Category: Humour

I have seen many great Admirals in the Indian Navy; smart, super intelligent, highly committed and professional. Strangely, most of them – if not all of them – take pride in their “man-management” and mastery over “human-psychology” in comparison to any other virtue or attribute. So, if you were ever to fault with your divisional duties (in the Navy, the ship’s company (what the civilians call as ‘crew’) is divided into various divisions such as Foxle (slang for Forecastle), Top Deck, Quarterdeck, Electrical, Engineering, and Logistic Divisions), you would have a prolonged harangue from these old timers as to how they never faulted with their divisional duties when they were young subalterns like you.

Some of the oft-repeated expressions that you were likely to hear were: “I knew every sailor like the back of my hand” and “Twenty-five years later I still remember the send-off my sailors gave; I had tears in my eyes (one liquid trying to compete with the other in the belly: Rum).”

Old-timers are happiest when they come across a sailor who was merely a Seaman First Class with them but had become a Master Chief Petty Officer now. “Master Chief Sahib”, they begin with more than a glint in their eyes, “Do you remember the Gunnery shoot when we brought down the PTA with our accurate firing? And do you remember the signal the Fleet Commander made to us: ‘IF YOU KEEP SHOOTING DOWN TARGETS LIKE THIS, SOON THERE WILL BE NO TARGETS LEFT FOR OTHER SHIPS TO PRACTICE ON’.”

Most sailors oblige the old-timers with sudden flashes of memory at this stage, whether or not they remember the incident. At this stage, the chest of the Admiral blooms larger than a large balloon and he walks through the rest of the Annual Inspection with the expressed feeling that he is proud of the stress on the Divisional System in that ship or establishment.

Master Chief Petty Officer First Class JK Singh of the establishment Agrani (a School for Leadership in the Navy), however, was a very honest sailor and highly competent. On his mother’s knee the one lesson about life he had learnt was never to lie. He was our best sailor-instructor at that time. We, who had started our career in the Navy only three years back, were in awe of him since JK was a recipient of Naosena Medal (NM) for having fought a difficult fire on the old carrier Vikrant with grit and valour.

This Admiral from the Naval Headquarters who was visiting our establishment Agrani had weaved the web of his being of the ‘man-management-type’ (“It is the man behind the gun that matters” he often declared in his booming voice). So, the Commanding Officer had lined up near his office, for interaction with the Admiral, the senior most of his sailors in addition to all of us officer-instructors present there. I noticed that JK stood looking tall, competent and exuding supreme confidence that he always did.

Hand-shaking with the officers, by the visiting Admiral, was done wasting the minimum time (in any case there would be time over PLD (Pre-Lunch Drinks) to know us better).

And then the Admiral started with the sailors. Looking at Master Chief Petty Officer First Class JK Singh brought the pride in the Admiral and his chest was about to burst; more so since JK wore the NM ribbon. The Admiral boomed confidently “Ah… Master Chief JK Singh; old chap, old ship-mate, how nice to see you again….you were with me on?…no, no, don’t tell me…let me guess….you were on Kiltan with me, right?”

JK Singh looked straight and erect and answered without flinching, “No Sir; I was not on Kiltan.”

The old-man wasn’t the one who’d give up easily (he won’t have made it to a Vice Admiral if he did), “Ah, now I know, you were the bright chap in the Foxle division on the old Rajput.”

They don’t make sailors like Master Chief Petty Officer First Class JK Singh anymore; indeed, even then he was a limited edition. Without batting an eye-lid, he replied, “No, Sir, I haven’t had the privilege to serve with you on Rajput.”

Now, it had become a do-or-die for the Admiral and the C.O. had already started winking at JK Singh to put the old man out of his misery. But, our Gunnery Officer had already instructed the sailors to look the Admiral in the eye whilst answering and not look “here and there”. In the proper Gunnery style, this drill had been carried out with them several times with the G.O. acting as the Admiral. So, our C.O.’s winking was wasted on JK Singh. JK’s expression was indicative of his will to follow the drill of the Gunnery Officer with the same resolve as had earlier got him the coveted Naosena Medal.

The Admiral had a brain wave (I haven’t yet come across an Admiral who doesn’t get one at the crucial time), “Oh my God; I must be getting forgetful with old age (this said mockingly to indicate that he was far from becoming old). Of course you were with me on Mysore and had got the Best Sailor award several times on board when I was the Commanding Officer….ha, next I will forget my own name.”

Our C.O. was visibly trembling by this time and had closed his eyes to fervently pray to God to drive some sense in the vacuous head of his (erstwhile) best sailor. But, JK Singh stood his ground and replied with becoming honesty, “I am sorry, Sir, I was never with you on Mysore.”

At this juncture, our CO was already motioning the Admiral to move on to Master Chief Second Class Pillai who was dying to agree with the Admiral on anything at all, even to say that it was he who gave the crucial pass to the Admiral when as Lieutenant he had scored his first goal in a football match against the Royal Naval Ship Kent. You won’t believe it but I gathered all this from the eager face of Pillai. I wish I had taken a photograph.

Admirals don’t give up so easily; as I have mentioned earlier, only the brightest, the smartest and the most professional make it to that rank. So, the visiting Admiral had a massive Tsunami that hit his brain and he came up with a clincher, “Ahhh, now I know; it was the other JK Singh who left service three years back. Strange, there is a very close resemblance….(and he turned to my C.O.) Don’t you feel, Satpal?”

My C.O.’s eagerness to nod his turbaned head put Pillai’s visible alacrity to shame and he seized the opportunity to declare cease-fire on further barrage of ‘man-management’, “That’s what I have been trying to tell you, Sir; this is not the same JK Singh…..(and added for effect); all smart sailors, in our great Navy look alike.”

Over the PLD, that afternoon, the Admiral recited several anecdotes about “that” JK Singh. Our C.O. added quite a few of his own and whole-heartedly agreed with the Admiral that “that” JK Singh was one of the greatest sailors “this side of the Suez”.

Satpal would have certainly made it to an Admiral’s rank had he not been court-martialed and cashiered that year for something as insignificant as embezzlement of funds. Dishonesty doesn’t always work.

Gunners do everything with guns; a supreme kind of macho feeling. When they have hostile intent they fire their guns to slam the daylights out of the enemy. However, when they have to signify friendly intent, they still say it with their guns; they salute you with gun-shots. It is as if, for a Gunner, it is guns or nothing. Nowadays, people ashore too fire gun-salutes, having borrowed the tradition from the naval gunners. In the olden days, when a warship entered a foreign port, it would harmlessly fire its cannons, until it finished with all ammunition, to show it didn’t have a hostile intent. As the tradition progressed over the years, a 21 Gun salute was fired for head of state (King, Queen, President or Prime Minister). Indeed, it is still fired as a mark of respect for the head of state when a ship enters a particular harbour for the first time. Down the line, the other dignitaries of the state are entitled to lesser number of gun-salutes.

What does One-Gun Salute mean? It is a rogue’s salute fired at Colours (usually 8 A.M.) on the day a naval court-martial has been ordered to assemble.

I was posted as Signal Communication Officer of the second one of the indigenous modified Leander Class design ships of the indigenous Godavari class: Indian Naval Ship Ganga. She was commissioned on 30th Dec 1985 by the then Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi and we had the distinction of taking he and his wife Sonia for their famous (made infamous by a persistent questioner – who wanted to be compared to a dog, since he had ascribed to himself the role of a watch-dog: Ram Jethmalani) visit to Andaman & Nicobar islands.

We also went on a flag-showing visit to Jeddah (Saudi Arabia) and Masawa (Eritrea, adjoining Ethiopia). This was our first foreign visit on Ganga and we were excited. However, our Captain was a little edgy since we had the Fleet Commander, Rear Admiral Shekhawat (he later became the Chief of the Naval Staff) and his entire Fleet Staff embarked on board. With or without the Fleet Commander, the Fleet Staff rejoices in asking questions that make the ship’s staff cringe. As if that is not enough, they rub it into you hard by making some pippins of signals at sea intended to prove to anyone with a modicum of intelligence that the recipient of their signal (s) was standing last in the queue when God was dishing out brains. Some of the signals made at sea by some of the Fleet Commanders are (just to give you some sample signals):

• You are slow like Chinese naval men.
• The line (of ships) is higgledy – piggledy.
• Where are you going? (To a ship that has misunderstood her station).
• Your stupidity has spoiled the whole show.

Anyway, you have probably got the idea. Already, whilst heading towards Jeddah, the FOO (Fleet Operations Officer), Captain ‘Jerry’ Patel had enquired with a chuckle, “How come the Fleet Commander’s chair on the Bridge is covered with a white Turkish cloth whereas our Captain’s chair is covered with red Turkish cloth?” My riposte that it was to indicate whose ass was on fire boosted the morale of my Captain, only to return to being lugubrious later.

The eve before entering the Jeddah port he went to the Helicopter Deck to address the ship’s company to refrain from custom violations etc (the mandatory talk, which serves as much purpose as speed limit of 80 kmph on Mumbai-Pune Expressway).

We entered harbour ceremoniously dressed in white tunics and trousers and white peak-caps. A guard and band was paraded on the helo deck. At the appointed time and position we fired the Gun Salute to the King of Saudi Arabia, returned gun for gun (though lesser number of guns) for the Fleet Commander.

I need to explain this Gun Salute for my civilian readers:

Unlike the olden days custom of harmlessly firing the ship’s main guns, these days, there are especially made Saluting Guns that fire shells with very small charge so as to produce bang and fire but do no visible harm. Nevertheless, a charge is a charge and those firing it have to take adequate precautions. Have a look at the picture below:

Now how do the Gunners keep timing of 10 to 15 seconds between two gun-shots so that the sound and fire would be at equal intervals and not haphazard? Here too, the Gunners have a unique system; between two gun shots, they load the shell saying out aloud: “If-I-were-not-a-Gunner-I-won’t-be-here…fire” and so on. In the last two articles on gunners I must have already convinced you that there is nothing more unique in the Navy as Gunners. Now you know that the Navy has two types of personnel: Gunners and the Others.

Anyway, the firing of the Gun Salutes was accomplished without a hitch. We paraded an Entering Harbour Ceremonial Guard and Band and took up our appointed berth. On the Bridge, whilst entering harbour, one look at my Captain’s face convinced me that he was as happy as a school-boy appearing for Algebra exam.

In the forenoon, we had a number of visitors on board. Each one of them was ceremoniously received on the Helo Deck by the Fleet Commander and my Captain. My Captain’s mood was becoming more and more sombre. This was rare since he was generally very genial who loved to guffaw loud on slightest pretext.

One reason, amongst others, that I could lay my finger on, was a small change of plan that the Fleet Commander and his staff had brought about for the evening reception on board. Since we were the first ship alongside, cocktails were going to be on our ship for all and dinner for a smaller number of important dignitaries was to be held on Ranjit’s helo deck. Why would our Captain sulk because of this? Simple; before leaving Mumbai, the Fleet Staff had prepared us for the dinner and we had gone about putting together the best of arrangements for it, which included fancy food-heaters that were not so common then as they are now. So, here was a chance to show-case our best logistic skills but, at the last minute, due to this change, we had to handover our best to Ranjit.

I was the DLC that day: the Duty Lieutenant Commander. I was also the Mess Secretary of the Wardroom. In the evening, in his dejected mood, the Captain had started pacing on the helo-deck to survey the evening’s arrangements for cocktails. I had never seen him in that mood. It appeared to me that he was on a spree of finding faults and anybody who was in his line-of-fire was getting it nice and proper.

I shared a special relationship with him; we would often crack the juiciest of the jokes when closed up on the Bridge. For example, when I had confided in him that I had four of my COs during that cruise (Captain Dabir (God rest his soul) as my erstwhile CO of Talwar, Rear Admiral Shekhawat – the Fleet Commander as my erstwhile CO of Himgiri; Captain ‘Jerry’ Patel, my next CO (after Shekhawat) of Himgiri and finally he, Captain KK Kohli of Ganga; he laughed out aloud and remarked, “You are a much ——ed man.” However, that evening, jokes and laughter were farthest from his mind. He ticked me off several times to indicate his dissatisfaction with the arrangements. “Come on” he quipped, “The party is about to start and nothing has been done so far.” I was about to remind him that there were still three hours to go for the party but one look at his face told me to think better of it.

Suddenly in the midst of ceremonial awnings, bar, chairs and sofas being set-up, he noticed the Saluting Guns (two on either side) that were still bolted to the deck. “Why are these here?” he screamed with the indignation of a diner suddenly spotting a fly in his soup. I innocently looked at the guns and confirmed the veracity of my Captain’s finding. My unsaid response was, “Trust the Gunners not to have cleared up after the shoot; don’t they do it with their mouths too?”

Anyway, to announce for the Gunnery team to clear off the Saluting Guns, more than eight hours after they had done their job, was for me the need of the hour. There is one thing that has to be said about the Gunners; whilst most times they may lie idle, at action and on broadcasts, they suddenly appear from nowhere to address themselves to the task at hand. They quickly got around to unbolting the guns and carrying these to Gunner’s Store.

Meanwhile the Captain had resumed his firing me with some choice words; the mildest of these being that I had no future in the navy if I couldn’t arrange something as simple as Cocktails without the Captain’s help. He was warming up to his prediction having come true, when he had first set eyes on me two years back, that of all the people I would fail him at a crucial juncture. He had then embarked on such nitty-gritties as that a good DLC would personally check the dress of the ceremonial sentry since he would be the first person seen by the guests. However, he stressed that only good DLCs would do that and I was certainly not in that category.

“Have you done this?….Have you ensured that?…blah…blah…blah…” there was no end to it and I didn’t know how to stop him. Suddenly, we heard a rogue’s gun being fired close to us….a loud crackling sound and flame….for heaven’s sake at 5:30 in the evening. We froze. My first reaction was that the CO had exploded in rage.

It came out that a Gunner was carrying one of the saluting guns, holding the barrel between his legs, since it was heavy; when, it suddenly fired. Apparently, in the morning firing of 21 guns-salute, one of the shells was still loaded after 21 had been successfully fired and – hold your breath – the Gunnery Team had forgotten about it. Forgotten shells and rounds have this uncanny habit of making their presence felt at the strangest of times. In this case, it had displayed the stuff it was made off exactly at the time when my Captain was trying to compete with it in sound and fury. The worst was that the shell had fired quite close to the sailor’s real gun and shells and he had a miraculous escape though his hand was injured and bleeding.

What a sobering effect this had on my Captain! The sailor soon became alright with first-aid given to him in the ship’s Sick Bay. My Captain too became totally normal immediately, especially with the quick realisation that it could have been much worse if the sailor was badly injured or if it were to take place at the time when the dignitaries were on board during the forenoon. He was, after that, his usual life-of-the-party, jovial and full of jokes and fun.

I heaved a sigh of relief remembering how he would handle the trickiest of situations at sea with calm and without losing his balance.

That night when I went to sleep, I learnt the full meaning of the (gunnery?) expression: to kill two birds with one stone. I gave a silent 21 gun salute to the Gunners in my dreams for having saved my life that evening.

A few decades back, we entered the Missile Age in Naval Warfare. The Gunners – or the Bang-Bang people – suddenly had to reckon with missile-firings and fire-balls approaching the ship. This demanded lightening speed responses. Fortunately, most of them were blessed with these, having honed these during their formative years. So, whilst an ordinary mortal would be thinking of what to do, a Gunner would have worked out what to do after the first what-to-do would have failed. One such Gunner was the first Gunnery Officer I had as my colleague after completing my specialisation in Communications and Electronic Warfare.

D ( I told you in ‘Gunners Too Are Human – Part I‘ that I shall not be giving any names due to my survival instincts) was convinced that Life and Missiles should be taken in one’s stride, just as they come. However, he never missed an opportunity to impress the Commanding Officer with his ‘hard work’. So, whilst enjoying a drink in the wardroom in the evenings, if he got the ‘news‘ that the CO had stepped on board with his guests, he would lose no time in getting this announced on the ship’s broadcast, “Gunner’s Yeoman required in Gunnery Officer’s cabin immediately.” This was to let the CO know that he, Gunnery Officer, was on board on a holiday doing Gunnery work. If that wasn’t enough, he would time his giving loud instructions to the Gunner’s Yeoman at the gangway just as CO would be leaving the ship.

I don’t know whether this strategy, carefully crafted by an ace Gunner, worked or not; but, I had noticed that the CO – a Navigator – was perpetually in awe of the Gunnery Officer. Weren’t we all?

A missile is an expensive arsenal to fire at sea during practice shoots. It is like the most expensive Diwali celebration. Hence, you don’t carry out missile firings at the frequency of, say, firing the 40/60 Bofors Anti-aircraft guns. Other than the expenses, one reason for not carrying out so frequent missile-firings is because missile-launchers and the connected fire-control systems are fully computerised together with a ‘seeker-head’ on the missile to search for and find (home-on) its own target. Therefore, to carry out these drills without actually firing missiles is adequate training. however, the 40/60 AA Guns, as on board the ship where D and I served, had the requirement to train the crew to successfully bring down an aircraft through aiming and firing of shells fitted with proximity fuze.

In the Gunnery School, these drills are performed endlessly by Gunnery sailors and all under-trainee officers of the Executive Branch. The crew of the 40/60 Gun comprises: #1: Captain of the Mounting; #2 Loading Number; #3 Communication Number; and #4 Spare Number. In the gunnery drills, no one takes any chances about ‘an interpretation’ of the orders as this could cause serious injury and even death. Hence, each hand of the crew perfects his drill, calling out aloud the actions that he is doing whilst following each order. A time comes, when after going over these drills hundreds of times, one would be able to perform these with closed eyes.

Normally, CRAA Firings (Close range Anti-Aircraft Firings) are done at evening twilight time. Ships are formed in a column, one behind the other, and then for a group of two to three ships, an illuminated target in the form of a star shell is fired either to the port side (left) or the starboard side (right). As soon as this star-shell comes within range and height, ships open up firing on their AA guns. The entire serial lasts only about 30 mins of say, two to three firings. However, since the aiming of the mountings can be visually seen – through tracer shells – ships receive signals from the Fleet Commander ranging from Bravo Zulu (Well Done) to Negat Bravo Zulu (Not Well Done).

During one of these CRAA Firing Serials, Gunnery Action Team was closed up and the Fleet Staff kept changing the timing of the firing due to various reasons; one of these being that the range was not clear of fishing boats. Therefore, for at least twice ‘Relax Gunnery Action Team’ order was passed on the ship’s broadcast. Finally, the serial commenced and a series of orders were given to make the AA mounting ready. Some of us held our breath whereas others prepared to close their ears to muffle the sound of firing.

The ship ahead of us fired a Star Shell to the port and the order, “Alarm Star Shell Port” was given. This order pre-supposes that the crew would fire when the Star Shell would be within range and height, without any further orders from the Bridge where the Captain, and the Officer of the Watch are closed up.

For a few agonising seconds nothing happened. Now, anybody familiar with Gunnery world would know that ‘nothing’ is not what the Gunners are trained for. The word ‘Action‘ is the hallmark of a Gunner; so much so that Action Stations on board in war or during exercises are controlled by the Gunnery department; you have a ‘Gunnery Action Team’ and certainly not a ‘Gunnery Nothing Team’.

We saw the slow descending of the Star Shell and the ship ahead of the Star Shell firing ship as well as the Star Shell firing ship had already started firing illuminating the night with tracer shells through their own AA guns. We, on the Bridge (I was the Officer of the Watch or OOW) thought perhaps the Mounting hadn’t heard the order ‘Alarm Star Shell Port’ and hence this order was repeated initially with increased decibel level and later with ferocity. Lo and behold, the mounting stuck to its earlier response of doing nothing. It was as if, they, like sages trying to reach God, had discovered that the easiest way to get to Him was by doing nothing and clearing mind and body of all thoughts and actions.

By this time, our Captain had started the advanced version of standing jog in the hope that our own firing would commence any time. It was my sad duty, as a War Reporter from the Front, to report to him that still there was ‘nothing‘.

Our Captain (God rest his soul) was known in the Navy for his mild nature and extreme gentlemanliness. However, when the Fleet Commander passed the expected ‘Negat Bravo Zulu’ to us, he was suddenly rid of his m.n. and e.g. and wanted to eat the Gunnery Officer alive. “Announce for the Gunnery Officer” he boomed. In my lighter moments (that I used to have with him several times on the Bridge), I would have told him that no announcement was necessary since at the volume with which he gave his command, even the next ship would have heard him directly. However, one look at his stern countenance convinced me that this was not the moment for frivolity. I announced, “Gunnery Officer requested Bridge” and eagerly awaited D being converted into mince-meat by the Captain. Several moments later, I found that the acquired virtue of the AA Mounting had been adopted by the Gunnery Officer too. You have guessed it: nothing happened. So, even before the Captain would tell me, being conscious of my own survival instincts, I re-announced with urgency: “Gunnery Officer requested Bridge – Captain” signifying that this announcement was made for him to report to Captain.

Full marks to the Gunnery Action Team and the Gunnery Officer for their consistency that evening: they stuck to their earlier response of ‘nothing‘ like an unshakeable witness in the court despite all the questioning by a relentless prosecutor. To my horror I found that the Captain wasn’t jumping in the air anymore; he had quickly mastered levitation (he must have broken the world record amongst learners of levitation) and had started flying. He picked up the mike of the broadcast himself and through rage and froth managed to make a coherent announcement all by himself: “Gunnery Officer Bridge (no point in a polite ‘requesting‘) immediately.”

Several uncomfortable moments passed; like on a drama stage awaiting the denouement and the possibility of Gunnery Action Team and Gunnery Officer strangely vanishing from the ship by an Indian version of the Bermuda Triangle crossed my mind. However, suddenly, there was a flurry of activity in the lobby leading to the Bridge and then we had the Gunnery Officer ascending to the Bridge leading a procession of Weapon Maintenance Officer (WMO) and a few sailors carrying large charts. Without any ado and with a sense of purpose last displayed by Moses leading the Israelites across the Red Sea, the Gunnery Officer led the procession to the Chart Table on the Bridge and started spreading various charts of Firing System of the AA Mounting.

He had a pointer in his hand and he explained to the Captain, “Sir, let me just explain to you how a 40/60 fires. As soon as the order ‘Alarm Star Shell is given by the Bridge’, the order to engage is given by the TS. before that the shell is rammed in the barrel by the loading number, this breach block closes automatically. The moment the Captain of the Mounting trains the gun and aims at the target, he presses this here trigger. This energizes Capacitor C13 and Resistor R2 in the firing circuit and balh-blah-blah….”

And he continued, “We carried out a complete technical investigation through WMO and my team and we conclude that Capacitor C13 has gone faulty. Though these kind of repairs are normally carried out by the Dockyard in harbour, we opened up the mounting and have just finished doing the repair. The mounting is now ready for action.”

You should have seen my Captain’s face. He was already under awe of the Gunnery Officer. Anon, he silently cursed himself for having doubted a most efficient Gunnery Officer who, knowing that non-firing had caused his CO untold mortification, had in the shortest possible time, not only zeroed on the defect beyond his control (since technical failures can take place any time) but had completed the rectification too. I could not believe my ears when I heard the Captain tell him, “Well Done, Guns; I knew I could rely on you”. He now turned to me, “SCO, make a signal to the Fleet Commander in response to his ‘Negat Bravo Zulu’ and explain the situation to him.”

I made the signal and shortly thereafter I finished my watch and went to the wardroom to have my dinner. Gunnery Officer was already there and I joined him. Suddenly I turned to him and asked, “Guns, Sir, what happened?”

He smiled that lovely smile of his, which only an ace Gunner can give and said, “The bloody Loading Number had gone for dinner.”

They also serve who only stand and wait.

Officers of all other branches in the Indian Navy can argue with me until cows come home (if at all they do) but I am convinced that there is no more thankless job on board a ship than being a SCO or Signal Communication Officer. Presumably, officers of all other specializations (ND, ie, Navigation and Direction; ASW, ie, Anti-Submarine Warfare, G, ie, Gunnery etc) would have done wonders in their own areas of expertise if the ruddy signals had reached them in time. So, as the anecdote goes, when a retired communicator went to apply for a job on the civil street, in his interview, they told him, “We are looking for a very responsible man for this job.” At this our man confidently and gleefully replied, “I am the man, sirs; I have been a SCO in the navy and whenever anything went wrong on the ship they told me: ‘You are responsible’.”

Anyway, to add to my woes as SCO, I was to serve with the navy’s hottest navigators (about one of whom I have already penned an anecdote). In comparison to their shine and halo, somehow, I came out a cropper. I was always on the receiving end except when bouquets were being distributed.

One such incident was when my ship (Himgiri) was detailed as a consort for Rajput at sea. We were to sail from harbour and make R/V (rendezvous with Rajput) somewhere in the Arabian Sea as per promulgated R/V Position, which, the HNIF (Hottest Navigator In the Fleet) had plotted on the chart and had worked out course and speed to reach there at the scheduled hour. As per the SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) we were to establish communication  on Tactical Secondary (TS, a communication circuit on High Frequency or HF) with Rajput four hours before the R/V Time and on Tactical Primary (TP, a communication circuit on Very or Ultra High Frequency or V/UHF) an hour before the R/V Time.

Himgiri was a standard Royal Navy design (Leander design) and Rajput was of a class we acquired from the Soviets. As in real life globally, there were always communication glitches between the two; much to the chagrin of the Fleet Communication Officer (FCO; his woes at sea were in multiples of those of his SCOs). Now, anyone familiar with naval communications would appreciate that, at least during those days, to establish successful communication on Tactical Secondary was considered a feat of higher value and difficulty than the one accomplished by Neil Armstrong on 20 Jul 1969. Hence, an R/V was generally said to have occurred when the two ships would be in touch on TP. This being a V/UHF circuit the range is Line of Sight only (max of about 14 nautical miles depending upon the heights of the antennae).

To cut a long story short, we on Himgiri kept on trying to establish communication on TS and TP with Rajput, a few hours before the R/V Time, but there was no joy. As was generally the case, the entire Command Team including the Captain kept looking at me suspiciously and accusingly. Anil Kapoor’s Mr India hadn’t yet been released but I dreamt of doing the disappearing act in the barrage of all the accusations that were coming my way; the mildest of these being, “When the f- -k would the communicators do anything right?”

I couldn’t achieve Anil Kapoor’s Mr India feat but I made a quick dash to MSO (Main Signal Office) to see if change of communication sets, antenna and lines would accomplish wonders. There was no joy. I hung my head in shame when I returned to the Bridge and received the by-now-familiar command, “Come on, SCO, DO SOMETHING.”

I heard it and my guardian angel heard it too. The latter guided me to go to the chart table and re-check the R/V position. A smile returned to my face when I verified that the HNIF had plotted the promulgated R/V position out by a full degree of Latitude (sixty nautical miles). Instead of 19 degrees 50 minutes, he had plotted it as 18 degrees 50 minutes.

I announced this to the Captain with great relish (the earlier wounds were still wincing) and mercifully there was a quick change in the target of derision of the Captain.

Anil Kapoor was a lucky guy, indeed. Had his vanishing trick film Mr India been released five years before its actual release, first me and then the HINF would have given him a run for his money.

My civilian friends would be thinking of the epithet ‘Awkward Sentry’ as well suited for a blundering, bumbling guard. Wait until I explain the term. I was the Ship’s Commander of our aircraft carrier Viraat. A carrier is a large ship, almost like a floating town. You can easily get lost on board in hundreds of compartments; this was especially true of Viraat, the old lady (as navy men fondly call her). Not many people know that Viraat’s hull is older than that of the already decommissioned carrier Vikrant. To keep her afloat was a herculean effort. The incidents that happened during my tenure were strange, mammoth, and at frequent intervals. Luckily our Damage Control teams were exceedingly good and we came out of many tricky situations unscathed. My Captain, Jaggi Bedi, had answers to all operational problems and I had trained myself to have answers to all Fire, Flooding and strange problems.

In the first article of series of humorous takes on the armed forces’ most respected institution, the DSSC (Read: ‘Learning ‘The Ropes’ At The Defence Services Staff College at Wellington, Nilgiris – Part I’), I had brought out how a simple thing like asking a question from a visiting speaker or the DS (Directing Staff) enhances one’s image as a brainy sort. Let me now list out the various ways in which questions are asked at the Staff College. That my civilian friends may see some similarities between these and questions at the other fora they have attended would only help to prove the adage: all cats are grey in the dark.

1.  Just woke up and missed greater part of the lecture. Ever since we started going to a class, when we were small, we have discovered that the soundest sleep comes to us when sitting in a class-room (Read: ‘Sleep And I – Lovers Once Strangers Now’). Indeed, so powerful is this recipe that many people, nowadays, in order to get over their insomnia, have changed the decor of their bedrooms to look like class-rooms. So, when this breed is suddenly jolted from sleep, it has no choice but to ask a question so that it wouldn’t be (unfairly) presumed by the instructor/speaker that he wasn’t paying attention. Of course, he was paying undivided attention and had merely gone into meditation on the subject of Indian Defence Budget.

2.  Question intended to impress. This question goes like this: “Sir, the other day I was reading through the Far Eastern Economic Review about the Asian Tiger Economies (a quick glance at the DSs and SI (Senior Instructor) if it has recorded with them) and of course I couldn’t help comparing it with Jagdish Bhagwati’s ‘A Pure Theory of International Trade’ in The Economic Journal….blah….blah….blah (poor speaker is now wondering what the question is all about)…..so Sir, in the light of all these findings on the economic health of nations, do you really believe that globalization is such a good idea?” The speaker or the instructor is visibly relieved that there is a question after all!

3.  Question of one-upmanship. This one is intended to bring down a rival questioner who seemed to have made a good impression on the speaker/instructor; so much so that the latter mentioned it in so many words whilst replying, “Good question that”. So now a quick fire-fighting is required to subtly put across to the speaker/instructor that the question was based on faulty data/assumption or plain ignorance. The question then goes like this, “Sir, coming back to the Sinking of Belgrano in the Falklands War of 1982 (without naming the earlier questioner), of course it was the earlier theory that……….but, a little more analytical study would bring out the stark fact that the sinking had nothing much to do with the declaration by UK of the Total Economic Zone; don’t you agree, Sir?

4.  Stolen question. This questioner has no idea of what the subject of discussion is and what the question is all about. It so happens that when the Xeroxed notes of an ex student from his regiment reached the regiment, the question was written on the sidelines of the docket. So, on this intelligent sounding question, if the speaker or the instructor asks clarification or asks him to explain, he fumbles.

5. Question during students’ presentations/MRPs (Minor Research Projects). I learnt it the hard way that these are planted by the student presenters themselves so that no genuine question can be asked by the others for which the presenter may not have a prepared reply. This is strictly on you-scratch-my-back-I-scratch-yours basis. Hence, if you have obliged a friend by asking him a question during his presentation, it is only civil that he asks you one during your presentation for which you have already rehearsed the reply.

6.  Question to forestall question by the instructor. The Instructor is about to finish his harangue and he has a bad habit of asking questions to gauge how much the students have soaked in his talk. If the Instructor is allowed to continue with this hare-brained idea without resorting to offence-is-the-best-form-of-defence, it can be disastrous. Hence, asking a question from the instructor and get him involved in further imparting of gyan is as much an emergency as diffusing a terror-bomb at a public place.

7.  Question to buy time. This is similar to #6 above with the difference that the Instructor has already asked you a question and you are searching in your mind for the appropriate or intelligent sounding reply. It goes like this, “Sir, I take it that you are asking me about the number of Tanzeems that are active in Kashmir; but, before I come to that, I wonder if you are enquiring about the Tanzeems that are active now by their original names or should I also include those who have changed names and are now called something else?” In the meantime his right hand is stealthily working to enquire from brother officers the correct reply.

8. Question to confuse the issue. This is resorted to when you have been asked a question about, say, “Should India have more Aircraft Carriers?” But you have not the foggiest  idea of what a carrier does at sea. However, you have, say, vast experience of minesweepers. So your longish question to confuse the issue (this is from a real question actually asked!) would go like this: “Sir, before we come to the all important question of whether we require more aircraft carriers, let me tell you of the data I gathered about the big ships that have been sunk during various wars as a result of mine hits. Indeed, my little research shows….blah….blah….blah……..In the light of this important finding by the RAND corporation, the question that we should be asking ourselves is not how many aircraft carriers that we require but do we have adequate means to protect our aircraft carriers so that this vital national assets are not sunk whilst leaving harbour itself.” Lo, and behold, the DS is often grateful that a new facet has been opened up allowing for greater participation as he himself was finding it difficult to provoke two hours of discussions on the subject of a blasted carrier.

9. Question to show that you are the first one to understand the complex hypothesis of the speaker/instructor. This goes like this, “If I may say so, Sir, this is brilliant expose’ on ‘Decision Making Tools Under Conditions of Ambiguity’. I understood the first five equations straightway; but, about the last equation where you made the Function of Ambiguity as a Subset of Unknown Data, I have not understood if it should include all the Unknown Data or only the ones that have been derived from Equations 2 and 3?” The rest of the class is totally flummoxed and that, precisely, is the intention of the question.

10. Question to settle scores. Yesterday, you were feeling very hungry and Major XYZ stood up to ask a question just before lunch time  and you missed the hot Chana Bhatura in the Mess, your favourite dish. Today, Major XYZ’s favourite dish Asian Fried Rice will be served. Isn’t it only human that you pay back Major XYZ in his own coins?

11. Question to sum-up the ensuing discussion. In this style of asking question, you have nothing whatsoever to add to the ensuing discussion as one by one all your prepared questions have been asked. However, you still have to participate. So you merely observe the discussion and pick up impressive sounding parts of several students’ questions and make an original chow mein question. This question has various telll-tale words such as ‘Whilst’ ‘Firstly’ and ‘However’. Here is an example: “Whilst I agree with Major Bakshi that the complexity of planning cold start doctrine can render its effective implementation very difficult; however, firstly, as brought out by Major Nair, the shock and surprise value far overweighs the planning complexity. However, we also have to take in consideration Cdr Kapoor’s view that small glitches can bring to nought the entire planning. The question, then arises is whether we should use QA techniques in assessing the likely results of a cold start strategy or simply hope for the best?”

If you follow this closely, you would find there is barely any substance in the question. But, it sounds most impressive. The Majors mentioned in the question also feel nice that their zilch was noticed as brainy questions.

However, one particular distinctive style doesn’t take you places; you have to adapt the style appropriate to the situation. And, that’s what separates men from boys in the Staff College. If you have observed other forms of asking questions please don’t hesitate to write in the Comments below.

Defence Services Staff College or DSSC is one of the oldest armed forces institutions in India. It was started in 1905 as the Army Staff College in Deolali (at present the Army’s School of Artillery is situated there). It then shifted to Quetta (now in Pakistan). After the partition of India, it was shifted to Wellington in the Nilgiri Hills of Madras (now Tamilnadu). By 1950, it bloomed as the DSSC for all three services: Army, Navy and Air Force, together with officers from friendly countries such as UK, USA, Russia, Bangladesh, Singapore, and many African countries; together with officers from Indian Civil Services.

This article is not about the yeoman service the college is doing in imparting training in staff and command duties to the student officers together with a Forward Area Tour (FAT), Industrial Tour (IDT) and the venerable speakers who take pride in speaking at the DSSC. This article is the first of a series of articles, written humorously, about how the serious and the solemn is quickly translated by the students into banal and clichéd, which is totally similar to what the world did with the idea of Religion too.

Therefore, Defence Services Staff College, the venerable institute of the Indian Armed Forces, helps, amongst other things, to produce brown sahibs and mem-sahibs, who quickly learn ‘the ropes’, how to get ahead in peace time with least sweat. In an article in the US Naval Institute Proceedings, many decades back, I learnt that learning the ropes as staff officers helped officers get ahead in life at the cost of the combat officers. However, the article concluded that the US Navy required both: the combat officer and the staff officer, hoping like hell that it would be the former who’d be at sea in times of combat.

DSSC affords the first opportunity, after the Academy days, that the three services’ officers find themselves thrown together in the same milieu. And, one is surprised at the idiosyncrasies of the others’ services. The navy men and women discover a curious fact about their army counterparts: that the raison d’être of the latter is to provide amusement to the former. What about the air-force officers? Well, they only descend from the stratosphere to attend happy-hours.

The experience that I am about to narrate relates to army officers only. Should the air-force officers feel neglected, I assure them I shall do my duty to relate anecdotes about their contribution to eternal humour of DSSC sometime later.

One of the most amusing activities in the Staff course is something called DD or Div (Divisional) Discussions. This is golden opportunity for the bright and the best to show off their knowledge of varied subjects to their Directing Staff (DS) and to other officers. No one bothers about the relevance of your contribution to the subject under discussion as long as you are able to impress everyone with your mastery over the English language. One of the best ways to impress the DSs is to ask an intelligent sounding question at the end of the DS’s having given the background of the subject through a series of view-foils over the Over Head Projector (OHP). The Navy and Air Force DSs in the gallery overseeing the DD usually have a nice nap; but, the Army DSs take DDs very seriously.

When I was at the DSSC in the year 1990-91, before the first of the DDs, the army Senior Instructor told the student officers, “All of you can be very natural and tension-free; none of us are here to critically observe you. So, just enjoy the discussions.” At the end of the DD he said, “Okay, this was alright as the first DD; but, the following officers haven’t spoken at all.” He rattled out about a dozen names and that’s the time the army officers realized that he had fibbed about not observing them. The army officers, hence, are as if on ejector seats; no sooner that the DS introduces the subject that the smart army officer propels himself from his seat and asks, “I am Major Rana from Infantry Sir; whilst I agree with you about India’s need to become nuclear, I feel……” In this melee of officers rocketing themselves out of their seats to ask questions and ticking off points with their DSs, there are these hapless officers whose mothers had drilled into them when they were small that they must think before they speak. These officers are the ones who – to use a nautical expression – miss the boat and are frequently ticked off by their DSs for their non-participation. One such officer was Major A (I am not telling his real name to preserve anonymity). He used to sit next to me and had often marveled at my ability to ask intelligent sounding questions. He asked me the secret behind my “success”. He was a good friend and I blurted out the truth to him that I came prepared with at least three slips of paper with questions already having been formed from the dockets given to us for pre-study. He asked me if I could lend him one of the questions that day. I saw the look in his eyes similar to what I had to see in our Labrador Roger’s eyes, many years later, when he would wait for his food. My heart melted and I agreed to give him the first slip in barter for two bottles of beer at the happy hour that evening.

Unfortunately for Major A, after the DS put up the view-foil, Major Pillai had already ejected from his seat and asked the same question that I had given Major A. His DS from the gallery was already eyeing Major A for yet another ‘non-participation’ in the DD. So, Major A whispered to me that he would double the number of beers if I could part with the second question. I always had this reputation of helping a friend in need as also the vision of what I could do with four full bottles of beer; so I gave Major A my second precious question and whispered to him that as soon as the DS would finish putting the view foil he should launch himself into his ‘participation in DD’ starting with, “I disagree with you, Sir; I feel……..”

It was not one of Major A’s lucky days. The DS put on the view-foil and Major Chaturvedi timed his ejection from his seat so well that Major A was aghast. It had now become a do-or-die situation for major A and he told me that I could get any number of beers from me if I could give him the third question too. I told him that giving him my third slip would entail the badge of “non-participation” conferred on me too at the outside chance of a naval DS being awake, and it was risky for my own reputation too. Major A gave me an indescribable pitiable look and I relented. I was to have the happiest hour ever at the WGC (Wellington Gymkhana Club) that evening. The DS put on the view foil, switched on the OHP and just at that time the lights went off….and we had Major A on his feet with, “I disagree with you, Sir, but…….” The army DS turned around and noticed the defiant Major A and asked, “What do you disagree with young man; I haven’t put up anything?” And Major A replied through tears, “I disagree with anything that you are going to put up.”

I am sure you will agree with me that beer is a lovely drink for one, like me, to celebrate; as also for the hapless to drown his sorrows.

We were cadets on the Cadet Training Ship (CTS) cruiser Delhi. We were learning the skills required to do a Watch on the Bridge of the ship, from where the ship is controlled.

The watches on board a ship are divided into four hourly watches dependent upon the time of the day; ie, Forenoon Watch from 0800 to 1200 hrs, Afternoon Watch from 1200 to 1600 hrs, First Watch from 2000 hrs to midnight, Middle Watch from midnight to 0400, Morning Watch from 0400 to 0800 hrs. That leaves the time from 1600 to 2000 hrs; instead of calling it the Evening Watch, it is usually divided into two watches of two hours each called the Dog Watches. It is done so that in a three watch system there would be odd number of watches and people wouldn’t end up doing the same watch over and over again.

In the officers’ roster on Delhi, there was this Lieutenant (Lets call him Lieutenant A in order to maintain anonymity) who had a bad reputation of closing up late on his watch (generally one is supposed to close up fifteen minutes earlier so as to facilitate proper handing/taking over between the outgoing and incoming watches; but, Lt. A had the reputation of closing up 30 minutes or more late. This was especially true for the night watches, ie, First Watch, Middle Watch and Morning Watch.

Once when he was required to close up on Middle Watch, ie, Midnight to 0400 hrs, the officer who was closed up on the First Watch, ie, from 2000 to midnight, sent one of the cadets to wake him up one hour before his closing up time, ie, at 2245 hrs (10:45 PM) so that, for once, Lt. A would be on time. This has to be imagined to get the true flavour of it. Cadets were under mortal fear of Lieutenants on board as they could take it out on the cadets at the slightest pretext. The difference or the seniority gap between the cadets and the Lieutenants was perceived by us to be more than between the Lieutenants and the Admirals.

Now, you imagine a Cadet going into the mess of the Lieutenants, finding the right bunk and then waking him up with all dexterity at his disposal without causing inconvenience and annoyance to the other Lieutenants sleeping there.

Our brave cadet entered the mess and by hook or crook managed to find the bunk of Lieutenant A and whispered to him to wake up. There was no visible effect. So, he raised his voice a bit and said, “Sir, it is time for your watch.”

This earned the Cadet a few angry “shhhs” from the adjoining bunks and no reaction from Lieutenant A.

So, he thought of going back to the Bridge and informing the Lieutenant already on watch that Lt. A was sound asleep. But, he disposed off these thoughts as impracticable since, one, 15 minutes had already gone by and he himself was getting close to being relieved by another cadet; and two, the Lieutenant on watch had already warned him to return to the bridge only after Lt. A had fully awaken and out of his bed.

Hence, our man realised that this kind of challenge was what separated men from boys. He thought of the tales of resolve of intrepid Captains of ships who stood on the decks of burning and sinking ships and unflinchingly went down with the ship rather than abandon. Cadet M decided to stand bravely there and do everything by word or gesture to wake up Lieutenant A.

Some of his exhortations are now famous nautical poems:

“Sir, sir, sir, sir, sir
Please, please, please, please,
Wake-up, wake-up, wake-up
It is time, time, time,
For your watch, watch, watch.”

To his horror, he found that Lieutenant A’s mother had really given birth to a very stubborn child who was as far from waking up as our politicians are in the parliament when discussions on defence budget start.

Cadet M, at this time when more than 30 minutes had gone by, decided that he had to quickly decide whether to be slanged by the incoming OOW (Officer of the Watch) or being sent on the Crow’s Nest (the highest point on the mast) by the relieving OOW. Sterner action was, he concluded, required.

So, he shook the sleeping figure of Lieutenant A hard and started a much louder version of the nautical poem mentioned above.

Cadet M told us later that with this even Kumbhakaran, the sleeping God, would have been awake. But, Lieutenant A was undeterred by this rough treatment and continued to sleep like a baby in its mother’s arms.

Now, for Cadet M, it had finally become a matter of ‘Do or Die’, the kind of challenge that real men serving the nation sometimes face.

He spotted a tumbler lying there, filled it up, and returned to the bunk where the modern-day avatar of Kumbhakaran slept. He poured a handful in his right hand and sprinkled it on the face of Lieutenant A.

Eureka! There was a small movement and Lieutenant A stirred in his bed and in his heavy droll asked Cadet M, “Whhhat isss ittttt?”

Cadet M was close to success and had started seeing visions of being nominated for the gallantry award. So in his best, loudest, firmest voice he said, “YOUR WATCH SIR.”

The stirring in the bunk hadn’t totally died down. Lieutenant A, took out both his arms from under the white sheet, and with the right hand carefully removed his wrist-watch from the left wrist, gave it to Cadet M, and went to sleep again.

Can you picture Cadet M, standing there in Lieutenant’s mess, after 45 minutes of cajoling, being rewarded with having one more watch at his hands than the one he was doing?