THE PARTY - Lieutenant Commander Deepak Sikand (Retd.)

THE PARTY


Lt Cdr Deepak Sikand (Retd)



It was nothing like the Party to which Hurundi V Bakshi (Peter Sellers) went in the movie by the same name. Yet it remains a singularly unique party to which I have ever been. Unique because we were the organizers, hosts and guests as well! You guessed it right. Only Midshipmen are capable of organizing such parties.


I often watch an advertisement on the TV for a Scooty where the girls are enjoying the ride while the jingle ‘Why should boyz have all the fun!’ fills the background score. Today, perhaps the girls have all the fun. But I am talking of 36 years ago when Boys and Fun were synonyms. Indian Naval Midshipmen were a species who just couldn’t have enough of it. And we would brag about our escapades in the Gun Room until the ‘Sub of the Gun’ came and broke up this game of one upmanship.


Let me tell you a little about our background. Most of us went to Sanik Schools or other all boys boarding schools. We came home only on holidays at the end of the term. There was no contact with girls. Sisters did not count. They sported long hair and the only fun we had was when we pulled their hair. Ditto in NDA; ‘cept that we had outgrown the hair pulling routine. In NDA, the best we did was to ogle at the instructors pretty daughters during the Saturday evening movies. Some of us were bold enough to befriend them and eventually propose and marry them. This, of course, was a minuscule minority as there were not enough girls to go around.


Midshipmen time opened up a whole new world for us. Entire batches were bundled up in the Gun Rooms of Vikrant or Mysore. We sported meaningless epaulettes and squirmed when burly Master Chiefs saluted us. Every month we received a princely sum of INR 270.20 as salary for work we never did. The 20 paisa at the appendage to our salary statement went towards the mandatory Revenue stamp affixed to the Receipt for funds generously received from the taxpayer’s coffers.


The money was good. My friends at Xavier’s, Sydnham and JJ school received paltry stipends from their pappies which were only sufficient for Samosa and Chai at the College Canteen. We, on the other hand stepped down from the gangway of Vikrant and into the waiting taxi. Taxis ran by the meter. Fare conversion cards did not apply then. We watched the evening show from the balconies of Regal or Sterling at Rs. 5 a ticket, had Tandoori Murg at the Khyber and returned on board happy and content by yet another taxi. Our feet never touched the ground. The money almost ran out by the 20th of the month. Our routine changed slightly then. We signed bar chits for the Orangeboom beer in the Gun Room which came at 50p, did not compromise on the taxi and went to Bade Mian for Kebabs instead. Good life, except that girls had yet to enter our world.


Our imagination ran wild when we recounted our evening’s escapades to our mates back in the Gun Room. Girls of all manner and description were bending over backwards to befriend us. We described in detail as to how we held hands and danced a lazy foxtrot until it was time to say Auld Lang Syne and so on. Some of the more gullible amongst us listened to these stories in utter astonishment. When this routine had gone on for too long, some of the less privileged ones (read gullible again) suggested we have a party and invite all these pretty lasses of Mumbai. Someone fetched a paper and pencil and we started working out the arrangements for the party; Venue, Food, Dinks, Music and so on.


Now came the most important part; that of deciding the guest list. Someone said he would bring two girls, another said three. I even heard a figure of seven being mentioned. Remembering his cadets’ time passing out ball, someone suggested we invite the Nursing Officers from Magadella House. He was immediately shouted down by the rest. We wanted real chicks from town and not Lady Officers. When the final tally of guests was taken, we found that the girls would outnumber boys 3:1 if all of them were to be invited. Requests by more sober amongst us to tone down the number of individual’s guests were met by a vociferous opposition from the prospective host. The girl/boy ratio finally stood at 2.5:1 in favor of the fairer sex.


We approached our training officer, Lt Ashok Batra to help us arrange ‘The Party’. He agreed to book the Green Room of WNC Mess for the following Saturday evening. And so the ball was set rolling for the ‘Mother of all Parties’. For some inexplicable reason there was no further talk of the Party in the Gun Room for the rest of the week. By a strange coincidence, no one was going ashore either. There seemed to be a total absence of excitement on the appointed day as we got ready to go ashore and escort our guests to The Party.


The first Host arrived at the venue sans Guest and 30 minutes late. He went to the bar, picked up his drink and pondered upon it from the remotest corner. The rest of us trickled in one by one sans guest, of course, and followed the example of our predecessor. Not a word was being spoken. No one looked the other in the eye or even acknowledged his presence. No one even thought of switching on the music to brighten things up. A Funeral atmosphere prevailed.


At about 2230 hrs Ashok Batra accompanied by Akku Roy ascended the steps leading to the Green Room with the intention of breaking up the party lest it go out of hand. They became all the most apprehensive when they heard no sounds of gay revellery (No pun intended) emanating from the venue. It was only after they entered the Green Room that the real truth dawned upon them.