easily. He dropped me back home and I changed and drove my own car back to WGC. Ordering a series of drinks at the bar had become for me a matter of life and death. A Brahmin with his simple wit had put an end to my short-lived abstinence; I was already preparing to offset the next fuel price hike.
The bar where I drowned my sorrows caused by fuel price hike (Courtesy: wellingtongymkhanagolfclub.golfgaga.com)
By the time I left DSSC I had adequately prepared to offset fuel price hikes for the next decade or so!
The title doesn’t seem to go well with the constant struggle that the armed forces seem to be having for obtaining adequate remuneration for the serving and retired personnel. Curiously, this intense – and at times, bitter – struggle is not with the government but with another arm under the government (just like the armed forces) called bureaucracy. Bureaucracy or babugiri has relentlessly endeavoured to keep the armed forces on a tight leash and is often seen fighting tooth and nail anything given to the faujis as just job satisfaction.
This article, however, is not about the babus’ penchant for “saving public money” by suggesting re-usable condoms. You can’t get the better of them by writing articles or returning your medals at rallies at Jantar Mantar in New Delhi. They know every Jantar and Mantar for keeping the armed forces essaying to get out from the maze they have put them in.
Admiral SM Nanda, the CNS with Mrs Indira Gandhi, the PM (direct access and not through the babus!)
This article, on the other hand, is about how rich the armed forces personnel were. That they were and are rich in commitment, valour, values and patriotism is already an established fact with very few exceptions. This article is about their richness in money terms. I have taken me and family as test case since no officer in the armed forces would be as poor as I was when I served the armed forces of this great country.
Why did I choose to be poor? I had my anakh (Punjabi word meaning Pride or Honour) as a young man born in a Punjabi family wherein they would do anything to keep their anakh. I had seen my father exhibiting it in large measure when he married my mom. He won’t expect and accept a single paisa from anyone that included his parents and her parents. A self-made man, he boasted with loud guffaws that he was a king.
So, unconsciously, I followed his example, but went several steps ahead of him. As the train took me to the Naval Academy in Jun 1973, I decided that there won’t be a single occasion whence I would take anything in money or in kind from my parents. I was on my own and I became fiercely independent.
The Navy looked after all my needs. The highest pay that I got in the Navy was as a Midshipman, Acting Subaltern Lieutenant and then Lieutenant; that is all before the age of thirty. I could eat and drink merrily and have sufficient left over to see movies and buy me shirts from Charagh Din and other clothes from shops in Colaba; the kind I could never afford again during my remaining career in the Navy. What is more, we could afford to dine, once in a while, at restaurants like Delhi Durbar, Khyber, and in restaurants of Taj and Oberoi hotels. And then we had our clubs and messes that gave us a life-style that many were envious of.
We could also go abroad once in a while on ship visits and even whilst staying within the Custom regulations we could buy the latest in two-in-one music systems and cameras. Imported Canteen goods from ship-chandlers too gave us some social edge; imagine a girl being presented with Tosca perfume or Toblerone or Hershey’s chocolates during those days when not many in the civil-street could afford them.
Also, by better and more efficient use of the resources given to them, the armed forces’ messes looked plush, glamorous and could match the fare and atmosphere of five star hotels. The decorum and traditions in these messes would actually put them even beyond these hotels. On the occasions of Mess Nights, one felt like a king with the wives matching the deportment of royal families. I don’t remember many occasions when there was any lengthy and persistent talk about how poorly we were paid.
The average countrymen vied with one another to get a glimpse of the impeccably turned out men and women in uniform on the Republic Day at Rajpath. Those who had the privilege of having attended a naval function, for example, told of their experiences proudly in public fora and media.
A view of the RD Parade of 1951. Countrymen vying with one another to have a glimpse of the smartly turned out men in uniform (Pic courtesy: www.pinterest.com)
On special occasions like Navy Ball, the elite of the city vied with one another to be seen in such functions; Navy was a way of life that was looked up to. An old time video of a Navy Ball shows the best film-stars and personalities in Hindi film industry attending the Navy Ball: Mohammad Rafi, Raj Kapoor, Raj Kumar, Rajendra Kumar, Vyjayanthimala, Nutan etc.
The first “Navy Day” on December 04 was celebrated in 1972. On this Day when the Navy dedicated itself anew to the service of the nation, the Army Postal Service Corps (56 APO) brought out a Special Cover to commemorate the Navy Day on 4 December 1972.
The government had intended it to be so; so as to make the difficult, challenging and life-sacrificing profession of armed forces attractive for the youth of the country. It was an acknowledgement of the tough and risky lives that they led. The government voiced this in various fora and documents. No one had reckoned that the wily babu would not envy this life-style in the manner of the common countrymen; but, would like to bring it down to the level wherein armed forces personnel would have to beg and agitate for their rights and privileges.
PM Indira Gandhi with the crew of INS Vikrant, the ship that helped her win the 1971 War (Pic courtesy: Indian Express)
Gradually, armed forces men fell down to tenth or beyond choice of eligible women for marriage. The babu laughed smugly. Gradually, everyone wanted to become a babu; leaving the profession of arms for the desperate, third-class, and less than ordinary men and women. The babu patted himself on the back. Gradually, people seemed to forget that whilst we have the finest armed forces in the world, we also have one of world’s worst bureaucracy. The babu smiled with self-satisfaction. Gradually, the armed forces personnel returned their medals, sat on hunger-strikes, and were reduced to the dishonourable ways of the netas and the babus. The babu guffawed triumphantly and said, “Now, I have got them where I wanted them to be. They are as bad as the rest of us. I got fed up of listening to them being the saviours of the country.”
She liked the ring of the year 2222. Now that Hinglish had become the largest spoken language in the world, people in America, Germany, France and England and many other hitherto unheard of countries all spoke in Hinglish and ushered in the year 2222 with sounds of Bai Bai. The commentators on BBC and CNN channel had tough time reporting whether they were asking for Maid Maid or saying Good-bye to the year 2221. The commentator on IBC (Indian Broadcasting Corporation) Abdul Mahavir Singh however knew precisely why Bai Bai was important. Some three billion men in the most populous country in the world, India, had got fed up of household chores that their dominant wives subjected to day in and day out and were demanding Bai Bai, a title for a male or man-servant; the title having been chosen by women who felt that it required twice the man-servants to do a maid’s job.
Her name was Marilyn Zahida Singh; such names had come about by a decree of India’s Prime Minister Fatima Elizabeth Kumari. India had become the most secular country in the world; hence, all names of men and women above 18 years of age (the age for voting), by law, had to have names from at least three communities figuring in them. Indian politicians, the most secular of the lot, as always, had names as long as complete couplets of the 15th century mystic poet and saint Kabir. There was hardly any community or caste whose name was left out unless they were sure that such a community was redundant in the forthcoming 2222 elections for the 2222 seats (another importance of the Bai Bai year) of the People’s Gantantra Majlis (Names of Houses in Parliament had to follow the rule as given in the decree for names of people; indeed almost all names – say, of parks, monuments, schools, colleges – were to be likewise).
Marilyn sat in the park named after India’s great-lover-of-ahimsa Maulana Mohansingh Kipling Gandhi and thought how nice it would be if she had had a good husband like many of her friends in the Indian Kootnitik Bahria, a name adopted for the Indian Navy after it had become strategic with the induction of 22 or Bai (another importance of the year Bai Bai) nuclear submarines. Her husband Ravinder Pervez Stalin Ravi just sat at home and wrote his stupid blog whose spellings had changed in honour of the year Bai Bai and was now called Sun22anyname.
Marilyn Zahida Singh was an Admiral in the Navy having been given command of a coastal defence vessel Begum Ahilya Kaur. Abdul Vikram Singh Committee (Short title: AVSC) Part 22 (another importance of Bai Bai year) report had ensured that Rear Admiral was now the lowest rank in the Bahria and within a few years a person became Vice Admiral and then Admiral. The ranks after that were dependent upon the job requirement, eg, Admiral of the Minesweeping Squadron and Supreme Admiral of the IKB. Men had stopped going into the Navy as most of them were busy putting up anecdotes of early 21st century on a group called HIAOOU* when their grandfathers, great grandfathers and great great grandfathers were in the Navy. Nobody quite understood what the Chinese sounding name Hiaoou meant or stood for. But, amongst the members it had become a form of greeting, eg:
Member A: Hiaoou there!
Member B: Hiaoou to you too. Just loved your latest and original and very relevant story about the level of commitment amongst women in the United States Navy and another absolutely original one about buying a bicycle with a carrier or stand. (An “original” joke on HIAOOU was deemed to be the one which had been put up less than ten thousand times).
Sitting in the park, Admiral Marilyn Zahida Singh thought about whistling at two men going past; but then two things stopped her. One, People’s Gantantara Majlis had passed a new law on the Protection of Indian Aadmi against Sexual Harassment and Other Offences; and two, both looked straight ahead mortally scared of sideways glances in a predominantly female society. Even at that she would have whistled just to have some fun and also knowing that people from the armed forces didn’t have to follow laws; but, she remembered how her husband Ravinder had touched her feet in the morning when she left for work (Indian traditions, she felt were stupid and this two century old tradition of men touching the feet of their spouses had to be put a stop to; she was liberal minded and often talked about Men’s Emancipation and Empowerment of Men) and had entreated her not to flirt with men. She loved him and he was nice to kids. Despite Sun22anyname, he found time to cook and often made her favourite dish Sambhar very well.
Suddenly there was a beep on her 22G phone and the screen had the Admiral of the Eastern Fleet Lolita Rahim Das telling her, together with an inlay of the map of Indian Ocean, that Somali pirates (who had kept on increasing their area of operations) had attacked a Shipping Corporation of India vessel Subedar Major Hoshiyar Sajjid Turner, MVrC off the coast of Japan and she, Marilyn, should sail with despatch to be there. They already had the Mistress of the tanker on video conferencing call and she told the ship’s Mistress to await her arrival. The other SOPs for her appeared on the screen immediately.
She called the Pirate vessel and demanded video conferencing with the lead pirate. They insisted on texting only. She had no choice; you can’t dictate terms to pirates nearly four thousand miles away. At one stage she lost her kurta and called them SoBs when the pirates demanded 600 trillion rupees as ransom money (Rupee was now trading at only 1000 to a US Dollar after the new Indian PM Manmohan Fakhruddin Smith’s economic reforms, which had pulled the Rupee out of its worst ever 1669 to a US Dollar). At that time, she had no idea of the surprise that awaited her in this Global War on Piracy that was going for more than two centuries.
Marilyn quickly calculated that at her speed of 500 knots enabled by a miniaturised nuclear plant, it would take her nearly eight hours to reach off Japan; also taking into account that in her passage through Malacca Straits, she would have no choice but to reduce speed to less than 300 knots in keeping with the International Regulations about Safety of Navigation in Channels and Gulfs 2179. The regulation was already 43 years old and was due for revision since everybody knew that in some of the channels proceeding at such low speeds as 300 Knots was literally sailing into the hands of the pirates. But, China was stridently opposed to the amendment until the United States admitted that all vessels must keep clear of South China Sea since the Chinese had renamed it as Mao Lake and had claimed it as Internal Waters of China.
Begum Ahilya Kaur was equipped with the latest state-of-art laser guided Pepper Spray Missile Launchers and Marilyn had ensured that she always had the WWR of the ammo missiles on board to meet any contingency. These missiles could decapitate pirates at a range of nearly 300 miles. But, she knew that this time through she would have to launch the deadly missiles at closer range so that whilst incapacitating the women pirates, the Mistress of the merchant tanker and the crew would be protected against the ill effects of Pepper.
One of PSMs as seen by Admiral Marilyn Zahida Singh with her vessel in the background! (Pic courtesy: www.youtube.com)
There had been an international move to ban such biological agents as pepper spray missiles; but, women’s organisations (there were millions of such organisations on the earth; lately, the United Nations had changed its name to United Nations of Women) had nipped the move in the bud by pointing out that women had to suffer pepper in the kitchens for centuries and now that it had become a WMD or Weapon of Male Destruction, why couldn’t women have some fun?
The Coastal Defence Vessel Begum Ahilya Kaur sailed at 2222 hours on the night of 22 Feb 2222 and headed for the pirates. She spoke to her ship’s company of 22 women live on the secure video on their watches and explained the mission to them. There was general euphoria in the mess decks as the GoI permitted 22 per cent of the loot of the pirates to be shared amongst the ship’s company depending upon their rank. Marilyn wasn’t thinking of the loot; she had enough and she didn’t really crave material things. Last time she had got the IKB Medal 2 Bravo (Medals had become so many in the Indian Armed Forces that they were now merely numbered; the highest was 1 Alpha) for a Search And Rescue mission. Indeed, women easily had about a hundred to their credit within about 5 years of joining service. The rule was to wear specified ones on different days of the week. Still an IKB 1 Alpha was worth having. Marilyn dreamt that IKB 1 Alpha would soon be hers after teaching a lesson to Somali pirates off Japan. She thought of grabbing a few hours of shut-eye before facing the pirates. The sunrise was at 0422 hours and she would be less than a thousand miles from the pirate ship.
Satellite tracking was on and all the time giving the picture of the SCI tanker and the pirate vessel. Even at night, the thermal imaging camera pictures were of very good quality. On instructions from her, the Mistress of SCI ship had conveyed to pirates that there was a sudden machinery breakdown and engineers were working to get it right. On persistent queries from the pirates, she had told them that expected time of defect rectification would be about 0700 hrs next day. The pirate vessel was, therefore going round and round the merchant tanker. Marilyn knew that that made the task of using her lethal PSMs even more difficult. To be on the safe side she had asked the merchant tanker Mistress and crew to put on gas masks.
At 0520 hours she got up. At 0530 hrs, she sounded Action Stations. At 0545 hrs she brought down the speed to a comfortable 250 knots and gave order to bring the two PSM launchers to readiness State One. She momentarily closed her eyes and pictured IKB Medal 1 Alpha being pinned to the left hand top pocket of her tunic.
As soon as the pirate ship came within the range of laser optical device she trained it to have a look at the lead pilot. She froze. At first glance it looked like as if the pirate hadn’t had a haircut for a number of years. But then, when the pirate turned around, she saw him….nay, her. And this is what she saw:
(Pic courtesy: ooche813.blogspot.com)
Her dream of the medal drifted away. She rued that she had sailed nearly four thousand miles from home, all the effort put in, and finally it turned out to be a female pirate. Naturally, International Women’s Law, for which 222 countries were signatories, did not permit PSMs or Pepper Spray Missiles to be used against women.
Her hopes of another medal being pinned on her tunic lay in shambles. She closed her eye and saw the medal disappearing from her vision.
She opened her eyes and heard Ravinder telling her, “Lyn hurry up and pin my medals on the tunic; I am getting late for the divisions. And, please stop daydreaming; last time you pinned my name tally upside down and I had to stand drinks for everyone.”
As she hurried with the final touches on his tunic, she straightened the brass buttons; five in front and two on the epaulettes, she thought of Bai Bai year wistfully. Admiral Marilyn Zahida Singh my foot, she thought; it was more like civilian bearer Lyn and possibly Leading Cook First Class Lyn.
Bye bye, Bai Bai; she thought, you can’t dream too far ahead in time.
_______________________________________
*HIAOOU is a group on the Facebook and is expanded to: ‘Humour In And Out Of Uniform’.
Here is the Link: https://www.facebook.com/groups/faujihumour/
कुछ नहीं भूला
कुछ नहीं खोया
कुछ था भी नहीं
कुछ है भी नहीं
ओस कि बूँद थी क्या
या उड़ता हुआ गुबार?
हवा के झोंके की
अपनी कोई हस्ती है क्या?
ख्वाब था
ख्वाब है
हमें अपनी खबर न थी
उन्हें मेरी खबर न थी
तिनकों के आशियाँ में
बस्ते थे हम, और अब
यादों के धुंदले साये में
अब और ठिकाना ढूँढ़ते हैं
ये धुएं के महल
ये गहरे अँधेरे
ये वीरान मरहले
ये हैं मेरे हमसफ़र
मेरे हमदर्द मेरे अपने
कौन छीनेगा इन्हे मुझसे?
शुक्र है तेरी मुहब्बत में
कुछ तो मिला है
कुछ तो बचा है
Kuchh nahin bhoola
Kuchh nahin khoya
Kuchh tha bhi nahin
Kuchh hai bhi nahin.
Ose ki boond thi kyaa
Ya udata hua gubaar?
Hawa ke jhonke ki
Apni koi hasti hai kyaa?
Khwaab tha
Khwaab hai
Hamen apni khabar na thi
Unhe meri khabar na thi.
Tinako ke aashiyaan mein
Baste the ham, aur ab hain
Yaadon ke dhundle sayon mein.
Ab aur dhikaana dhoondte hain
Ye dhuyen ke mahal
Ye gehre andhere
Ye viraan marhale.
Yehi hain mere hamsafar
Mere hamdard, mere apne.
Kaun chheenega inhen mujhase?
Shukr hai teri muhabbat main
Kuchh to apna mila hai
Kuchh to apna bacha hai.
