If it hadn’t been for people dying and getting seriously injured, War would be really very funny. I mean, just think, dropping bombs, firing missiles, and chucking grenades at someone or at other people just because they feel differently.
Bringing ‘democracy’ to people through Arab Spring; but with tanks, bombs and guns (Pic courtesy: www.theguardian.com)
“Wait a sec guys” you say with aplomb (since you are the mighty one), “Whilst we slam the daylights out of you for not recognizing that democracy is the best form of government. Next time be sure to vote for democracy so that you guys will be safe.”
The most ludicrous thing is that both the parties feel that they are fighting the Just War. In any case, each one of them knows, or at least used to know before social-media came in, that history can be re-written by the victorious.
Happy, smiling faces at Hiroshima in Oct 1945 after ‘good sense’ has been driven into them (Pic courtesy: www.mctv.ne.jp)
I also feel that when two grownups fight the others call them loco. However, when countries fight, and spend money, resources, time, and lives plotting against each other, it is called stratagem or grand strategy or some equally high-sounding names. This is so that when Life goes on, the business of ending others’ lives should also flourish; a kind of ‘Live-and-Let-Die’.
In peacetime, people are busy doing or not doing what they feel like. However, as soon as War starts, everyone is busy doing War; soldiers with shooting down erstwhile friends-turned-enemies, doctors in stitching up mutilated bodies, industrialists (especially defence industrialists) making themselves richer than they normally do, undertakers in burying and cremating and writers in having enough to write about; eg, stories with a ‘human (ha, ha) angle’, tales of heroism, love, romance and intrigue; singers, movie-makers, actors, lyricists, music makers in churning out films and songs on how the soldiers stood between us and annihilation. Indeed, that’s the time you realize that War keeps more people busy than the bally peace!
We always remember the origin of such wars and its unique vocabulary. Thus, however advanced the means of war may become, in our folklore we shall always keep using the expression ‘chucking stones at each other’. However, newer expressions originate and Oxford and Webster and hordes of other dictionary wallahs run up to the printing presses to bring out the latest vocabulary unleashed by War.
Indians have convinced themselves that they were never war-minded. It is because we decided not to do so in the battlefield with the enemies of the country (even Mahabharata was between brothers, cousins and uncles); but on the roads (traffic wars of gaining just a few inches more than the ones to your right or left), streets and other public arena. Wars may have been important to people abroad, but, we manage to kill more people on the roads than they do with their war machinery, nerve gas, and even nuclear bombs. We too are capitalists and we too know how to remain in business.
An everyday scene in India (Pic courtesy: www.instablogs.com)
We are the most self-sufficient nation in the world; we have our own enemy within and are never dependent upon nefarious forces outside (or as Indira Gandhi used to call: “Foreign Hand”) to do it to us what we can do to ourselves.
Patton’s famous quote ‘The more you sweat in peace; the less you bleed in war’ has been taken by us rather seriously. So, we sweat and bleed in peacetime in our country, so that there will be nothing left to do in War.
Lastly, most of us in my group Humour In And Out Of Uniform (HIAOOU for short) are eternally grateful to War or its Fear since that’s the raison d’être for us as soldiers, airmen and sailors; in short, people in uniform. No War or its Fear, No ‘R, K, and Makaan’ for us and our families.
‘No War, No Uniform’ also means that HIAOOU ceases to be a greeting between us all; one of the stupidest collateral damages!
So, lets keep our powder dry,
And preserve our platitudes;
In uniform, we fight, we sail, we fly,
To correct the enemies’ attitudes.
There is glory and there is honour,
In rubbing their noses to ground;
It also gives HIAOOU its humour,
That couldn’t otherwise be found.
War, we love you and adore you,
Avoiding you, we call as ‘deterrence’,
Thankfully there is nothing new,
No other meaning or inference.
Than to advance the concept,
Of Poly Ticks by other means,
And, in fighting-for-peace become adept,
With bombs, missiles, bullets and magazines.
My father was posted in Shimla when I joined the Navy. It was a story of ‘From the Hills to the Sea’. During those days, as perhaps now too, no one in our parts of the world was very familiar with the Navy. The only Navy that they could think of was the merchant navy. But, that, anyone could go to sea in order to fight was as unbelievable to them as coming to the hills for anything other than to seek peace (remember the rishis and munis of ancient times?)
This is what Kandaghat looked like when I was small
I was a square peg in a round hole and they used to wonder as to why a boy from the hills should go all the way south to join the Navy. I was awkward, didn’t know swimming, didn’t know how to switch on a television with its complicated controls such as vertical hold and horizontal hold, brightness, contrast etc. “Guy is a dumbo” was the verdict.
Gradually, I started being accepted in the Navy; I learnt how to switch on the telly, I learnt swimming and became as smart as the next guy; though not as clever.
Picture taken soon after I was commissioned in the Navy (01 Jul 1975), in Split, Yugoslavia during my first ship Himgiri’s foreign cruise there.
It was a damn good life and I enjoyed being at sea better than their thinking I was at sea in too many things that all the other guys from Bombay, Madras, Cochin, Calcutta and even Delhi were adept at.
Within three years of my being commissioned, my parents shifted to our present place Whispering Winds, Kandaghat and they continued being here until my father died of a jeep accident in 1984, just 9 kms away from our home.
I became a Navy man but, my heart continued being here in Kandaghat and I wrote an article about this on my blog (Read: ‘Home Is Where The Heart Is – Kandaghat in Shimla Hills’). On my Facebook Group ‘Humour In And Out Of Uniform’ I had put up an anecdote in which my father kept introducing me as an Army officer when immediately after my commissioning I visited my parents. It was very much here in Kandaghat.
If I was at sea in most subjects than any of my course mates, you should meet the Kandaghat people. Their total knowledge of the Navy could be written in the space behind a 5 paisa postage stamp.
Therefore, in the year 2006, when the Navy signal came about having a AFNHB (Air Force Naval Housing Board) colony in Kandaghat, of all the places, my phone never stopped ringing. Just about everyone known to me called to tell me that they had erred in their opinion of me and that I was the smartest of the entire lot who had managed to get a Navy housing colony made in my home place in the same manner as Indian Railway Ministers get a railway track made to their villages in Bihar, Bengal and Uttar Pradesh. One of them went to the extent of saying, “We thought of you as a total dumbo (aside: which we are sure you are), par tum to bahut pahunche hue nikale (but you are very clever indeed).”
Our house with its land is called ‘Whispering Wind,s Kandaghat’. In the background the HIMUDA and AFNHB colony can be seen.
During my next leave I went about finding out how an Air Force Naval Housing Board colony happened to come up here in Kandaghat where there is no Air Force or Naval station anywhere close by. It is like having a snow skiing range in Rajasthan.
It came out that the Himachal government in a bid to decongest Shimla made a mini secretariat in Kandaghat, 32 kms from Shimla and made a HP Housing Board colony (HIMUDA – Himachal Urban Development Authority) here. Some land was available and they thought of giving it to the Army. The Army already had made a colony in Shoghi (halfway between Kandaghat and Shimla). They thought that accepting another colony within 15 kms of the first one would get them the tag of being a colonial power. Hence, even though it was rare for a service to share the largesse with the other services, they passed on the colony to the Navy and the Air Force (somewhat similar to how the Pakis ceded Aksai Chin to China). The Navy and the Air Force grabbed it with both hands, toes and knees.
This is what the colony looked like in 2011
I am on leave here for the nth time now. I just visited the local electricity office and met the Junior Engineer there about one of our power meters not working. “Which one, Sir?” he asked me, “The left one or the right one; or as you say Port one or the Starboard one?”
I visited the Daily Needs shop at the local Petrol Pump. The owner there knows me very well. He asked me, “How long are you anchored here now?”
I am now waiting for the traffic cop to give a ticket to an over-speeding car by telling its driver, “Can’t you see 30 Knots is the speed limit in the town?”
I joined the Navy 41 years ago from the hills; and now, the Navy has come to me in the hills. I remember this from Paulo Coelho’s Alchemist, “When you want a thing strongly, the elements conspire to make it possible.”
I have recounted to you many tales about Gunners; an endless topic of mirth and bewilderment with me.
Tha Gunner’s world in the Indian Navy is shaken sometimes whilst trying to keep pace with the technological changes; eg, when the Gunners shifted focus from guns to missiles and stole the thunder from the ASW (Anti Submarine Warfare) guys.
The Army guys already know that we, in the Navy, don’t stomp our feet in the Navy; we are convinced that banging feet would sink the ships and leave nothing to work for with our enemies. Whilst saluting too, we don’t take our right hand in a wide arc away from the body, up to the eyebrow; but we take it through the shortest path along the upper body. There is not adequate space on the ships for the army styled wide arc.
Another earth-shaking (or not so earth shaking really) in the Gunner’s world was brought about to ensure that whilst in savdhan (attention) and marching, we would have fingers clenched from second knuckle. Now, this took enormous time to implement since the natural way to clench the fist is from the main knuckles.
We were Acting Sub Lieuts when this was implemented. We were in Gunnery School and we dreaded being there because fierce looking GIs (Gunnery Instructors) (all of them, without doubt, the descendants of Genghiz Khan) could check you any time including during stand easy (tea-break) periods. At one time, the GIs were marching in a squad and still kept on correcting us, “Sir, ensure fingers clenched from second knuckle, tummy in, chest out, look straight, look smart” etc.
The repeated instructions about fingers clenched from second knuckle made us have nightmares; some of us who were corrected often, even slept with fingers so clenched.
One such person was my course mate PC. The regular screaming of the GIs had profound effect on him. He even put his hands in his pocket with fingers clenched from second knuckle and had enormous difficulty in taking out change, for example, for his bus fare.
One day, he was walking from South Wardroom to Gunnery School and he encountered Master Chief GI Yadav, his bete noire. Yadav saluted him. PC was so ruffled by Yadav’s presence and smartly executed salute that he saluted back with fingers clenched from second knuckle!
The other two services are forever amused by how we, in the Navy, do things “the other way round”; for example, our wearing our ribbons and medals and saluting with our palms inwards. However, two things that have fascinated them are: PLD or Pre Lunch Drinks and Small Eats.
The former came about due to our observing Make and Mend days on Wednesdays and Saturdays. The tradition goes back to days of sail, when the ship’s company (crew) used to mend and make do rigging on the afternoons of these days.
However, later, nothing used to be made and mended on these days except everyone got together on the quarterdeck or wardroom and gulped large quantities of beer and had small eats. Small eats is the naval lingo for ‘starters’.
It was quite common, during those days, for senior officers ashore such as Fleet Commander and CinC to join in the revelry.
During one of these PLDs, on my ship INS Vikrant, where I was an Acting Sub Lieut, there was a circle of senior officers such as the CinC, ASD (Admiral Superintendent Dockyard, Fleet Cdr, COS (Chief of Staff) and our CO. Surprisingly, our Lieutenant (SDC) ( Special Duty Communication; that is, he had made to an officer from being a sailor in the communication branch) joined the group.
It was quite a sight; there were these most senior ranking officers in the Western Naval Command and then there was this Lieutenant also in their group. So, whilst the senior officers chatted and cracked jokes, our Lieutenant was, for courtesy sake, included in their conversation. He had, of course, nothing to contribute, by way of repartee, comments or anecdotes.
Gradually, it became rather embarrassing and our man was the first one to notice it. In order to get over the tense moment, he blurted out the truth, “Respected Sirs; don’t please pay attention to me. I am standing here only for the small eats (starters).” (What he didn’t say was that most starters were served by the stewards to the senior officers; who, at their age and appetite, hardly required any of them.)
The senior officers’ laughter could be heard across several ships.
John Milton would have turned in his grave with the modern-day use of, “They also serve who only stand and wait.”
On Thursday, the 8th of May 14, our first-born Arjun S Ravi weds Samira Kanwar, the first-born of Asha and Atul Kanwar. This photo-essay traces Arjun and Samira’s life leading up to the wedding. Here is their Wedding Invite:
Let me first explain the name ‘Loveapalooza‘ to you. It has been derived from ‘Lollapalooza’, that is a very well attended “annual music festival featuring popular alternative rock, heavy metal, punk rock and hip hop bands, dance and comedy performances, and craft booths.”
You see, Arjun and Sam (Samira) both are into music in a huge way. They are both directors in the music company called OML (Only Much Louder); Sam looks after the television content through a company under OML banner called Babble Fish Productions. Arjun looks after the digital content on the portals NH7 and Indiecision.
Let me now begin their story:
Early Childhood
Arjun, our elder son, was born on 14th of May in 1984. All children are god sent. However, Arjun was special since he was born two weeks after my father’s tragic death and all of us, especially my mom (his dadi (paternal grandmother)) felt that he was sent to wipe away our tears. And he did and still does. He was a joy to hold and to watch growing up:
My mom (his dadi) holding Arjun as a gift from God:
Lyn, always so beautiful, in ecstasy to hold “such a wonderful bundle of joy”:
During his early childhood, we shuttled between Mumbai and Kandaghat in Shimla Hills and then for the next three years until we went for my Staff Course in Wellington (Nilgiris) in May 1990, we were in New Delhi. This included the six months period between January and June 1988 when I was on deputation to Seville in Spain and the family (by this time our younger son Arun was born on the 22nd of Dec 1986 in Mumbai when I and my ship INS Ganga were away to Andaman & Nicobar islands with Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi and his wife Sonia Gandhi) shifted with my mother in Kandaghat.
There was nothing that he did that was not refreshingly appealing to people all around him. He had a natural propensity to love all animals and befriended cats and dogs at a very early stage. A few years back, he found that a bitch had littered under the stairs leading to his office of the JAM magazine. He found that one of the pups was not just small and weak but unable to cope up. He brought the pup home and throughout the night tended to it with the advice being received on phone by an NGO looking after the welfare of the stray dogs. He didn’t sleep at all. In the morning, he was in tears when the pup died.
Most of his toys were shaped like petsHe’d have pets even in his cot cum play-penLooking good and cute even in a trash box
He was at home with everything; as the picture above shows, even in a trash-box. The moment he learnt to crawl, he was everywhere, helping my mom and all of us with our work:
Frequent travels from Bombay to Kandaghat didn’t keep him away from looking cute and relaxed:
And then, he learnt to stand on his two feet and walk around. Here is a picture of the first step he ever did! Lyn and I have, at least one picture of all his firsts except one; the first word he uttered was ‘Goo”, all by himself. We called over friends to share with them the exciting news that Arjun spoke. Over drinks, they asked us to share with them the word and when we told them, they stared at us in amazement. It was amazing indeed.
Now that he learnt to walk, it was difficult to keep him in his play-pen:
Or, for that matter, in his pram:
Samira
She is the first-born of Asha and Atul Kanwar; born on the American Independence Day: the 4th of July. It was certainly the most beautiful thing that ever happened to Asha and Atul. Holding the gift of their love close to them was like their most ardent dream come true. Here is Asha, as in Donald Peer’s song: “Looking proud as a queen as she carried” Samira:
The sheer joy of holding her whilst the fawning husband looked on is something that is unforgettable for Asha. As far as Samira is concerned, she knows that the happiness, warmth and confidence of being in her parents’ arms can never be replaced by any other experience. Just about two years back she wrote on Facebook on a picture of Arjun: ‘My boy-friend bestest‘. However, a bird told us that until she met Arjun, she didn’t have any boy-friends and her parents and later her sister were her complete world.
Samira’s total countenance is that of being at perfect ease and trust with the rest of the world. She has a natural sense of humour. Here is one of her typical comments made with her characteristic tinkle: “My parents decided to move abroad to the Gulf to save a lakh. They decided that once they did that, they’d move back to India – it’s now been 33 years and they’re still trying to save that one Lakh”.
Samira or Sam as she is known, moved to Dubai (where Atul got his first job as a financier in a construction company. Says Sam, “Numbers are his friend unlike they are to me or my sister”) with her parents from Bombay when she was three. By that time, Asha and Atul’s love had produced another miracle that they named Anjali. Here is Asha having her hands full with doubled joys:
Sam recalls, “My sister was the cutest baby in the world.” Lyn and I, however, with the pride born out of our immense good fortune in about to have a very pretty and affectionate daughter, (exactly how Asha and Atul would gain a son in Arjun), feel that no one can be more cute than Sam. We feel that she is still a baby and she is likely to keep her baby looks for at least a few more decades! See if you can make one baby from the other in the following picture:
Growing Up
Arjun
Arjun became such an important part of our lives that we just couldn’t leave him at any time (I was commissioned in the Indian Navy in Jul 1975 and I was a Lieutenant Commander when he was born). A few pictures of his being with us:
Lyn spent hours looking at him and admiring him:
I took him everywhere with me, my Yezdi KEE 438 was the first vehicle he rode:
My mother even took him to the Gurudwara in our house for her prayers and reading of the Guru Granth Sahib:
Here is Arjun on his First Birthday; the cake had to be made in the shape of a ship since I was posted on one at that time:
And then, in Dec 1986, Arun was born. Both Arjun and Arun formed a very loving team and got along famously.
Their love and comfort level with each other was such that once after a quarrel in the daytime, when they went to sleep, in mock estrangement, Arun complained to us that he couldn’t go to sleep since Arjun was not holding his hand!
Here are some more pictures of Arjun’s childhood, having Arun as his constant companion:
During their first visit to America:
At home in Kandaghat, Arun still trying to gain confidence in the cycle-riding skills of his elder brother, Arjun.
Now this is really funny. During those days when an overseas (ISD) call used to cost a bomb, Arjun and Arun learnt how to dial the various codes and numbers and connected to my brother JP Singh in the USA:
Holding hands and going to sleep never left them, even when they were on their first overseas trip, to USA:
Picnics were part of our life and during these outings, Arjun and Arun found ways and means to amuse themselves:
During their visit to the Disney Land in California:
Both with my brother, studying in Campion School in Mumbai:
At a very very young age, Arjun became very fond of music. Here is the first picture of his enjoying music; there was no looking back after that:
After Arun was born, Arjun also gave signs of doing things by himself rather than asking me or even Lyn how to (Please also read: ‘Diminishing Dad’):
If he is seen above trying to put a knot on a neck-tie, here he is trying to polish shoes:
All in all, I feel Arjun had a very healthy, happy and interesting childhood. Did that prepare him for life and its challenges? I would think so. If there is one word in which I can describe him, then the word is ‘gentleman’. When he was studying in the Timpany School in Vizag, as a class monitor, he took his job so seriously that when the school bus from Naval Base didn’t report, he put all the kids in a few auto-rickshaws, and then left them one by one in their houses; especially the girls. Here is a picture of Arjun in the Holy Innocents School in Wellington (Nilgiris) whereat I was undergoing Staff Course at DSSC. He was all of six years old:
We moved to Kochi when he was in the 12th standard. Normally, kids should do their schooling in classes 11th and 12th from the same school for the Board (CBSE or ICSE) exams. But, it was not to be in Arjun’s case because of the Navy’s system of postings. Ostensibly he used to listen to music and play cricket; however, when the board results were announced (on the net), Lyn and I were pleasantly surprised to see him pass out with nearly 93 per cent marks (he actually stood first in all the Naval Public Schools (now re-christened as Naval Children’s Schools) in his (commerce) stream.
By this time, in the year 1998, there was another addition to our family; our darling dog Roger who was born on the 3rd of July that year. Roger was with me in a remote locality called INS Kattabomman (near Tirunelvelli in Tamilnadu) and the rest of the family missed seeing him as a puppy. On their visit to Kattbomman, here is how Roger made a place for himself in the family:
Curiously, whilst doing stunningly well in studies (Roger used to give Arjun company during his late night studies), he took part in debates and declamations and plays. One of these, during that period, was directed by me: a play titled Dear Charles. He used to be present during the rehearsals of the play in the US Club. Whenever anyone forgot their dialogues, Arjun used to help them without even looking at the script. Finally, we all felt that he could be given a role. He did superbly as Bruno, Denise’s son and won a huge applause for his performance. Then, he acted as Lieutenant Sanjay, the hero, in my adaptation of Molière’s Baker’s Muddle. I called it ‘Suddenly in the Park’. This was the first play presented in Navy’s Mulla auditorium in NOFRA, Colaba. Lastly, he acted in another play that I directed in the same auditorium: The Black Comedy; the play was presented for the farewell visit of the Chief of the Naval Staff Admiral Arun Prakash to Mumbai. Here is Arjun as the rich baron Georg Bamberger:
Arjun joined St Xavier’s in Mumbai for his graduation in the year 2001 and thereafter worked for a magazine called JAM (Just another Magazine) whilst preparing for his CAT exam. He went to MICA (Mudra Institute of Communications, Ahmedabad) for his MBA in 2005 and graduated from there in 2007. He worked for Mudra for sometime before getting back as an Editor for JAM. By this time it was clear to him that his calling was music. He started a popular musical portal called Indiecision. He joined his present company OML (Only Much Louder) and started another music portal named NH7 (named after India’s longest highway) and merged Indiecision into it. The picture below shows Arjun, Anshul and Sachin giving a performance of their band ‘The Unlike No One’s’ at MICA:
At this juncture, the Ravi family looked like this and we waited for our would-be daughter to enter our lives:
Samira
Sam moved to Dubai with her parents when she was three. After that, they moved to Muscat and her parents are still there though her mother divides time between Muscat and Mumbai (Bandra, where they have a house). Sam recalls that after Anjali was born, one day she fed her potato chips even though Anjali had no teeth. The reason? Anjali looked at Sam eating chips and Sam took pity on her! The result? Well, potato chips are now a favourite with Anjali. That she nearly choked on the chips is not remembered by both Anjali and Sam.
Much like Arjun and Arun, Sam and Anjali made a great and almost inseparable pair:
Here is another adorable picture of the two (Please notice that holding hands is common between Anjali & Sam, and Arun & Arjun:
Sam did her schooling from the Indian School, Muscat until she became sweet sixteen. After this, she had to return to Mumbai since she wasn’t interested in either Commerce or Science streams and wanted to pursue Arts. She sat through the boring commerce classes in Indian School at Muscat and decided that she wasn’t cut out for Commerce.
Recalls Sam fondly, “We had a wonderful school life, growing up in Muscat. My mom is a closet event manager. She has amazing organizational skills and she’d organize games and we even had a club for kids where we’d meet up and learn, cook, play sports.” Amazing indeed.
As a girl happy with others and also happy by herself:
Love for dogs is something that she shares with Arjun. In Muscat, she enjoyed the company of not one but three dogs – Timmy, Scamp and Sheeba. Even now they have dogs in their house in Muscat: Oscar and Misha.
She then moved to Bombay and studied in Sophia College for 5 years (FYJC – TYBA). She was in the hostel for the first 2.5 years and made a lot of close friends. This is what she feels about her life in Bombay: “I became a lot bolder in college. I started to speak out and gain confidence. Bombay helped me come out of my shell a lot.”
She ended up being Student Body President in her final year of college and she majored in English Literature.
She did a post-graduate diploma course in Sophia Polytechnic in Mass Communications after which she began working in advertising film production.
After a few years in advertising, she realized she wasn’t happy so she moved to television. She visited Europe during this period: Italy, Germany and Turkey and talked with her camera. Here she is at the Trevi Fountain in Rome tossing the coin to ensure she visits again:
And then, after some years, she joined OML and she has been a part of it since 2006. In her own words, “I’ve been very happy working with like-minded people where we share a common goal of supporting the music and alternative culture scene by doing things we’re good at. (in my case making films!)”
Meanwhile last year, her sister Anjali got married to Avinash – yes younger sister got married before her – but only by a year.
Their dog Biscuit is the queen in their lives:
All in all Samira (Sam) is a love-child who had a very happy, loving, and interesting childhood and growing up. Here is what the Kanwar family looked at this juncture, awaiting the arrival of another son in their family after Sam’s sister Anjali married Avinash:
Cupid Strikes
When love strikes, all you can do is bow your head and accept the best gift that God can give you. As it creeps over you and totally engulfs you, a realisation comes over you to tell you that you were wasting your time not being the object of your love. Sam and Arjun went over this in their own unique way whilst going through their separate lives with moments of togetherness thrown in here and there.
Once Arjun decided to quit Mudra and JAM, he was determined to devote his life to covering music scene in various publications including on his own portal Indiecision that was becoming increasingly more popular.
Even though the music scene in Mumbai was small, he hadn’t come across Sam. She was the head of a production house that made music videos for bands.
Arjun had seen her at gigs and other music related events but the first time he and Samira properly met and had a conversation was at the first edition of Baajaa Gaajaa in Pune, a festival hosted by Shubha Mudgal in February 2009. She had a stall there where she was telling people about her production house and the work they were doing.
At around the same time, Arjun came in touch with Misha and Ekadish, and Sam was a common friend of theirs. So they’d meet up at parties at Misha’s house in Bandra, and at gigs as well.
Says Arjun, “That’s when we really started to get to know each other better. I remember at Sam’s birthday that year, she had a party at her house. She had quite a bit to drink and she becomes really very adorable when she’s a bit tipsy. She wouldn’t let me leave her house and even hid my cellphone so I wouldn’t leave.”
He adds: “We went on many small dates – to movies, restaurants, etc and given how similar we both are as people, it was startling, in retrospect, that we didn’t get together sooner.”
“For the next few months, a lot of ‘will they’, ‘wont they’ happened as we got to know more and more about each other. It was quite obvious to everyone around us that we would probably end up together, but we were quite oblivious of it at the time. We both have very, very similar interests, almost scarily so, and even there’s a five-year age difference between us, we got along as if we’d known each other for years.”
“Then finally after many ups and downs we finally decided that we would be together. This was in May 2010. It was in December last year when we decided that we should get married.”
Sam visited our house in Ahilya building in Navy area in Colaba for the first time in 2009. After I retired in end Feb 2010 and we moved to our house in Kharghar, Navi Mumbai, Sam started visiting us with Arjun more regularly. That we were quite drawn to her can be made out from:
And we became a family together:
So much so that last year onwards we have a Whatsapp group appropriately named: Together As A Happy Family. Lyn and I looked forward to their visits, Bacardi Weekenders in Pune, and going out together:
With all this, what is in store for the future? Only this that the days of making music separately as in the following pictures are now over:
Now onwards, it has got to be: Loveapalooza, Arjun and Sam’s Lifetime Music Fest:
Congratulations Sam and Arjun, we await Loveapalooza and its editions year after year after year:
Two small explanations are required for the non-naval personnel to understand this anecdote:
First, what’s a Mids Board? Well, a Mid’s Board is a very detailed oral examination (viva) held at the end of one’s Midshipman tenure of about six months; a Midshipman is a rank between Cadet and a commissioned officer in the rank of Acting Sub-Lieutenant. Questions related to Bridgeman-ship, seamanship and all other aspects that one is trained on during one’s stint as Midshipman are normally asked.
Secondly, ships, submarines and other crafts at sea, at night and in low visibility exhibit various lights (normally Red for port or left, Green for Starboard or right, and white for main steaming lights on foremast and main mast and stern light. These lights are in accordance with International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea, 1972. These lights can be exhibited in varying brilliance (for range or distance at which they can be seen) and varying combination to indicate restrictions in movement that the vessel displaying them has. For example, two Red lights in a vertical line would indicate a vessel not under command.
Normal Navigation Lights displayed by a Large Vessel at Sea (Pic courtesy: www.kayarchy.co.uk)
Normally, the Mids Board has three members; the senior most being the President. The drift of the questions is naturally the prerogative of the President.
Each President has some favourite subject or the other. In our case Captain Sethi’s (an ace navigator) favourite was to grill the Mids (snotties; a mishipman is often referred to as Snotty since he is perpetually snivelling especially when a hard question is asked) on the subject of Lights and Shapes displayed by ships and craft.
Those who appeared on the first day returned to tell us that a certain Moore’s illustrated book on Lights was his favourite and he’d open the book at random and ask the snotty to describe the scenario depicted by a combination of lights; eg, two vessels engaged in RAS or Replenishment At Sea at night.
During the entire night we mugged up these scenarios. We were then seeing more lights than we had ever seen in our lives. Now, if only those scenarios would stay in our minds.
The Gunroom (Midshipmen are not allowed in the Wardroom for officers but they generally pass their spare time in the Gunroom; the name came about since revolvers and pistols belonging to the ship are generally kept in a locked and glasses cupboard so that they can be sighted during the rounds) was agog with all kinds of complicated questions regarding the Lights. We even made several jokes about these. For example, the answer to the question: ‘if you sight a Red Light to your left and Green Light to the right coming towards you, what do you make out of it? is: ‘It is merely a sea plane flying upside down’.
With this new knowledge gained on the night before the viva, some of us did very well. Others were as confused as snotties make it a point to be.
One of the latter variety was my friend PLG Manu. He went in with confidence to face the board. As he answered a few simple scenarios, he noticed that instead of gaining confidence he was losing the con thing in increasingly larger measures. It is because the qs were becoming tougher and tougher.
Finally, the Moore’s page depicted a curious combination of Red, Green, White, Yellow lights and for good effect a Blue light too added.
Something similar to these lights (Pic courtesy: www.thenauticalsite.com)
Captain Sethi asked him to unravel the mystery. Manu started blinking and also started seeing some invisible lights. He shook his head from side to side. But, Captain Sethi was insistent he should venture a guess.
Finally, Manu saw the light that Moses had seen on the Mount. And he blurted the answer that should have been clear to him all along, “Sir, it is evident that a ship has rammed into a Disco”.
Generally, the best Midshipman is given the Sword of Honour (a sword is carried by officers in the Navy with their ceremonial uniforms). It was later learnt that they (the Board) had decided to give PLG the sword…….but, alas, not as an honour and at an unspecified place.
Like any other young man wanting to join the armed forces, I was mighty impressed with Netaji Subhash Chander Bose. Though not half as qualified as Nandu Chitnis of my Facebook group ‘Humour In And Out Of Uniform’ (HIAOOU) wherein Nandu has single-handedly destroyed all enemies within thousands of miles of India, Netaji could have really won us independence just as Nandu destroyed Karachi and won us war against Pakistan. Sadly for the bespectacled Subhash, HIAOOU had not yet been conceived and winning and destroying anything wasn’t as easy.
What connection do I have with NS? Only this that after finishing my bridge watch-keeping training on board Indian Naval Ship Himgiri, I was sent to Calcutta to bring a 400 tons LS HSD (Low Sulphur High Speed Diesel) tanker for Naval Dockyard Bombay, along with two other officers. One of them was the late DB Roy and the other was Sushil, the submariner, who retired as C-in-C South. This tanker was being built in a Yard in Calcutta and we had to accept it and sail it back to Bombay before the monsoons.
We were accommodated in an establishment called INS Netaji Subhash. It was a laid back no-hurry-to-do-anything type of establishment and as far from Netaji’s ‘Kadam kadam badaye ja khushi ke geet gaaye jaa’ as anyone can get. The establishment had decided that doing everything at snail’s pace was as good as reliving the memory of the great Netaji.
(Pic courtesy: www.hindujagruti.org)
The Wardroom had some of the old relics that had been looted from the East Pakistan five years ago. One of the officers who was on permanent duty there told us that after these were displayed in the wardroom, these were re-looted by a number of officers who were appointed there as Mess Secretaries and PMCs; in exactly the manner paintings on the tanker Shakti that was built for the Indian Navy in a Yard in West Germany vanished after her first commission.
The Wardroom had other old relics too. These would be sitting on the bar stools in the wardroom between 7:30 to 10:30 PM every evening and prove that they could take all the three Xs from the Hercules rum bottles that they consumed and post these against their names, presence of mind and Netaji Subhash like qualities. The three of us too joined their august company in the evenings.
Sometimes, life was supposed to be infused into the rag-tag groups of officers that had assembled in Netaji Subhash for some vague purpose or the other. One of these was this All Calcutta Officers Navy Hockey Tournament that was held on the weekends in the month of April. First of all I was surprised to know that INS Netaji Subhash had so many outlying units attached to it that a tournament with that kind of lofty name could be held. Secondly, the three of us with a few other temporary duty officers were asked to form a team. And thirdly, since I was a lion-hearted (Singh) Punjabi, the others in our team took it for granted that I knew how to play hockey.
It took me very little time to learn the game. Even if the business end of my stick rarely touched the ball, it made not-so-inadvertent contact with the shins of quite a few of the other team players. We won the tournament – as the expression goes – by hook or simply by crook. It was decided that the rolling trophy would be presented to us in the month-end Captain’s Divisions the next day, that is, Friday.
That night our joining the old relics in the wardroom of INS Netaji Subhash was very sentimental. The old relics kept telling us how superbly we played. The opponents stealthily nursing their shins admitted that we had a unique technique not ever mastered by the likes of Dhyan Singh and others. To cut a long story short, several rounds in the name of the great Greek/Roman warrior Hercules were called for and some of us became sort of unfit to attend the next day morning Divisions. One of us – no names at this juncture – was also supposed to be the Guard Commander.
These were special Divisions; ladies too were invited as spectators. Officers and ladies had started taking their seats under the awning whilst the Divisions assembled. And after the Parade Commander took his post, he screamed with all the lung power given to Bengalis that nearly won us independence, “Guard onder laayo” (March in the guard).
Our friend, the Guard Commander, not used to the meridian where Calcutta is situated, took it for granted that the guard will be called for at 7:55 AM, five minutes before the Colours, and had remembered to set up his alarm at 7 AM to pierce through his condition caused by the Greek warrior and bring him back to mother earth named after the Indian warrior. Little did he know that the proceedings at Netaji Subhash were an hour earlier.
Ten minutes before the guard was to march in, one of the Gunnery sailors had got the brainwave that the Guard Commander had not made his appearance (Gunners are very good at ‘brainwaves’ and had run up to the first floor of the building adjoining the Parade Ground (erstwhile battle ground of war named hockey tournament) to somehow get him to his feet).
The Parade Commander’s call of ‘Guard andar laayo’ at 6:55 AM coincided with his (Guard Commander’s) donning the tunic though still unbuttoned. In panic he ran to the veranda and screamed back, “Abhi laaya shrimaan” (Bringing the guard in, Sir). With this whilst still buttoning his tunic with one hand, holding his sword in the other, he ran down the veranda and steps and shouted his command from the first floor itself, “Guard baayen se tez chal” (Guard, quick march, by the left). The guard started marching, the drummer gave the marching beat, and the Guard Commander joined in just before the guard halted in front the saluting dais.
After the Parade was brought to vishraam (at-ease) by the Parade Commander, a GI (what will we do without them?) marched up to the Guard Commander, smartly saluted him and brought some semblance of uniformed service in the wantonly appearance of the Guard Commander in about 30 secs. These worthy gentlemen (GIs, that is) can change people’s appearance in less than a second when they want to; but that is another story!)
Finally, after the Commanding Officer Netaji Subhash took the salute, inspected the Guard and Divisions, proficiency awards were given to a few sailors and then the Hockey Rolling Trophy was presented to DB Roy.
As he marched (!) from the ranks of the ‘spare officers’ standing on the left of the dais facing the parade; I too had a Gunners style ‘brainwave’ and I understood why was it called a ‘rolling’ trophy. DBR rolled on to in front of the dais to receive it, almost rolled off when it was handed over to him and then rolled back to regain his position in the rank and file of ‘spare’ officers swaying in all possible directions.
Straightway after the Divisions, we rolled back into our rooms and decided to break all ties with Hercules; a historic decision that lasted with us for quite some time……..until the evening that is.
When I undertook to allow the armed forces to train me to become a good staff-officer (Read Learning ‘The Ropes’ At Defence Services Staff College At Wellington, Nilgiris – Part I’ and ‘Part II’), I also took it upon myself to let go of all that used to keep me in high spirits. It was a tough decision but I was going to prove a point to me; which was that even though I was a proud member of fauj, Sikh religion and hailing from Punjab, I could do without the elixir of life. Suddenly from an irresponsible vagabond I stepped into the sober though somewhat sombre world of the nek aadmi.
Accolades started flowing in a-plenty. In addition, I also became the butt of many jokes. I sought refuge in the friendship of SK Sharma, an Air Electric officer and a Brahmin with a keen sense of humour.
Do you remember the Catch 22 logic of Yossarian’s friend Orr who had a bucktoothed smile due to crab apples in his cheeks? He used to carry rubber balls in his hands. So when anyone teased him about having crab apples in his cheeks, he used to tell them that he had rubber balls and they were not in his cheeks but in his hands! Well I tried the same logic for my perennial sobriety, through my friendship with SK Sharma. Whenever, anyone told me that I was wonky, I used to point towards SK Sharma and say that whereas I had recently become a teetotaller SKS had been so from the time of his being at his mother’s knee onwards. In this ingenious manner my friendship with SKS helped me ward off many barbs targeted at me.
Our friendship had just begun to bloom when the blow stuck us. Sharma and I used to go by our four-wheelers (cars) anywhere and everywhere and had sold off our two wheelers (scooters and mobikes). Since we didn’t indulge, we had the spare money for the fuel and we had just begun to enjoy ourselves in our combined world of puritanism. The blow that stuck us was that the Government of India, without consulting SK and I, suddenly raised the petrol prices from Rupees 10.50 a litre (in Tamilnadu) to Rupees 13.25 – an almost 30 per cent increase.
The next evening, since it was his turn, I waited for SK to pick me up from my house in Castle Quarters to go to WGC (Wellington Gymkhana Club) to play billiards. He arrived at the appointed hour but instead of chuckles of laughter and sunniness that used to herald his arrival, I noticed that he was competing with an Egyptian mummy for years of lifelessness. I got into the front left seat of his car and we arrived at the club. Nothing was said between us since the news had killed our enthusiasm almost totally. He played the first shot and I noticed that he offered me an easy in-off followed by red potting and promise of many other geometric possibilities.
I applied sufficient chalk to the tip of my cue and took my stance for what I hoped would be a long break. And it is precisely at this time that SK chose to break the agonising silence of that evening.
“Have you heard the bad news Sir?” he asked.
“Yes” I replied icily so as to cap all further conversation until I had completed my break of at least 30 points.
“I am afraid” he continued with determination, “It is going to affect us the most.”
I had no choice but to break my stance as the Tsunami was almost at my door-step. I put the handling end of the cue down and my look asked him to explain.
“Well Sir” he explained, “Both of us don’t smoke, drink or have any such vices. In order to offset the increased cost of petrol, all that the drinkers, for example, have to do is to cut down an equivalent amount of their drinking and they land up with the same expenditure as they used to incur earlier. You and I have no such cushion.”
I was immediately reminded of a dialogue from a Smita Patil movie that went like this: “Nangi kyaa dhoye kyaa nichode?” (A poor naked woman doesn’t have enough to wash and squeeze out)
We quickly finished the game that SK once again won easily. He dropped me back home and I changed and drove my own car back to WGC. Ordering a series of drinks at the bar had become for me a matter of life and death. A Brahmin with his simple wit had put an end to my short-lived abstinence; I was already preparing to offset the next fuel price hike.
The bar where I drowned my sorrows caused by fuel price hike (Courtesy: wellingtongymkhanagolfclub.golfgaga.com)
By the time I left DSSC I had adequately prepared to offset fuel price hikes for the next decade or so!
The title doesn’t seem to go well with the constant struggle that the armed forces seem to be having for obtaining adequate remuneration for the serving and retired personnel. Curiously, this intense – and at times, bitter – struggle is not with the government but with another arm under the government (just like the armed forces) called bureaucracy. Bureaucracy or babugiri has relentlessly endeavoured to keep the armed forces on a tight leash and is often seen fighting tooth and nail anything given to the faujis as just job satisfaction.
This article, however, is not about the babus’ penchant for “saving public money” by suggesting re-usable condoms. You can’t get the better of them by writing articles or returning your medals at rallies at Jantar Mantar in New Delhi. They know every Jantar and Mantar for keeping the armed forces essaying to get out from the maze they have put them in.
Admiral SM Nanda, the CNS with Mrs Indira Gandhi, the PM (direct access and not through the babus!)
This article, on the other hand, is about how rich the armed forces personnel were. That they were and are rich in commitment, valour, values and patriotism is already an established fact with very few exceptions. This article is about their richness in money terms. I have taken me and family as test case since no officer in the armed forces would be as poor as I was when I served the armed forces of this great country.
Why did I choose to be poor? I had my anakh (Punjabi word meaning Pride or Honour) as a young man born in a Punjabi family wherein they would do anything to keep their anakh. I had seen my father exhibiting it in large measure when he married my mom. He won’t expect and accept a single paisa from anyone that included his parents and her parents. A self-made man, he boasted with loud guffaws that he was a king.
So, unconsciously, I followed his example, but went several steps ahead of him. As the train took me to the Naval Academy in Jun 1973, I decided that there won’t be a single occasion whence I would take anything in money or in kind from my parents. I was on my own and I became fiercely independent.
The Navy looked after all my needs. The highest pay that I got in the Navy was as a Midshipman, Acting Subaltern Lieutenant and then Lieutenant; that is all before the age of thirty. I could eat and drink merrily and have sufficient left over to see movies and buy me shirts from Charagh Din and other clothes from shops in Colaba; the kind I could never afford again during my remaining career in the Navy. What is more, we could afford to dine, once in a while, at restaurants like Delhi Durbar, Khyber, and in restaurants of Taj and Oberoi hotels. And then we had our clubs and messes that gave us a life-style that many were envious of.
We could also go abroad once in a while on ship visits and even whilst staying within the Custom regulations we could buy the latest in two-in-one music systems and cameras. Imported Canteen goods from ship-chandlers too gave us some social edge; imagine a girl being presented with Tosca perfume or Toblerone or Hershey’s chocolates during those days when not many in the civil-street could afford them.
Also, by better and more efficient use of the resources given to them, the armed forces’ messes looked plush, glamorous and could match the fare and atmosphere of five star hotels. The decorum and traditions in these messes would actually put them even beyond these hotels. On the occasions of Mess Nights, one felt like a king with the wives matching the deportment of royal families. I don’t remember many occasions when there was any lengthy and persistent talk about how poorly we were paid.
The average countrymen vied with one another to get a glimpse of the impeccably turned out men and women in uniform on the Republic Day at Rajpath. Those who had the privilege of having attended a naval function, for example, told of their experiences proudly in public fora and media.
A view of the RD Parade of 1951. Countrymen vying with one another to have a glimpse of the smartly turned out men in uniform (Pic courtesy: www.pinterest.com)
On special occasions like Navy Ball, the elite of the city vied with one another to be seen in such functions; Navy was a way of life that was looked up to. An old time video of a Navy Ball shows the best film-stars and personalities in Hindi film industry attending the Navy Ball: Mohammad Rafi, Raj Kapoor, Raj Kumar, Rajendra Kumar, Vyjayanthimala, Nutan etc.
The first “Navy Day” on December 04 was celebrated in 1972. On this Day when the Navy dedicated itself anew to the service of the nation, the Army Postal Service Corps (56 APO) brought out a Special Cover to commemorate the Navy Day on 4 December 1972.
The government had intended it to be so; so as to make the difficult, challenging and life-sacrificing profession of armed forces attractive for the youth of the country. It was an acknowledgement of the tough and risky lives that they led. The government voiced this in various fora and documents. No one had reckoned that the wily babu would not envy this life-style in the manner of the common countrymen; but, would like to bring it down to the level wherein armed forces personnel would have to beg and agitate for their rights and privileges.
PM Indira Gandhi with the crew of INS Vikrant, the ship that helped her win the 1971 War (Pic courtesy: Indian Express)
Gradually, armed forces men fell down to tenth or beyond choice of eligible women for marriage. The babu laughed smugly. Gradually, everyone wanted to become a babu; leaving the profession of arms for the desperate, third-class, and less than ordinary men and women. The babu patted himself on the back. Gradually, people seemed to forget that whilst we have the finest armed forces in the world, we also have one of world’s worst bureaucracy. The babu smiled with self-satisfaction. Gradually, the armed forces personnel returned their medals, sat on hunger-strikes, and were reduced to the dishonourable ways of the netas and the babus. The babu guffawed triumphantly and said, “Now, I have got them where I wanted them to be. They are as bad as the rest of us. I got fed up of listening to them being the saviours of the country.”
She liked the ring of the year 2222. Now that Hinglish had become the largest spoken language in the world, people in America, Germany, France and England and many other hitherto unheard of countries all spoke in Hinglish and ushered in the year 2222 with sounds of Bai Bai. The commentators on BBC and CNN channel had tough time reporting whether they were asking for Maid Maid or saying Good-bye to the year 2221. The commentator on IBC (Indian Broadcasting Corporation) Abdul Mahavir Singh however knew precisely why Bai Bai was important. Some three billion men in the most populous country in the world, India, had got fed up of household chores that their dominant wives subjected to day in and day out and were demanding Bai Bai, a title for a male or man-servant; the title having been chosen by women who felt that it required twice the man-servants to do a maid’s job.
Her name was Marilyn Zahida Singh; such names had come about by a decree of India’s Prime Minister Fatima Elizabeth Kumari. India had become the most secular country in the world; hence, all names of men and women above 18 years of age (the age for voting), by law, had to have names from at least three communities figuring in them. Indian politicians, the most secular of the lot, as always, had names as long as complete couplets of the 15th century mystic poet and saint Kabir. There was hardly any community or caste whose name was left out unless they were sure that such a community was redundant in the forthcoming 2222 elections for the 2222 seats (another importance of the Bai Bai year) of the People’s Gantantra Majlis (Names of Houses in Parliament had to follow the rule as given in the decree for names of people; indeed almost all names – say, of parks, monuments, schools, colleges – were to be likewise).
Marilyn sat in the park named after India’s great-lover-of-ahimsa Maulana Mohansingh Kipling Gandhi and thought how nice it would be if she had had a good husband like many of her friends in the Indian Kootnitik Bahria, a name adopted for the Indian Navy after it had become strategic with the induction of 22 or Bai (another importance of the year Bai Bai) nuclear submarines. Her husband Ravinder Pervez Stalin Ravi just sat at home and wrote his stupid blog whose spellings had changed in honour of the year Bai Bai and was now called Sun22anyname.
Marilyn Zahida Singh was an Admiral in the Navy having been given command of a coastal defence vessel Begum Ahilya Kaur. Abdul Vikram Singh Committee (Short title: AVSC) Part 22 (another importance of Bai Bai year) report had ensured that Rear Admiral was now the lowest rank in the Bahria and within a few years a person became Vice Admiral and then Admiral. The ranks after that were dependent upon the job requirement, eg, Admiral of the Minesweeping Squadron and Supreme Admiral of the IKB. Men had stopped going into the Navy as most of them were busy putting up anecdotes of early 21st century on a group called HIAOOU* when their grandfathers, great grandfathers and great great grandfathers were in the Navy. Nobody quite understood what the Chinese sounding name Hiaoou meant or stood for. But, amongst the members it had become a form of greeting, eg:
Member A: Hiaoou there!
Member B: Hiaoou to you too. Just loved your latest and original and very relevant story about the level of commitment amongst women in the United States Navy and another absolutely original one about buying a bicycle with a carrier or stand. (An “original” joke on HIAOOU was deemed to be the one which had been put up less than ten thousand times).
Sitting in the park, Admiral Marilyn Zahida Singh thought about whistling at two men going past; but then two things stopped her. One, People’s Gantantara Majlis had passed a new law on the Protection of Indian Aadmi against Sexual Harassment and Other Offences; and two, both looked straight ahead mortally scared of sideways glances in a predominantly female society. Even at that she would have whistled just to have some fun and also knowing that people from the armed forces didn’t have to follow laws; but, she remembered how her husband Ravinder had touched her feet in the morning when she left for work (Indian traditions, she felt were stupid and this two century old tradition of men touching the feet of their spouses had to be put a stop to; she was liberal minded and often talked about Men’s Emancipation and Empowerment of Men) and had entreated her not to flirt with men. She loved him and he was nice to kids. Despite Sun22anyname, he found time to cook and often made her favourite dish Sambhar very well.
Suddenly there was a beep on her 22G phone and the screen had the Admiral of the Eastern Fleet Lolita Rahim Das telling her, together with an inlay of the map of Indian Ocean, that Somali pirates (who had kept on increasing their area of operations) had attacked a Shipping Corporation of India vessel Subedar Major Hoshiyar Sajjid Turner, MVrC off the coast of Japan and she, Marilyn, should sail with despatch to be there. They already had the Mistress of the tanker on video conferencing call and she told the ship’s Mistress to await her arrival. The other SOPs for her appeared on the screen immediately.
She called the Pirate vessel and demanded video conferencing with the lead pirate. They insisted on texting only. She had no choice; you can’t dictate terms to pirates nearly four thousand miles away. At one stage she lost her kurta and called them SoBs when the pirates demanded 600 trillion rupees as ransom money (Rupee was now trading at only 1000 to a US Dollar after the new Indian PM Manmohan Fakhruddin Smith’s economic reforms, which had pulled the Rupee out of its worst ever 1669 to a US Dollar). At that time, she had no idea of the surprise that awaited her in this Global War on Piracy that was going for more than two centuries.
Marilyn quickly calculated that at her speed of 500 knots enabled by a miniaturised nuclear plant, it would take her nearly eight hours to reach off Japan; also taking into account that in her passage through Malacca Straits, she would have no choice but to reduce speed to less than 300 knots in keeping with the International Regulations about Safety of Navigation in Channels and Gulfs 2179. The regulation was already 43 years old and was due for revision since everybody knew that in some of the channels proceeding at such low speeds as 300 Knots was literally sailing into the hands of the pirates. But, China was stridently opposed to the amendment until the United States admitted that all vessels must keep clear of South China Sea since the Chinese had renamed it as Mao Lake and had claimed it as Internal Waters of China.
Begum Ahilya Kaur was equipped with the latest state-of-art laser guided Pepper Spray Missile Launchers and Marilyn had ensured that she always had the WWR of the ammo missiles on board to meet any contingency. These missiles could decapitate pirates at a range of nearly 300 miles. But, she knew that this time through she would have to launch the deadly missiles at closer range so that whilst incapacitating the women pirates, the Mistress of the merchant tanker and the crew would be protected against the ill effects of Pepper.
One of PSMs as seen by Admiral Marilyn Zahida Singh with her vessel in the background! (Pic courtesy: www.youtube.com)
There had been an international move to ban such biological agents as pepper spray missiles; but, women’s organisations (there were millions of such organisations on the earth; lately, the United Nations had changed its name to United Nations of Women) had nipped the move in the bud by pointing out that women had to suffer pepper in the kitchens for centuries and now that it had become a WMD or Weapon of Male Destruction, why couldn’t women have some fun?
The Coastal Defence Vessel Begum Ahilya Kaur sailed at 2222 hours on the night of 22 Feb 2222 and headed for the pirates. She spoke to her ship’s company of 22 women live on the secure video on their watches and explained the mission to them. There was general euphoria in the mess decks as the GoI permitted 22 per cent of the loot of the pirates to be shared amongst the ship’s company depending upon their rank. Marilyn wasn’t thinking of the loot; she had enough and she didn’t really crave material things. Last time she had got the IKB Medal 2 Bravo (Medals had become so many in the Indian Armed Forces that they were now merely numbered; the highest was 1 Alpha) for a Search And Rescue mission. Indeed, women easily had about a hundred to their credit within about 5 years of joining service. The rule was to wear specified ones on different days of the week. Still an IKB 1 Alpha was worth having. Marilyn dreamt that IKB 1 Alpha would soon be hers after teaching a lesson to Somali pirates off Japan. She thought of grabbing a few hours of shut-eye before facing the pirates. The sunrise was at 0422 hours and she would be less than a thousand miles from the pirate ship.
Satellite tracking was on and all the time giving the picture of the SCI tanker and the pirate vessel. Even at night, the thermal imaging camera pictures were of very good quality. On instructions from her, the Mistress of SCI ship had conveyed to pirates that there was a sudden machinery breakdown and engineers were working to get it right. On persistent queries from the pirates, she had told them that expected time of defect rectification would be about 0700 hrs next day. The pirate vessel was, therefore going round and round the merchant tanker. Marilyn knew that that made the task of using her lethal PSMs even more difficult. To be on the safe side she had asked the merchant tanker Mistress and crew to put on gas masks.
At 0520 hours she got up. At 0530 hrs, she sounded Action Stations. At 0545 hrs she brought down the speed to a comfortable 250 knots and gave order to bring the two PSM launchers to readiness State One. She momentarily closed her eyes and pictured IKB Medal 1 Alpha being pinned to the left hand top pocket of her tunic.
As soon as the pirate ship came within the range of laser optical device she trained it to have a look at the lead pilot. She froze. At first glance it looked like as if the pirate hadn’t had a haircut for a number of years. But then, when the pirate turned around, she saw him….nay, her. And this is what she saw:
(Pic courtesy: ooche813.blogspot.com)
Her dream of the medal drifted away. She rued that she had sailed nearly four thousand miles from home, all the effort put in, and finally it turned out to be a female pirate. Naturally, International Women’s Law, for which 222 countries were signatories, did not permit PSMs or Pepper Spray Missiles to be used against women.
Her hopes of another medal being pinned on her tunic lay in shambles. She closed her eye and saw the medal disappearing from her vision.
She opened her eyes and heard Ravinder telling her, “Lyn hurry up and pin my medals on the tunic; I am getting late for the divisions. And, please stop daydreaming; last time you pinned my name tally upside down and I had to stand drinks for everyone.”
As she hurried with the final touches on his tunic, she straightened the brass buttons; five in front and two on the epaulettes, she thought of Bai Bai year wistfully. Admiral Marilyn Zahida Singh my foot, she thought; it was more like civilian bearer Lyn and possibly Leading Cook First Class Lyn.
Bye bye, Bai Bai; she thought, you can’t dream too far ahead in time.
_______________________________________
*HIAOOU is a group on the Facebook and is expanded to: ‘Humour In And Out Of Uniform’.
Here is the Link: https://www.facebook.com/groups/faujihumour/
कुछ नहीं भूला
कुछ नहीं खोया
कुछ था भी नहीं
कुछ है भी नहीं
ओस कि बूँद थी क्या
या उड़ता हुआ गुबार?
हवा के झोंके की
अपनी कोई हस्ती है क्या?
ख्वाब था
ख्वाब है
हमें अपनी खबर न थी
उन्हें मेरी खबर न थी
तिनकों के आशियाँ में
बस्ते थे हम, और अब
यादों के धुंदले साये में
अब और ठिकाना ढूँढ़ते हैं
ये धुएं के महल
ये गहरे अँधेरे
ये वीरान मरहले
ये हैं मेरे हमसफ़र
मेरे हमदर्द मेरे अपने
कौन छीनेगा इन्हे मुझसे?
शुक्र है तेरी मुहब्बत में
कुछ तो मिला है
कुछ तो बचा है
Kuchh nahin bhoola
Kuchh nahin khoya
Kuchh tha bhi nahin
Kuchh hai bhi nahin.
Ose ki boond thi kyaa
Ya udata hua gubaar?
Hawa ke jhonke ki
Apni koi hasti hai kyaa?
Khwaab tha
Khwaab hai
Hamen apni khabar na thi
Unhe meri khabar na thi.
Tinako ke aashiyaan mein
Baste the ham, aur ab hain
Yaadon ke dhundle sayon mein.
Ab aur dhikaana dhoondte hain
Ye dhuyen ke mahal
Ye gehre andhere
Ye viraan marhale.
Yehi hain mere hamsafar
Mere hamdard, mere apne.
Kaun chheenega inhen mujhase?
Shukr hai teri muhabbat main
Kuchh to apna mila hai
Kuchh to apna bacha hai.
CHALTA HAI – MOHAN RAM-BHAROSE is Chalta Hai’s first attempt at movie making and is already being talked about as a potential Oscar winner. Here are some of the scenes that have already been shot (being an international movie, some of the dialogues are in English, whilst others are in Hindi; the ones which are in Punjabi have been deleted in order to avoid getting an ‘A’ Certificate for the movie):
Scene One: A warship has been wrecked and is seen going down in almost still waters (Sea State 1). The hero of the movie, a certain RR, (not to be confused with another Ram, eg, Raja Ram or with the expression “Ram Ram” (of ‘RR Satya Hai’ fame) is seen in sea-water clinging for dear life to a wooden grating along with his friend RS (Raavan Singh; he was christened as Ram Singh on birth, but, after he joined WATT, all the constructors led by one whose name has two Hindu gods strength, pronounced him as the most evil man on earth: Raavan).
RR (speaking from the memory of the most ‘intellectual’ books that he had read (written by René Goscinny and illustrated by Albert Uderzo): Shiver my timbers; what happened.
RS (as calmly as explaining A for Apple to a child): Our ship went down.
RR (Perplexed, similar to his hero Obelix): But, did we hit something?
RS: No.
RR (Seeking clarity): Did something hit us?
RS: No.
RR: (Getting that bolt from the blue): The Pakis? Jehadis? LeT? Al Qaeda? Indian Mujahideen? What then?
RS: (Furiously shaking his nut even though almost fully immersed in water) No, no, no, no….for Ram’s sake no. And don’t keep saying “What”; this Watt only got us into thick soup with all our friends. At last count it was 93 Likes, 1 Share and 46 obnoxious comments.
RR: (Losing his patience): But _____(Censored Being in Punjabi; in future: CBP) huaa kyaa?
RS: Nothing huaa Sir; the ship was as it is (Mohan) Ram bharose. Starts singing: “Yeh to hona hi thaa”.
Fadeout with gradually fading notes of the song Yeh to hona hi tha.
Scene Two: Shows an old man MR, wistfully remembering his best ship designs: paper-boats or kaagaz ki kashtiyan. This is the scene wherein the credits of the movie are flashed. The old man, in the background, is seen lowering some of his best ‘designs’ into the water. Gentle notes of Jagjit Singh’s ghazal accompany the credits:
Ye daulat bhi le lo, Ye shauhrat bhi le lo, Bhale chheen lo mujhase meri jawaani; Magar mujhako lauta do DND ka wo tenure Wo kaagaz ki kashti Wo baarish ka paani.
Scene Three: Shows MR sitting in his office in DND with a huge map of the world. A freshman constructor walks in.
FC: What is with this huge map of the world, Sir?
MR: I am planning the next indigenous design of a navy ship.
FC (Scratching his head, admittedly a great pastime with NCs): I don’t understand what has an indigenous design got to do with the world map?
MR: You are new to the constructor branch. We have to cull the indigenous design from as many foreign countries as we can visit.
FC: But Sir you just finished visiting dozens of countries from Iran to England to Russia; indeed, the number of countries that you have visited is much more than any ship designed by you in a lifetime would visit. Indeed, in later life, if someone were to start a Humour In Uniform group, you would have more than enough to regale them endlessly with your tales of, say, sitting in a plane in Iran full of chickens or being treated as a royal guest by a German company director. Why do you want to visit more?
MR: You will not make a good NC if you keep questioning the need to visit foreign countries extensively in search of indigenous design. In any case, the last two dozen countries that I visited were in connection with Leander – nay – Giri class of ships’ indigenous design. Now I have to go abroad to inculcate the indigenous design for modified Leander – er, Godavari class of ships. Remember, every time I go abroad we get a huge fillip for indigenous design effort.
FC: Now I get it; I too want to get into indigenous designs. I always wanted to visit Scandinavian countries.
Scene fades with FC singing: zara haule haule chalo MR ji; ham bhi peechhe hain tumhaare.
Scene Four: Commissioning ceremony of INS Ganga by PM Shri Rajiv Gandhi. Ceremony over, the commissioning CO is having a party on the quarterdeck. Both the Fleet Commander and the CO are Punjabis. Hence, some of the dialogues are CBP.
Fleet Cdr: I say Kailash, have you seen your ship’s side? It is in the pits.
KKK: I know Sir, such large scale pits were not there either in the British ships or Russian ships.
Fleet Cdr: I believe you have very large free spaces but weapon and sensor spaces are cramped.
KKK: Yes Sir. It is a ______(CBP) pity.
Fleet Cdr: And on the radar you paint louder than a carrier.
KKK: Yes Sir.
Fleet Cdr: Whose ______ (CBP) design is this?
KKK: I am not sure Sir; but, they call it Mohan Ram Bharose design.
Fleet Cdr: Strange name! Why can’t they sail on their own designed ships?
KKK: I think they are hardly ever in India to do that!
Scene fades with the notes of: Hey Rome Rome mein basane waale Ram….
Cut to last scene.
Last Scene: Opening time of a famous mobike peddling shop in Bengaluru. The owner, known by his initials ‘MR’ as most south Indians are known, is saying his prayers with dhoop and agarbatti at a sandal-wood garlanded huge picture of Rajnikant. His wife has arrived there carrying his tiffin with his breakfast.
Wife: Why do you keep praying with dhoop to Rajnikant’s picture?
MR: Because I have the same qualities as him; no one can even dream of beating me. I am fast on the draw. Indeed, I am the fastest like my idol RK.
Wife (Glancing at the morning newspaper): Have you seen the headlines today; another ship designed by you when you were in the Navy has gone down.
MR (Quick on the draw as RK): I have already analysed it as I did with others:
One, ships are manned by nincompoops; for a ship meant for 300, the AHs in NHQ put 600.
Two, my designed ships older than just a few days should be retired. My guarantee of the ships is only about a week; excluding Sunday, that is.
Three, do you think these _____s (Not CBP but still censored!) know how to operate the ships.
Wife: But, why did they sink?
MR (takes out his calculator and does extensive calculations of whose results he writes on the side-lines of the same paper carrying the news about the ship sinking): See here, my stability calculations still hold good. It should never have sunk.
Wife (Remembering something from her primary class Hindi books): Abhi to jyun kaa tyun, kunbaa dooba kyun?
MR: Search me.
The scene fades with MR having pooja thali in one hand and a brass ghanti in the other and singing the ‘hymn’: Rajnikanta fool tumhaare, mehken youn constructor ban ke…..
And his wife singing: Ram teri Ganga maili ho gayi….
The End
And then a voice over: Kahin naa jayiye meharbaan; Chalta Hai abhi aur baaki hai dost.
Chalta Hai is a group on the Facebook with the following Link:
[lineate][/lineate]Desh hamaara banega beeg power,[lineate][/lineate] Khushiyon ka ho jaayegi shower.[lineate][/lineate] Sab kuchh chalta hai….[lineate][/lineate]
[lineate][/lineate]Traffic mein ham rehte hain # One,[lineate][/lineate]Accidents for us is great fun;[lineate][/lineate]Sab kuchh chalta hai….[lineate][/lineate]
[lineate][/lineate]Ghar mein ham karte nahin kaam,[lineate][/lineate]Office mein to aaraam hi aaraam.[lineate][/lineate]Sab kuchh chalta hai…[lineate][/lineate]
[lineate][/lineate]Trains and flights are never on time,[lineate][/lineate]To be honest and upright is a crime.[lineate][/lineate]Sab kuchh chalta hai….[lineate][/lineate]
[lineate][/lineate]Rishwat khori hai way of life,[lineate][/lineate]Moonh mein Ram Ram, bagal mein knife.[lineate][/lineate] Sab kuchh chalta hai, mere bhai,[lineate][/lineate]Sab kuchh chalta hai[lineate][/lineate]
Disclaimer: All characters in the above screen play are fictional and bear no resemblance to any person living or….well, living.
I don’t know if it has changed now; but, during our times, Gunnery Officers also used to be responsible for ceremonials. Hence, somehow, ceremonies used to get into their veins. Everything was to be done with great pomp and show. C-in-C West was retiring and the Fleet was to sail for giving him a befitting farewell. A mass briefing was held at the Fleet Office and FGO was given the responsibility of explaining the finer points of all the ceremonies and accompanying manoeuvres. He and his team had prepared one chart after the other and all these were being explained with a large pointer. All of these were also parts of WFXP or Western Fleet Exercise Programme (as annexures). I hadn’t understood some of the stuff. As I mentioned in one of my earlier posts about Gunners, clarity at either end is what the Gunner likes the most. But, now, as I looked around, I noticed that one entire end wasn’t clear at all. Finally, one of the senior COs could not resist blurting out, “FGO, if you have finished making us totally confused about these manoeuvres, may we now go back to the ships and try to figure these out by ourselves?”
My Officer-in-Charge in Trials Team for acceptance of weapons and sensors in the Navy, however, was very clear about a few things: One was that he never diluted the role of his team, ie, WATT (B). He was very quick on the uptake and quickly grasped the crux of most problems without wasting much time brooding over these. Two, he enjoyed life like a true Gunner and here too he was quick on the uptake of a different kind. So whilst late Lieutenant Joy Banerjee (Trials Officer (Gunnery)) busied himself with trials of guns and associated radars and fire-control systems, our OiC looked forward to taking direct charge of these trials on Make-and-Mend days (Wednesdays and Saturdays when the navy used to have half days in a six days week). And, he made sure that his direct intervention would be just before 12:30 P.M. when most wardrooms would have PLD or Pre Lunch Drinks (PLD is a naval invention for which the Army and the Air Force do not have equivalents).
Indeed, under his active leadership as a true gunner, there was hardly any occasion of a gin-pennant being hoisted by any ship, craft or submarine in harbour, that we hadn’t made use of. (When an officer gets promoted or obtains an honour, he hoists a gin pennant on the mast to hurriedly invite all those who can see it; once again a naval tradition). The gin pennant looks like this:
In the Indian Navy, the gin goblet or glass is missing and we merely hoist the Stbd (starboard) pennant, ie, Gin Pennant without the glass.
One day, Joy reported to the Officer-in-Charge the result of his trials on the 4.5 inch twin gun of a Leander class frigate. The OiC said to remind him on Saturday morning. Meanwhile, I had done trials of their Electronic Warfare equipment and I too reported to him. He told me the same as he told Joy.
We reported the deficiencies to him on Saturday morning and he said we must visit the ship and help her get over these deficiencies. That afternoon, Joy (even though a Gunner himself) and I had made up our minds that we would be the road block in our OiC’s pathway to happiness at someone’s expense. Anyway, first we visited the EW compartment and then all the gun positions and Joy and I kept suggesting the ways to get over the anomalies. Suddenly when the OiC suggested that we could go somewhere where we could sit across the table (!) for better comprehension of the GO and EWO of the Leander, we knew it was time for us to intervene. Now, everybody would know that he was suggesting the wardroom where Heineken would soon start flowing. So, Joy and I pretended that we had left our Trial Diaries, by mistake (!) in the office and that we would visit the ship later to brief and counsel them.
The OiC, therefore, had no choice but to follow us to the gangway to beat a hasty retreat. However, here like Jeffrey Archer’s famous book, there was a twist in the tale. As we reached the gangway, we found that the brow had been removed for crane movement to load missiles on a Durg. Enquiry from the OOD revealed that it would be quite some time before the brow would be put back.
We announced for the GO and had no choice but to descend to the wardroom. The sweet click sounds of Heineken cans opening was music to our OiC’s ears. The ship’s Gunnery Officer learnt a lot that afternoon about not just 4.5 inch gun but all his weapons including small arms. The Gunnery Trials Officer, Joy Banerjee was much sobered after guzzling each can of the brew. And, your truly learnt a lesson for life: there is no such thing as an unlucky Gunner. Much before Paulo Coelho came on the scene, Gunners knew that if you are determined to get your heart’s desire, the elements conspire to make it happen.
P.S. I met him after a span of nearly 30 years recently and found that he had given up drinking altogether.
I was undergoing the 25th Higher Command course at the College of Combat, Mhow (Madhya Pradesh). I admired and was stunned with the Army’s outstanding capability to provide logistics at the most remote and hostile places in terms of weather, terrain and connectivity. After returning from a Northern tour to J&K, Thoise, Leh and Siachin, I was oozing with overwhelming respect for the Army, its dedication and commitment. I felt that it was the Army that was keeping Kashmir with India through its commitment and strategic sense.
One day, I was sitting with a few Army course mates at the bar (even though I don’t drink) and enjoying their conversation. I told them that I am very fond of old Hindi songs and a particular song: Aa laut ke aaja mere meet, which I used to hear at my nana and nani’s place on Murphy radio, and which was Binaca #1 song in the year had me captivated. I told them that it would be nice to visit Rani Roopmati’s palace or pavilion, at Mandu, about 75 kms from Mhow.
(Pic courtesy: www.bcmtouring.com )
I had intended it as a casual visit with a few of us going there on a sunday forenoon in a leisurely sort of way. So often, in the Navy, we have undertaken such visits to Lonavala, or Hamla at the spur of the moment.
Three days later, a thick document landed in my locker. It was titled: ‘Orders for the Visit of HC 25 Officers to Rani Roopmati’s Palace’. It had various appendices and annexures. I noticed from the long list of addresses that it wasn’t addressed to the President of the United States and Secretary General of the UN. Most others had been taken care off. Amongst other things, the orders covered:
1. Recce.
2. Advance party and complete logistics (spelled ‘lgs’ in the orders) the men of this party had to carry. This included such small items as ash trays, saunf and tooth-picks to such big items as kitchen-tent, portable urinals, lamps, serving trays, wash basins etc.
3. A complete appendix and annexures on transport (tpt); who to report to at what time; fuel and lubricants to carry.
4. Medical contingencies.
5. Other contingencies and alternate plans with a map of the area with route chart and alternate route.
6. A list of telephone numbers that may be of use.
7. Reports to be submitted.
8. Detailed (as if this was not detailed enough) briefing would be held at….etc.
Suddenly, the casual visit was no more casual. As the lyrics of the 1959 movie Rani Roopmati starring Bharat Bhushan and Nirupa Roy, reverberated in my ears, I didn’t think of Rani Roopmati or her Pavilion in Mandu from where she could gaze at the palace of her love Baaz Bahadur. I didn’t think of Bharat Vyas, SN Tripathi and Mukesh who put the enigmatic song together that haunted me for years. Curiously, I thought of Naidus of Coimbatore, Tamilnadu (where I was posted in 1978-79). Whenever they got the urge to rough it out in the hills on an annual adventure picnic, their advance party carried air-conditioned tents for them and all the necessities of life that they were used to. And then, they would arrive to be one with Nature.
Late in the night, after reading the detailed orders, I switched on my cassette-deck and listened to Aa laut ke aa ja mere meet. Laut ke aa? Well, we hadn’t even started yet; and the song had already lost its enigma, nostalgia and fascination.
During my drinking days, the one drink that I really relished was Beer. I used to love ads and jokes about the virtues of this ale; the only sparkling drink I could afford at all times, whether posted aboard or ashore or even abroad. For example: ‘Beer drinkers make better lovers’; or, ‘Beer drinkers live longer’.
The one joke that I detested was:
“When I drink wine, the music of heavens plays softly in my ears; a slow warmth envelops me like mist in the mountains; and magical elation uplifts my mood. I can hear the jingle of distant bells……Beer, on the other hand, makes me burp.”
I, on the other hand, felt completely at home with beer and could drink it in gallons. My idea of ecstasy was to have beer on a beach in the afternoon and then sleep on the warm sand under a tree.
My home station is Kandaghat in Shimla Hills, exactly ten kms from the famous and country’s earliest Mohan Meakin’s Brewery. Golden Eagle is their brand of beer; the only beer made with spring water in India as opposed to ground water used for all the other beers. Mohan Meakin’s Brewery actually came up in 1855 at Kasauli and brewed Lion Beer. But, it soon shifted to Solan near my hometown and it is still there. Every time we pass the place, whether by road or by train, the strong smell of the brew overpowers us.
And then, one day, we visited the Brewery. It was an experience to taste the brew at its various stages. Also, the posters from the British days filled us with nostalgia. When we left the brewery, we were high on both counts.
After I joined the Navy, we could have foreign beers such as Carlsberg and Heineken. But, the first beer that I actually had abroad was the Russian Peeva during the visit of my ship Himgiri to the Black Sea port of Odessa in 1976. Ugh, what a taste it was as compared to the light ale that we were used to. Some of the officers from the ship suggested that it was perhaps recirculated beer. Most people stuck to Vodka after that; the popular drink of the Russians.
I always liked Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels having been made into movies. However, the only thing that cheesed me off was his trade-mark Martini in all the movies. Last to last year in April, I rejoiced, when I heard the news that Daniel Craig, as James Bond, in the next Bond movie would be swigging a beer. Cheers (Read: ‘Bond With The Brand’) I haven’t seen Skyfall; but, those who have seen it can tell me if he actually turns out to be a better lover because of Heineken?
Of all the incidents that I remember about my beer-drinking days, the one in Coimbatore, whereat I was posted as a young Lieutenant takes the cake. Being the junior most officer posted in Navy’s Leadership School named Agrani (to be pronounced as agranhi or Leading; however, most people have come to pronounce it as Aggraani, making it Fire Queen), I was made in-charge of producing a play to be staged in the Southern Naval Command Annual Dramatic Competition at Cochin. I made the trials and tribulations of looking for a drama and the potential actors into a play called ‘Hamara Drama’. To cut a long story short, we bagged the Best Play award and I got the Best Actor.
We were already in high spirits. However, after driving back from Cochin to Coimbatore on my co-actor Amarjeet Bajwa’s Bullet, the celebrations started in real earnest. Those days a 750 ml bottle of beer used to cost all of Five Rupees. Bajwa and I finished 95 Rupees worth of beer that night; this we came to know next morning. This makes roughly two gallons of beer in each tummy.
What do we do with this much beer? Yes, some of it goes out the Peeva way. However, we still had enough to put us in seventh heaven. That’s the time when sleep doesn’t come easily. So, against all sane warning, we went for a drunken drive and landed up in an army styled camp at Madhukarai firing range. This range is next to a hill. I looked at the nearest end of the hill with steep rocks and thorny bushes and in my drunken stupor declared to Bajwa that I felt like climbing the hill as nostalgia about my home station in Shimla Hills had overpowered me. He looked at the steep climb and concluded that it was like inviting sure death. Anyway, before he could talk me out of the idiotic idea, I had already started climbing. Looking back, we now think that one small slip and we won’t have been here to tell the story. It took us nearly an hour and a half to reach the hill-top. It was three in the morning when we reached the temple door-step.
I was about to enter the temple when Bajwa reminded me that the correct way to enter the temple was after ringing the brass bell hanging from a chain. On his orders, I went about ringing the bell in great earnestness. Suddenly we had the temple pujari, running down the hill shouting something in Tamil that we knew was: “Ghost, ghost”.
Running down the hill? Well, at this stage we discovered that on that side of the hill, there were steps from the foothill all the way up and that the steps were lit with tube-lights. And to think we nearly lost our lives climbing over slippery and steep rocks. But, then that’s the effect of beer for you.
Then there was another time when I got sozzled with beer. And this time it was not after drinking more than a gallon of it. I was undergoing the higher command course with the army and we were visiting the North East. At Kalimpong, there was an evening party for us. By this time, I had given up drinking; however, my course mates insisted I have some. I accepted. It came out that after just two mugs of it, I was already feeling high. So when the next time the steward came to serve me, I took out the white serviette and saw the bottle. It was a bottle of one He Man beer and it was 8 % strong whereas the normal lager is about 5 %. It was then revealed to me that in that part of the world, it was difficult for bar owners to obtain hard liquor permits. So, they obtained what could be easily obtained; that is, beer permit. And, since the locals wanted their money’s worth or literally bang for their buck, they preferred to go to the maximum strength permissible.
(Pic courtesy: www.travellers-content.co.uk)
Later, of course, I discovered that there are other equally strong beers such as Khajuraho, Kalyani Black Label and Haywards 5000; however, I always preferred the light variety so that one could spend hours devouring it and feel nice about it.
When I went to Spain, I discovered that their beer Cerveza is really light beer both in alcohol content and in colour. I also came to know that after Germany, Spain is the second most beer-guzzling country in Europe. On the evenings of the weekends, any bar would have about a hundred young people inside and another three to five hundred outside drinking beer. I felt totally at home there and guzzled beer in large quantities.
Urdu poets can write voluminous tributes to grape wines and even have songs and ghazals about them; but, to me, my loveliest piece of poetry is a sign at a roadside bar in my part of the world: CHILD BEAR SERVED HEAR. I still freak out on that.
