Category: Humour

I have already given you a post about pussy-cats, viz, ‘Pussy-Cat, Pussy-Cat, Where Have You Been?‘ Hence, let me tell you one about rats too.

Sooner or later we had to come to the innovativeness of this species on earth that is so curious that it is almost enigmatic. Away from the hills and plains, it makes its home at sea and learns to live there with hardly any means of subsistence. At times when the sea is rough, it wretches out its guts until there is nothing more to bring out; and yet, if you ask it its favourite place, it would unerringly point a resolute finger towards the seas, the oceans and beyond.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am talking about The Sailor. The most innovative of this species is the Indian Naval Sailor. He finds a way where none exists!

To cement your realization of this fact, I must tell you about this incident in the year 1976 during the Monsoons. I had just got my watch-keeping ticket on INS Himgiri and suddenly realized that the whole world was waiting for me to finish my under-trainee watch-keeping phase. One of the “whole world” was officiating CO Betwa; who realized that his CO and many of his watch-keeping officers were on leave, when Betwa had to sail for a prolonged sailing called MONEX (Monsoon Exercise). He requested my CO and my CO, always ready to oblige, dispatched me to him for the duration of the MONEX.

It was the toughest sailing I have done. At the dining table, because of constant rolling and pitching, your plates and cutlery would go from one side of the table to the other and you had to wait for your plate to return it to you with the next rolling and pitching. Even at that you had to carefully look at what you were eating; for, if the quantity of gravy in your meat had become more than earlier, chances were that in its journey on the table, someone would have puked in the plate.

Many people never got out of their cabins, lest we should all see the changed colours of their faces.

The officiating CO (actually the XO of the ship) was man of steel and good humour. Rolling and pitching and even cork-screw motions had as much effect on him as water on a duck’s back. He devised ways and means of letting the ship’s company see the humour in those trying conditions. For the officers, he had an interesting story book, in which men and women did many naughty things. He took out the pages of the book and distributed these between the officers. So the trick was to come to the end of the page, when, for example, things were hotting up between a character called Jack and another called Julie and then figure out who would have the next page!

For the sailors too he devised another game. Since, in a cat and mice game, the officers had got the cat end, the sailors had to be content with the mice game. Through the medium of daily orders he announced that anyone catching a mouse would be rewarded with a prize of Five Rupees (which wasn’t peanuts during those days).

Topass (sweeper) First Class Pillai caught the first mouse and was promptly given Rupees Five. For the next few days, we noticed that at about five in the evening, he’d bring a freshly killed rat and collect his Five Rupees and go.

On the fifth day, the XO got suspicious and sent his best spy after Pillai to see if he could…..well, smell the rat.

This super-spy discreetly followed Pillai and half an hour later reported the story to XO and it speaks volumes for the innovativeness of Pillai.

The story was that whilst the XO expected that Pillai would go straight out of his cabin to the ship’s side and get rid of the bandicoot, Pillai took it straight to his mess where a plastic bag awaited him. He packed the rat nicely into the plastic and then in a paper bag and then deposited it in the freezer in the galley. This would now be taken out about 30-45 minutes before going to XO next evening, thawed and readied as a freshly killed rat.

Finding a freshly killed rat, therefore, for Pillai, was less trying than for all of us trying to find the next page about what Jack did to Julie.

I have recounted to you many tales about Gunners; an endless topic of mirth and bewilderment with me.

Today, after a few years, I return to this.

His name was Lieutenant B and he was the Gunnery Officer of the ship on which we were borne as Midshipmen (a rank between being Cadets and full-fledged commissioned officers).

He was as clear-headed as all the gunners that I have told you about in the anecdotes so far; gunners, as I told you, seek clarity at both ends.

Long before the Army’s Bofors guns landed into media controversy, the naval ships had guns from Swedish company Bofors. Indeed, Bofors 40 mm anti-aircraft gun, designed by AB Bofors in 1930s, was a standard gun on all our ships and the gun was simply called Bofors. In 1934, Bofors improved this gun and came up with a model 40mm L/60. It was simply called Forty-Sixty on board the ships. All of us, whether gunners or not, have been trained on this gun. Here is a picture of this gun, many many years later on Sukanya class of Offshore Patrol Vessels:

Even after the gunners moved into the missile world, they continued playing with these toys.

Generally, evening twilight times used to be reserved for these AA Firing serials called CRAA Firing (Close Range Anti-Aircraft gun firing). As cadets and midshipmen we have often manned and fired these guns.

Gunnery Officers when they are conducting these serials, have an air of importance about them. After all, signals, navigation and other things are only supporting roles; the main role of the navies is to slam the daylights out of the enemy and that’s where gunners come in.

Lieutenant B, after his Policy orders for the firings by our Starboard and Port Bofors, called G1 (Starboard) and G2 (Port) started giving orders about the bearing and range of firing. To our horror, he had crisply (GO’s are always crisp), instructed the Port Gun (G2) to train to Green 90 (Right) and Starboard Gun (G1) to train to Red 90 (Left).

After that, he smartly saluted the CO and asked permission to commence firing. We were manning the guns and at that stage the logic of both guns firing at each other had totally beaten us. However, we had been trained in:

Ours is not to reason why,
Ours is but to do and die.

Fortunately, the Captain made a last-minute visual check and found both the guns pointing at each other and cancelled the firing.

Lieutenant B, incidentally, was the same officer, who angrily picked up a sound-powered telephone on the Bridge when he was on watch as OOW and barked out, “Engine Room, stop making black smoke”. From the other hand, Captain who had been woken up at two in the morning shouted, “Captain here; who is this idiot (who has picked up the wrong phone)?” And, Lieutenant B had the presence of mind to answer, “Sorry Sir; Midshipman of the Watch here.”

 

(I started a new series recently on this topic. Many of you would be incredulous but I vouch for their factual correctness. All of these are first hand.)

The first one was titled: ‘Facts Stranger Than Fiction – Part I –  Mister India And His Ship‘. This was about a Seaward Defence Boat undergoing refit and everyone just forgot about it. The second one was titled: ‘Facts Stranger Than Fiction – Part II – All Cats Are Grey In The Dark‘. This was about some of my course-mates mistaking another tanker at anchorage for my ship INS Aditya when they were invited by me on board. The third one was titled: ‘Facts Stranger Than Fiction – Part III – Huge Mirages At Sea’. This was about a visual encounter between INS Ganga and INS Viraat when both of them were 180 nautical miles apart.

Here is the fourth one. It is about an exercise nearly four decades ago in the Navy that I was part of (circa 1981, that is 37 years ago). The exercise was called Maghreb.

In Arabic, the word Maghreb means ‘the place where the sun sets’ or the West, whilst Mashriq means ‘the place where the sun rises’ or the East. The Maghreb or Maghrib is the name given in pre-modern times by Arab writers on geography and history to the northern part of Africa, that which Europeans often came to call Barbary. In modern usage the Maghreb comprises the political units of Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya and Mauritania.

Now why would anyone give an exercise a mystical code-name Maghreb? Well, code-names are supposed to be like that; they shouldn’t ever give away what is actually happening.

But the Naval Headquarters authorities who code-named this exercise by this near occult name Maghreb won’t have ever known in advance what would happen during the first phase of the exercise, that is in the forces deployment stage.

Before the exercise, the available platforms of ships, submarines and aircraft were divided into two forces Blue (Friendly forces) and Red (Enemy forces); the colours that represent contenders all over the world and taken from the boxing ring. Neutral umpires were embarked on many of these platforms to decide on casualties during encounters. The Chief Umpire and his team operated from Bombay (now Mumbai). Every encounter between the platforms were to be signalled in a particular format. Based on the tracks of the platforms and other data, the Chief Umpire and his team would then signal Casualty by a pre-defined signal.

Despite all the modern means available such as radar, often ships would like to remain silent so as not to give away passive electronic intelligence to the other force. Even for a layman, it is easy to understand that in a radar (RADAR is actually an acronym that stands for Radio Assisted Detection And Ranging), radio signals have to travel two ways to and from an object for its detection to take place on the radar platform. However, for a passive detection (by another ship with Electronic Warfare equipment), it only has to travel one way. Hence passive detection ranges are anything between one and half to two times the radar ranges. Therefore, the radar ship, being active, loses the surprise element.

So, in the deployment phase of Maghreb, we had these two modern frigates, with (that time) state of art radars and other means, wanting to silently open out from each other and rejoin in wee hours. On one of these the OTC (Officer in Tactical Command; an admiral) Blue force was embarked.

Now, in case you have understood the scenario and the restrictions for both of them being silent on electronic means, the funny part starts. The funny part is somewhat similar to Spy versus Spy in Mad comics. To start with, here is the picture of both the ships about to part on opposite tracks:

They went their ways, silently, cautiously, thinking of enemy lurking in every part of the Arabian Sea, especially since the OTC had already made a signal to all the Blue forces to be extra cautious so that nothing untoward would take place during the initial stage of the war. Within two hours of their opening out from each other, the Naval Headquarters signalled commencement of the hostilities. The OTC patted himself on the back (I know it is not physically possible but in the Navy we do the impossible too) for having had the good sense to have given detailed orders before the commencement of hostilities so that no one would have to break radio and radar silence after that and thus give itself away.

Another two hours and now with their relative speeds away from each other, both the ships were more than a hundred miles apart. Each one had investigated suspicious contacts along the way and had to several alterations of courses to indulge in such investigations. The currents and winds played their parts too.

At the pre-planned time, they reversed courses so as to affect a rendezvous (RV) between the two. Lookouts with powerful binoculars had been placed on both the ships to scan the horizon all around. As Asrani would say in the movie Sholay: Hamari jail mein patta bhi pankh nahin fadfada sakta (Even a bird can’t flutter its wings in my jail). For the purpose of the remaining narrative, lets call them OTC Ship and Other Ship.

After about three hours of steaming (the world sleeps but we the guardians of the seas are forever vigilant), the Other Ship Lookout sighted a silhouette on the horizon and reported to Bridge: Bridge, Port Lookout, Red 20, a darkened ship on the horizon. The Bridge of Other Ship suddenly came into action. Action Stations were sounded and all sensors and weapons were manned. A similar scenario took place on OTC Ship too.

It occurred to both the ships that this could be friendly force. There was only one way to find out; which was to challenge the ship with a predetermined code on flashing light and receive either friendly reply or else.

Now, on the OTC Ship, the OOW (Officer of the Watch) of the First Watch (2000 hrs (8 PM) to midnight) hadn’t handed over these Challenges and Replies Codes and Replies to the OOW of the Middle Watch (Midnight to 0400 hrs (4 AM)). Hence, when the Other Ship visually challenged the OTC Ship with the Light as shown above, the OTC Ship’s OOW suddenly realised that he didn’t have the appropriate Reply Code to signal back. He sent for the First Watch OOW who had gone to sleep.

The delay in the challenged ship replying confirmed the suspicion of the Other Ship that this was indeed an enemy ship. To be on the safe side, she made another challenge on the Signalling Projector and still didn’t receive a reply. She remembered all the Principles of War and seized the moment and fired her Ship to Ship Missile at the ‘Enemy Ship‘ and then signalled Maghreb’s first encounter, within four hours of commencement of hostilities to the Chief Umpire.

You would recall Rudyard Kipling’s famous:

“Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat;”

In this case, it wasn’t even Mashriq meeting Maghreb; but, the Other Ship, that night, successfully fired at his own OTC and nearly sank him. Blue OTC’s Ship was the first casualty of war in Maghreb and after quickly analysing the tracks and getting inputs from umpires on both the ships, OTC’s Ship was declared out of the exercise.

When I was at the Naval Academy, many years ago, I had done a small parody during one of the outdoor camps in which the Passwords and Responses of Friendly and Enemy Forces happened to be the same (as a coincidence) one night and two soldiers encountered each other with comical consequences as a result of this.

Little did I know that my parody would actually come true at sea with equally comical but results with far more enormity.

(I started a new series recently on this topic. Many of you would be incredulous but I vouch for their factual correctness. All of these are first hand.)

The first one was titled: ‘Facts Stranger Than Fiction – Part I –  Mister India And His Ship‘. Here is the second one.

In the first one I had brought out how Navy, as a service, is different from the service on land or in the air. It is not just because of the medium in which it operates. Unlike the other two services, naval platforms operate in all three media: the surface, underwater, and in the air. It is much more than that. Although it doesn’t require great technical expertise to be at sea (you can be on a log that floats), the Navy continues being a quaint service. Some of the curious things that happen at sea often amaze people and they keep asking such questions as: How could they have missed such a huge ship at sea? How did the ship just vanish? Was it a submarine? If I was there, it won’t have happened this way.

The fact is that seas are associated with strange things happening and many of these anecdotes beat the logic of the common sense and that’s why the title of the series.

To know about the sea, please read: ‘The Lure Of The Sea’.

I was commanding the tanker INS Aditya and whilst at anchorage in Mumbai: E3, (which is closer to Karanja than Mumbai because of a C-in-C who loved me intensely and hence kept me as far away from him as possible), I invited my course mates for dinner on board.

Someone commented: “I never knew that if you loved someone, you had to keep him at a distance.” I had only this to say: “Keeping distance from the loved one is part of Urdu folklore. Ever heard of Shama (Candle) and Parwana (Moth)? Parwana loves Shama but survives only if it keeps distance.

In order that the invitees won’t get lost, I sent the ship’s boat to fetch them. The engineering course mate Chaks, dutifully took the boat and arrived on board without much ado. But this is what three others, who were Fleet Commanding Officers, did: they refused to go by the tanker’s boat and said that they preferred to go by Brahamputra’s “more efficient and safer” boat. The subbie I had sent to fetch them offered to help with the navigation and Billoo, with the pride of a super navigator, declined the offer.

So, in order to cut a long story short, they ventured into the nightly Mumbai harbour with song on their lips and made fun of me, CO Aditya, for having lost his beans by sending my own boat for super-hot COs of the mighty Western Fleet. Luck favours the bold and sure enough on the horizon they spotted Aditya and asked the coxswain of the boat to steer a straight course for her.

However, as they drew closer, to their increasing chagrin, they discovered that Aditya had made no preparations to receive them. An averagely efficient ship would have hailed the boat at a distance of about five cables and established the identities of the passengers and guided the boat to the lower platform of the accommodation ladder. But, Ravi’s Aditya, might have had other fine qualities; but, they reckoned that receiving honoured guests on board in appropriate manner wasn’t amongst those.

The next horror was when they discovered that the ship hadn’t even lowered the accommodation ladder! “Aha” said my course-mates and their wives in unison, “For this slip, I think, Ravi would owe us drinks for the rest of their lives.”

Eventually, they did the opposite of good seamanship practice; and hailed the ship. For quite some time there was no response until one sleepy-eyed Officer of the Day (OOD) appeared on the upper deck. Three super hot course mates, on sighting the OOD, slanged him appropriately and told him to at least lower a jumping ladder for them. The dazed OOD had this going in about twenty minutes; in which time, my guests, nearly exhausted the expletives describing the ship Aditya and its Captain.

For my civilian friends, I must add here that a jumping ladder is normally used by such people as Pilots and Boarding Parties who board the ship at sea. These personnel are highly trained to board through this tricky hanging-by-ropes ladder; more so since the freeboard of a tanker is quite high.

Anyway, one by one three of my course mates and the ladies (in their high heels) eventually climbed on the upper decks. The OOD was now subjected to close quarters invective as opposed to the long-distance barrage that he was facing for the last about 45 mins. They pointed out all kinds of mistakes in the rigging of the jumping ladder and in other upper deck fittings. Still having no signs of their host appearing, they finally asked the OOD, “Where is your CO?” The OOD replied without a hint of remorse that CO was ashore!

“Ah” said one of them, “We should have known that Ravi has got the dates mixed up.”

At this, the OOD told them, “Sir, my CO is Captain Babu. Captain Ravi is CO Aditya, which is that ship beyond.”

The first one to recover from this faux pas was Bobby Chowdry who told the OOD, “Of course we know this is not Aditya; this is Shakti. But, on the way there we wanted to see for ourselves Shakti’s reactions. And, boy, you failed miserably. Now hurry up and help get the ladies back in the boat.”

I had no idea of the above snafu when I eventually received them on board about 90 minutes behind schedule. As Billoo stepped on board, I introduced my OOD, who was also the Navigating Officer of Aditya thus: “Billoo, please meet my NO, the second best Navigating Officer in the Fleet.”

This had an instant reaction on Billoo, “If you are mentioning tongue-in-cheek, that is, that I am the best Navigating Officer in the Fleet; you have another guess coming. First offer us a drink and then we shall tell you the story.”

The above story was then told to me. That night, we were into our fifth drinks when we hadn’t yet come to the end of the story and the laughter.

P.S. In the first anecdote in the series, you saw how a small Seaward Defence Boat became invisible. In the second you saw a huge tanker that became invisible. Wait for my third anecdote.

(Starting a new series today on this topic. Many of you would be incredulous but I vouch for their factual correctness. All of these are first hand.)

Navy, as a service, is different from the service on land or in the air; and it is not just because of the medium in which it operates. Unlike the other two services, naval platforms operate in all three media: the surface, underwater, and in the air. It is much more than that. Although it doesn’t require great technical expertise to be at sea (you can be on a log that floats), the Navy continues being a quaint service. Some of the curious things that happen at sea often amaze people and they keep asking such questions as: How could they have missed such a huge ship at sea? How did the ship just vanish? Was it a submarine? If I was there, it won’t have happened this way.

To know about the sea, please read: ‘The Lure Of The Sea’.

I was on the staff of the FOC – in – C (East) as Command Communication Officer (CCO) and used to attend CinC’s Morning Briefings in MOR (Maritime Ops Room; now called MOC). Before the discussions would start, there would be a standard presentation regarding deployment of ships, submarines and aircraft and their operational readiness or otherwise. Platforms under refit or maintenance period would be displayed separately. Then there would be briefing for weather and other command activities such as visits of dignitaries.

In one of these, the ASD (Admiral Superintendent Dockyard) had to face unprecedented embarrassment for having an SDB (Seaward Defence Boat; these too are commissioned as Indian Naval Ships; please see the attached picture of SDB T55 at the time of her decommissioning recently in Mumbai) under refit for about four years!

Inquiry brought out that the ship was brought from Port Blair (where she was based) fot refit at Vizag. The CO (a Lieutenant Commander) had his family at Vizag (his last duty station before he was appointed CO of the SDB at Port Blair in Andaman & Nocobar groups of islands) and he was quite happy about the refit taking its own time. There was no attempt by him and his successor for expediting the refit.

Soon, everyone forgot about his ship and him. Like Anil Kapoor in Sridevi movie Mr. India, they just vanished from public eye.

The other day, on the 28th November 2017 to be exact, when my wife and I went for the Families Day at Sea for the Veterans, we saw that the Naval Dockyard (wherein the ship we had to board was berthed) had been converted into a fortress with armed guards everywhere. On board too, wherever the sentries used to be there with batons (Please read: ‘Awkward Sentry’), now they stand and move around with deadly weapons. Terror unleashed by our neighbourly country and its minions has ensured that there is now no rest in harbour too, whilst life at sea always was and is very tough (those who make exercise programmes think that sleep is an unnecessary impediment and can be largely wished away).

Gone are the days, you would think, when Navy was all about ‘Join the Navy – See the World’, and ‘Join the Navy – Meet the Girls’. Gone are the days, you would think, when the time in harbour was spent in partying and socialising. At the Lion Gate, there were any number of girls and ladies awaiting to be received by their hosts and many a times had found new hosts after learning that the actual hosts had gone sailing.

I would tend to differ. Yes, as seen by others, Navy always appeared to be a glamorous service, at that time, much patronised by the filmi-crowd. However, I would like to bring out that terror was always there. Hence, a safer place for all of us was at sea and life in harbour was as tough as it is today.

Take for example a senior officer such as C-in-C or Fleet Commander’s barge or boat going past your ship or a number of ships. The colour of the disc (Red, Blue or White) displayed by the boat or barge would signify what kind of ceremonials the C-in-C would expect. Doing less or even more would get you hauled up for not being observant. Generally, on a ship, the best binoculars would be with the CO and then with dwindling visibility down the line. Hence, the poor quartermaster on duty had the binoculars that would show you stars even during daytime. As also, the quartermaster had to attend to a thousand different thing including outgoing and returning libertymen, and running the ship’s routine. In this scenario, as Officer of the Day (OOD), you had to keep praying that your quartermaster or someone on the upper decks would be able to see the correct colour of the disc and then not only know what to do but actually do it correctly.

During the Colours ceremony (at 8 O’ Clock everyday), the Ensign and the National Flag are hoisted at the stern and the forepeak. The Ensign is hoisted with a Guard of Honour called the Colours Guard. Many a ship got Negative Bravo Zulu (Not well done) for piping or bugling ‘carry-on’ (after the ‘alert’ piped or bugled for the Colours Ceremony) before the senior ship.

Similarly, CO being received or seen off on/from the ship was such a ceremony that all work in the vicinity used to come to a stand-still. During those days, as OODs, we always carried a telescope tucked in the left armpit for everyday ceremonial. All hell broke loose in case we were espied by the CO resting the telescope anywhere else.

During my formative years in the Navy, ships invariably returned to anchorage. Now, at anchorage, you are as good as naked from all sides for all to see. One of the favourites of the C-in-C used to be to go around the ship in his barge, pointing out one thing or the other such as paint peeled off at places and requiring touching-up “now that you are back from your jolly at sea”. Guess what? Ships quickly learnt how to keep the C-in-C in good humour in this too. One ship, for example, had men lowered on stretchers for touching up the paint on port side when C-in-C’s barge went along that side. In the time taken by the boat to come to starboard side, the same men were then shifted to the starboard side. C-in-C was pleased that the ship’s company was hard at work immediately after “the jolly at sea”.

Two of my favourite guys who took terror with them wherever they went, both went on to become the Chiefs of Naval Staff: Ronald Lyndsale Pereira (Please read: ‘The Unforgettable Ronnie Pereira’) and Oscar Stanley Dawson (Please read: ‘Enter Cochin At Your Own Risk’). Incidentally, both headed the training command, that is, the Southern Naval Command. Do you remember what the Australian spinner Shane Warne (at that time rated as the best in the world) had to say about bowling to Sachin Tendulkar? He said he broke out in a sweat at nights thinking of how he was going to bowl to Jersey #10. Well, we would similarly break out in a sweat if we were to see these two either in person or in dreams (nightmares).

Ronnie would chase both officers and sailors if he found, whilst crossing them on the road, that they required proper haircut, were not in proper uniform or didn’t salute properly. Dawson had a commanding officer hauled up when he tried to contact him on residential phone (there were no cell phones during those days, thank God!) and the maid-servant couldn’t tell him where he was. He said residential telephones had been provided to important officers not for fun but so that they could be contacted in case of emergency. After this incident, the conversation between two newly appointed COs went like this:

CO1: They came and installed a phone at my residence today.
CO2: I haven’t still got it.
CO1: Lucky you!

When I was a young officer, two of my COs (both commanded the same ship over different periods of time) terrorised us on board. Both ran taut ships and both meant business. If, for example, Commander L (the HOD of the Electrical Department) was ever announced for to come to CO’s cabin, it was never for a glass of beer or some such nonsense. He would, whilst rushing to CO’s cabin, go over the mental drill, “Lights are working alright, so are alarms and other sensors…..then why has CO called me?”

One of my course mates (God rest his soul) was so terrified of this CO that when the latter asked him a question, he went into quite a spin and also suffered injury as a result of it though not in the manner in which you visualise. (Please read: ‘What’s The Contact Doing?’)

Another senior officer that I knew could roughly be compared with Mogambo of the movie Mr India except that the latter would probably still have some heart. This guy had taken it upon himself that he would keep alive one of the old navy’s uniforms (white shorts and stockings). Hence, wherever he went, he went in these shorts. He terrorised not just us ordinary folks but also a lady Governor of Tamilnadu when he called on her in his shorts. She couldn’t sleep properly for many nights after the meeting and even complained to the Ministry of Defence (Please read: ‘Masala Tea And Knickers’).

The long and short of these guys terrorising us was that when Jihadi terror actually stuck us, we were totally prepared. Indeed, many an officer was heard commenting that nothing could be worse than such and such that we were already used to. I am reminded of this old RK Laxman cartoon about the state of affairs in Bihar. In a train, on the upper berth, a number of passengers dressed only in their under clothings were happily staring down at armed dacoits and telling them: “You must be new in Bihar; the train entered Bihar more than an hour back. We have already been looted.”

The terror that we had in the Navy of old proved to us the good old tenet: ‘The more you sweat in peace, the less you bleed in war‘. I remember the Navy wherein we always sweated. Poor Jihadi terrorists; must have felt terribly let down. I could imagine some of them communicating to their handlers in Karachi or Islamabad or Muridke, “Janaab in Indian Navy waalon ko khauf se darr nahin hai. Yeh to har waqt khauf mein hi rehte hain.”

As soon as you start talking about absurdity, you are reminded of the German writer Franz Kafka. Even though he lived in the late nineteenth to early twentieth century, many of his novels are famous and relevant even now such as Der Process that was translated into The Trial (I still have a personal copy). He didn’t complete any of his novels and burnt 90 percent of his drafts. Even at that, Franz Kafka was so important that there is a word called Kafkaesque which is translated into: characteristic or reminiscent of the oppressive or nightmarish qualities of Franz Kafka’s fictional world.

Now why did I labour to give you a run-down on Franz Kafka? Whenever you think of absurd, bizarre or even surrealistic  scenarios, you automatically think of Kafka. I thought about him for greater part of my career in the Indian Navy. I thought about him whilst writing my first blog on retirement about my time in the Navy: ‘I Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest – Did I?‘ I thought about him when a C-in-C issued me a Letter of Severe Displeasure for having brought out that a fire-fighting system wasn’t ever working since its so-called commissioning by the MES (and then had his minions struggling to prove that it became non-functional only during my tenure, by my oversight). I thought about him when I saw the 1983 Kundan Shah movie Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro wherein the complainants against corruption in Indian politics eventually found themselves behind bars. And I thought about him during and after the incident I am about to describe.

After many many months of waiting we had finally got a house in New Delhi. When we were posted at Naval Headquarters, two years was as fast as any Shatabdi (Centenary) Express could get (no one had heard of Dorontos and Bullet Trains). Our house was in SP Marg Defence Officers Residential Area. SP Marg is, of course, named after the Iron Man of India: Vallabhbhai Patel or simply Sardar Patel. We, in our area, were there to live SP’s legacy.

At the first meeting of the members of our Residential Area or Park, various office bearers were chosen: the Chairman, the Secretary, the Treasurer and inevitably a Security Chief. RR was to be our Security Chief. He looked tough and exuded confidence. Within no time he issued detailed instructions about how Security was to be maintained in the Park. He followed it up with series of shibboleths about how ‘Security was Everybody’s Concern’ and how it was incumbent upon people like us engaged in national security to have our house in order. Those were the days when terror and jihad had been contained in J&K only and SP Marg Defence Officers Residential Area was as far from terror as India was from winning a Gold at Olympics. However, within no time all of us agreed that security had been tightened in our area. The most vociferous were the ladies who carried grocery and vegetables and fruits bags through the gate and were asked to show security passes with their third hands. They were the terror.

Every committee meeting of our area commenced with congratulating RR for having plugged all security loopholes and leaving no stone unturned in raising the level of security awareness amongst the denizens. Naturally, RR basked in this adulation and had put on a few inches of height.

One Sunday forenoon (Sundays were the days of the committee meeting), the Chairman once again welcomed everyone and started adding another few hundred words about the commitment and dedication of RR. We noticed that instead of being joyous about it, RR had an air of extreme sadness about his praise and every word made him wince. The Chairman noticed it too and asked RR to explain.

It appeared from his painfully recited account that just a few days before the meeting there was a huge theft at his house and everything precious had been taken.

Chairman: But how did the thieves enter? Your house is on the third floor.
RR: Through the door.
Chairman: But, wasn’t the door locked?
RR: Yes, Sir, it was. The thieves removed the door from its hinges, removed the lock and then carted everything such as TV and VCR on the door itself.
Chairman: And where were you at that time?
RR: We had gone to the market to buy locks for the cupboards that used to be earlier unlocked but with the new security instructions…..

The Chairman didn’t ask but I knew the next obvious question would have been: But, didn’t they know that you are the Security Chief?

By now you are scratching your head and unable to make out the preamble about Franz Kafka, isn’t it? I don’t blame you. FK was yet to make his appearance. FK appeared when RR went to the MES office to have them put up a door, in place of the missing door, so that the family could sleep secure at night.

The MES man told them that it couldn’t be done since their records showed there was already a door there.

RR (Enraged): But, goddammit, there isn’t one now.
MES Man (Calmly): Sorry, Sir, our records show each house has been provided with a door.
RR (Cooling down, realising the impending night was only a few hours away): Listen, we have to sleep at night and we need a front door badly. Can’t you do something about it?
MES Man (Always so helpful): Yes, Sir, first you pay the barrack damages for the existing door and then it can be replaced provided a spare one is available.

I remember how Franz Kafka’s Das Schloss (The Castle) ended (or was supposed to end since I have already told you he didn’t complete any of his novels). A character called ‘K’ was often the hero of his novels and stories. As the story of The Castle unfolded, K arrived in a village and went through reams of bureaucratic red-tapism to ask for full rights to stay in the village from authorities that controlled the village from a castle. After series of struggles, in the end, the Castle authorities notified him on his death-bed that his legal claim to live in the village wasn’t a valid one (as per their records), but he was being temporarily allowed to reside there considering the special circumstances.

P.S. (Please also read: ‘Three Things I’d Like To Change If I Were To Join The Armed Forces Again – Part I‘, which is about ‘Bureaucratic Red-Tapism’ in the armed forces).
P.P.S. Even though the incident about RR is a real one, please don’t start seeing parallels between this and security breaches elsewhere, say, in Kargil or Pathankot and the follow-up actions taken by us to plug the loopholes.

Lets face it, the guys (or girls or whosoever) who designed uniforms for the armed forces, did a smart job of it and rejected our heritage of combat in dhoti, langote, lungi and the like. Guru Gobind Singh was the first one to signal departure from d.l.l. and the like in his army that fought the mughals and directed the Khalsa to assimilate five Ks so as to have smart turnout in battle.

Lets also face it, you can’t be in uniform throughout, certainly not on Sundays when you want to relax. That’s the time when some of us return to our roots or d.l.l. and let it all hang down or up, depending upon what we are wearing. Of course there is a joke – now hackneyed – of this Punjabi in his vest and one of the Ks on a sunday but still sporting a neck-tie. When asked about the strange combination, he replied with aplomb that the former was for relaxing on a sunday and the latter just in case some guests came visiting.

Seeing an officer in d.l.l. can be a very comical sight especially if you are accustomed to seeing him in smart naval uniform and especially if he is an officer much senior to you. One can imagine that with one small item missing from the uniform such as name-tally or tag, one can earn a rebuke of “being naked on parade”. Hence, a man in dhoti or lungi without shirt and footwear would be much closer to being undressed.

My better half has all the good qualities of being a good naval wife except that she can’t make out one rank from the other (Please also see: ‘Married To The Mob‘). Her difficulty, such as the way it is, is multiplied manifold if the officer is not in uniform. Her good qualities include being very social otherwise and always able to help out the neighbourhood with whatever is required to make life amiable and comfortable.

Hence, when a new officer and family shifted in our neighbourhood, Lyn put on her Girl Scout’s act and knocked at their door to ask if we could do anything to make their shifting in our neighbourhood easier. She returned after a while red-faced and said that she was very embarrassed. My probing brought out that she had knocked at the door and their servant in lungi and vest opened the door and she asked him, “Sahib aur mem-sahib ghar mein hain kyaa?” (“Are the sahib and mem-sahib at home?”) and this servant responded, “Tell me what can I do for you, lady?”

A Navy man, with his brother officer slighted (to be thought of as a servant because he was dressed in lungi and vest), doesn’t take very kindly to the lack of respect for rank prevalent amongst people. Therefore, I let her have it for her inability to recognise an officer just because he wasn’t in uniform. I told her that it took ages to have the air of an officer and uniform only added to the demeanour that is so typical. “Shame on you”, I concluded, “For having been a navy officer’s wife for seven long years and still not being able to read the tell-tale signs of an officer.”

She was taken aback by my strong reaction. However, I felt that like any other officer worth his salt, I must send a signal to take officers and their ranks seriously.

That same evening there was an electric supply failure in our building. Like any other Indian faced with this frequent situation, I looked out of the window and found that other buildings had lights. During those days I was a telly fan and my favourite programme was to start in fifteen minutes. We didn’t have a residential telephone (I was only a Commander whereas such perks as residential telephones and staff-cars were given to only Commodores and above). Hence, I went to the neighbour’s and phoned up the MES complaints Room. Fifteen minutes later the TV programme would have started and yet there was no sign of the MES Electrician. Hence, once again I went to the neighbour’s house to make another call to him. I had to repeat this another three times at fifteen minutes intervals. The MES man kept saying that he would reach our building any time; however, he was more difficult to sight than the moon is for those ladies who keep a fast for Kadwa Chauth. With each phone call, I would lose my temper more and more until I was competing with those who had etched their names in golden letters (or is it bloody letters?) in the list of those who had touched absolute rock bottom in losing temper.

A little later I was hit by Tsunami of a brain wave though nobody had heard of Tsunami at that time (indeed anything Japanese was Greek to us at that time). Could it be possible that this MES bijli-wala had gone straight to the Fuses and Meters Room in the building especially since the power failure was not at my house level but at the building level? So, I took an electric torch and headed to this room. My anger preceded me by a few steps. And sure enough, there was this MES man in his lungi and vest with a pen-torch stuck in his mouth, repairing the fuse. Good. However, since it was already more than an hour after my original call and since he appeared to have just arrived, I thought of giving him a piece of my mind. “Abhi aa rahe ho?” I began, “Kam se kam paanch baar phone kar chuka hoon main aur do ghante (a good naval officer must always exaggerate to bring home a point) ho chuke hain. Isiliye to Hindustan tarakkee nahin karta.” (“So, now you arrive? At least five times I phoned you and two hours have elapsed. This is the main reason for India not progressing as a country.”

This MES man calmly took out the pen-torch from between his teeth, turned the torch towards me and asked, “So, what can I do for you, young-man?”

I uttered garbled apologies to our new neighbour and hurried back home. By then, he had repaired the fuse and once again there were lights. This helped me to look at my wife Lyn’s earlier-in-the-day encounter with this officer in a new light. I profusely apologised to her since she was still sulking from my forenoon chastisement.

When I went to sleep that night I thanked God for having given me G.O.D., that is, Gyan Of the Day: ‘Lungis and vests, or for that matter all d.l.l. are great equalisers indeed.’

P.S. To make up for my inability, that night, to recognise demeanour that is so typical of an officer, I have been saluting everyone wearing a lungi and vest, until recently a certain Salman Khan lifted his lungi over his vest, showed me his Dixcy Scott and burst into euphoric, “Pehante hain Sirjee, pehante hain.” Ugh.