New Delhi, Mar 5 (ANI): The Indian Navy is all set to enter the record books by becoming the first ever organisation in the world to conquer all the three poles - Mount Everest, South Pole and North Pole.
Till now, only 23 persons have achieved the rare feat of visiting all three poles, and only 64 people in the world have visited one of the poles and Mt. Everest. Therefore, any organisation or nation in the world cannot rival the feat.
The Navy had already achieved the feat of conquering Mt. Everest under the leadership of Commander Satyabrata Dam on May 19, 2004. The Naval team successfully completed their ski traverse to the Geographic South Pole on December 28, 2006.
The success of the above two missions made the Navy team the first Indian Team to Ski Traverse to the Geographic South Pole, the first submariners in the World to reach the South Pole and first Indian Everest Summiteers to reach the South Pole.
After this stupendous success, the Indian Navy again under the leadership of Commander Dam, is set to conquer the North Pole. The team will leave India on March 24 and reach the North Pole around the second week of April.
This expedition would unfurl the flags of India and the Navy at the final frontier of adventure activity that challenges the human spirit of courage and survival.
The North Pole expedition team comprises of Commander Satyabrata Dam, Lt Avinash Khajuria, Surgeon Lt Ajay Sharma, MCERA 1 Raj Kumar, POMA Rakesh Kumar, POMA Vikas Kumar, LME R Pandey, SEA 1 B Singh, Sea 1 Manoj Vats, MA 1 Sonam Tamchos.
Commander Dam, Vikas Kumar and Rakesh Kumar were also part of the Navy team, which conquered Mt. Everest and the North Pole. Eight members of the North Pole team were also part of the South Pole expedition.
Surgeon Lt Ajay Sharma will become the only doctor in the world to go to both poles. The oldest member of the team is Commander Dam, who is 43, and the youngest member is Sonam Tamchos, who is yet to celebrate his 21st birthday.
Among the challenges the team will have to face are temperatures ranging between minus 30 to minus 35 degrees Celsius, and average wind speeds of 80 km an hour.
The team, which includes members from West Bengal, Ladakh, Himachal Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, Jammu and Kashmir, represents a microcosm of India.
The expedition would involve very little rest, reserves of determination, stamina, skill and team spirit. The team will take about 15 days, walking 10 to 12 hours a day.
To communicate with the rest of the world the team would be carrying an Iridium hand held satellite phone. (ANI)
Monday, March 17, 2008
WINNERS – LOSERS
This had appeared in the Quarterdeck some years ago in another Avatar. I do not have the original and hence am rewriting it in another format.
I have never served with or known Raja Menon from close quarters. He has a brilliant mind; of this I have no doubt. I have read some of his articles in magazines though I have not read any of his books. I wish the Mandarins at New Delhi’s South Block had included him in their think tanks. His mind is a national asset; at least as far the defence of this country is concerned. Let me tell you of the other side of this ‘Beautiful Mind’ that I have actually encountered.
We were a carefree newly married couple staying temporarily on the second floor of Vizag’s Amzari Park apartment allotted to Ashim Gupta who had loaned us its use while he was away on annual leave. The Menons were on the ground floor. The first floor was also allotted to a newlywed couple where the doctor husband was posted away in Port Blair. Newlyweds are expected to be carefree. We were no exception. We forgot the house keys inside and inadvertently locked ourselves out when we went to Officers Institute for the evening. There being no duplicate keys, we had no other means to gain entry into the apartment when we returned. In desperation, I asked my ground floor neighbor and fellow submariner for help. He offered me a ladder, which I was to use to gain access to the first floor balcony and then use it to climb on to my own balcony. Simple plan but difficult in execution. The lady shrieked when she saw a stranger emerge from nowhere in her balcony. I was at a loss of words but Raja, who was holding the base of the ladder was not. ‘This guy is not stopping by, he is only passing through.’ He explained to the frightened young bride.
Several years later, Vagir was operating off the East Coast. I was the mate. We had a very tough schedule and were drained out by the time the exercises concluded. There was still one final serial left. We were to double bank with Amba anchored off Pudimadaka Lighthouse near Vizag. It was an interactive exercise to test the Submarine support capabilities of Amba. Raja Menon was in command of this Submarine Support Ship. He used to send us Puri Bhaji by boat, whenever we surfaced at the end of the day’s exercises with the fleet. Expecting similar treatment we had mentally prepared ourselves for a couple of days R&R in Amba’s air-conditioned cabins. We tied up alongside Amba and the Sangway was lowered from the Mother vessel. Imagine our horror when Amba’s telegraphist handed us a two-page exercise schedule. The first serial was a tug-of-war competition with the Amba team scheduled to commence in 15 minutes time.
‘Their’s not to question why. Their’s but to do and die.’ Alfred, Lord Tennyson put down words to this effect when he wrote his famous poem, ‘The charge of the Light Brigade’. Still sweating in our greasy Khakis we mustered on Amba’s Quarterdeck, ready to meet the challenge. A team was quickly formed and we were ready. Our opponents appeared not only fresh and eager but seemed to have been picked from ENC’s best sportsmen.
The result was a foregone conclusion. Our team was dragged away in each of the rounds as if overcome by a giant Tsunami. Absolutely one-sided competition if ever there was one. How could a fellow submariner do this to us we wondered. If the whole world wondered at the charge of the light brigade, (That is if you believe Lord Tennyson) then this tug of war would also be a subject of conversation in many a submarine wardroom as well as crew quarters in the Fore and Aft ends. And subject of conversation it did become, but of a different kind. For, you see, there was a twist in this tale.
The two Ships Companies gathered for the inevitable prize distribution, however one sided the competition may have been. A cake was brought and the Captain began his speech. ‘Vagir put up a good fight but Amba did well to win the competition’ said the Captain. A big cheer went up from Amba Ship’s company. The Chief PTI of Amba prepared to receive the prize and even took a couple of steps towards it when the Captain resumed, ‘and the prize goes to ………the losers.’
I have never served with or known Raja Menon from close quarters. He has a brilliant mind; of this I have no doubt. I have read some of his articles in magazines though I have not read any of his books. I wish the Mandarins at New Delhi’s South Block had included him in their think tanks. His mind is a national asset; at least as far the defence of this country is concerned. Let me tell you of the other side of this ‘Beautiful Mind’ that I have actually encountered.
We were a carefree newly married couple staying temporarily on the second floor of Vizag’s Amzari Park apartment allotted to Ashim Gupta who had loaned us its use while he was away on annual leave. The Menons were on the ground floor. The first floor was also allotted to a newlywed couple where the doctor husband was posted away in Port Blair. Newlyweds are expected to be carefree. We were no exception. We forgot the house keys inside and inadvertently locked ourselves out when we went to Officers Institute for the evening. There being no duplicate keys, we had no other means to gain entry into the apartment when we returned. In desperation, I asked my ground floor neighbor and fellow submariner for help. He offered me a ladder, which I was to use to gain access to the first floor balcony and then use it to climb on to my own balcony. Simple plan but difficult in execution. The lady shrieked when she saw a stranger emerge from nowhere in her balcony. I was at a loss of words but Raja, who was holding the base of the ladder was not. ‘This guy is not stopping by, he is only passing through.’ He explained to the frightened young bride.
Several years later, Vagir was operating off the East Coast. I was the mate. We had a very tough schedule and were drained out by the time the exercises concluded. There was still one final serial left. We were to double bank with Amba anchored off Pudimadaka Lighthouse near Vizag. It was an interactive exercise to test the Submarine support capabilities of Amba. Raja Menon was in command of this Submarine Support Ship. He used to send us Puri Bhaji by boat, whenever we surfaced at the end of the day’s exercises with the fleet. Expecting similar treatment we had mentally prepared ourselves for a couple of days R&R in Amba’s air-conditioned cabins. We tied up alongside Amba and the Sangway was lowered from the Mother vessel. Imagine our horror when Amba’s telegraphist handed us a two-page exercise schedule. The first serial was a tug-of-war competition with the Amba team scheduled to commence in 15 minutes time.
‘Their’s not to question why. Their’s but to do and die.’ Alfred, Lord Tennyson put down words to this effect when he wrote his famous poem, ‘The charge of the Light Brigade’. Still sweating in our greasy Khakis we mustered on Amba’s Quarterdeck, ready to meet the challenge. A team was quickly formed and we were ready. Our opponents appeared not only fresh and eager but seemed to have been picked from ENC’s best sportsmen.
The result was a foregone conclusion. Our team was dragged away in each of the rounds as if overcome by a giant Tsunami. Absolutely one-sided competition if ever there was one. How could a fellow submariner do this to us we wondered. If the whole world wondered at the charge of the light brigade, (That is if you believe Lord Tennyson) then this tug of war would also be a subject of conversation in many a submarine wardroom as well as crew quarters in the Fore and Aft ends. And subject of conversation it did become, but of a different kind. For, you see, there was a twist in this tale.
The two Ships Companies gathered for the inevitable prize distribution, however one sided the competition may have been. A cake was brought and the Captain began his speech. ‘Vagir put up a good fight but Amba did well to win the competition’ said the Captain. A big cheer went up from Amba Ship’s company. The Chief PTI of Amba prepared to receive the prize and even took a couple of steps towards it when the Captain resumed, ‘and the prize goes to ………the losers.’
MY VAGIR DAYS SOLDIER, SAILOR – FISH OUT OF WATER
I was the Mate on board during my second tenure on Vagir. We were at Cochin for Store Ship, R&R etc. prior to a major exercise off the Lakshadweep’s. The inevitable Foreign Cruise was to follow immediately thereafter. Falklands War was still fresh in everyone’s minds. Exercises off our Island Territories were, therefore, given increased importance.
We were to carry a platoon of Para Commandos, who would be launched from the submarine in Gemini boats off one off the smaller atolls in a covert bid to capture the island.
When I met them on the casing of the boat, my Five Feet nothing frame was dwarfed by the Six Foot plus Jats from a Para Regiment posted in Rajasthan. Major Naurial, a coursemate from the National Defence Academy, led them. Naurial and I established a rapport immediately. He explained that he would not be leading the mission. He was there only to acclimatize the boys to the conditions on board the sub and also to carry out dry runs for the Gemini launch. I was to be their Platoon Commander so long as they were on board.
What a terrific lot they were, tough and disciplined. They learnt the ropes with a lot of hard work and perseverance. Naurial left us when he was satisfied that his boys were now capable of launching the Gemini’s from the casing of a surfaced boat.
We had decided to repaint the boat on conclusion of the exercises so as to look presentable for the Flag Showing visit to Seychelles, which was to follow thereafter. I asked the Sub’s Coxswain to arrange some long sticks to which we would affix rollers in order to paint the casing. The Coxswain returned empty handed. ‘No Sticks’ he said matter of factly. I turned to the Commando Subedar Major and repeated my instructions. Next morning we had enough sticks to paint an entire squadron of submarines.
We cast off from the berth early morning on the appointed day and proceeded on surface during the first leg of the passage towards the island. The first submarine meal the commandos had on board appeared very insipid to these burly soldiers. That was also to be their last meal on board. The sea became quite rough once we were in open waters. The sailors had a big laugh upon seeing the seasick hunks clutching their bellies as they tried to hold back whatever little they had eaten by way of food. The Commandos appeared quite helpless, as they lay curled up in the Fore Ends of the boat.
The situation improved once we had dived. The Pongos, as we called them, were still not very comfortable with the claustrophobia and strange smells inherent to these boats. We still had to carry out a ‘Wet Run’ before the final launch. The boat surfaced at night at a considerable distance from the target island. We were to carry out a wet run in a trimmed down position. The commandoes were to retrieve the Geminis lashed inside the casing and inflate the rubber boats with the sub’s IP air in the pitch-dark. Sea conditions were not calm and the sub was rolling considerably. In such circumstances, the casing cover fell on the head of one of the commandoes who was trying to unlash the Gemini from inside the casing. He began to bleed profusely and had to be brought inside for treatment. The sub’s wardroom also doubles as the sick bay. The commando refused to be treated in what he thought was exclusively the Officers Mess. It took a lot of persuasion before he could be brought in for treatment. The commando sat in an upright position of ‘Savdhan Baith’ taught to him in his regiment while the Doc stitched up his scalp. He neither batted an eyelid nor made any sound while his head was being sutured.
After his head was bandaged, the Medical Officer advised bed rest and pronounced the commando unfit for further operations. However, he insisted on joining the rest of his platoon when the Gemini’s were to be launched for actual deployment next morning at dawn. He could not be persuaded to stay back and enjoy the beaches of sunny Seychelles instead. Taking part in the operation was a matter of honor for him. He would have no face to show his mates if he returned to his regiment with only small head injury to show for his efforts. He was released. The covert operation was successful. His Regiment had won the honors.
We were to carry a platoon of Para Commandos, who would be launched from the submarine in Gemini boats off one off the smaller atolls in a covert bid to capture the island.
When I met them on the casing of the boat, my Five Feet nothing frame was dwarfed by the Six Foot plus Jats from a Para Regiment posted in Rajasthan. Major Naurial, a coursemate from the National Defence Academy, led them. Naurial and I established a rapport immediately. He explained that he would not be leading the mission. He was there only to acclimatize the boys to the conditions on board the sub and also to carry out dry runs for the Gemini launch. I was to be their Platoon Commander so long as they were on board.
What a terrific lot they were, tough and disciplined. They learnt the ropes with a lot of hard work and perseverance. Naurial left us when he was satisfied that his boys were now capable of launching the Gemini’s from the casing of a surfaced boat.
We had decided to repaint the boat on conclusion of the exercises so as to look presentable for the Flag Showing visit to Seychelles, which was to follow thereafter. I asked the Sub’s Coxswain to arrange some long sticks to which we would affix rollers in order to paint the casing. The Coxswain returned empty handed. ‘No Sticks’ he said matter of factly. I turned to the Commando Subedar Major and repeated my instructions. Next morning we had enough sticks to paint an entire squadron of submarines.
We cast off from the berth early morning on the appointed day and proceeded on surface during the first leg of the passage towards the island. The first submarine meal the commandos had on board appeared very insipid to these burly soldiers. That was also to be their last meal on board. The sea became quite rough once we were in open waters. The sailors had a big laugh upon seeing the seasick hunks clutching their bellies as they tried to hold back whatever little they had eaten by way of food. The Commandos appeared quite helpless, as they lay curled up in the Fore Ends of the boat.
The situation improved once we had dived. The Pongos, as we called them, were still not very comfortable with the claustrophobia and strange smells inherent to these boats. We still had to carry out a ‘Wet Run’ before the final launch. The boat surfaced at night at a considerable distance from the target island. We were to carry out a wet run in a trimmed down position. The commandoes were to retrieve the Geminis lashed inside the casing and inflate the rubber boats with the sub’s IP air in the pitch-dark. Sea conditions were not calm and the sub was rolling considerably. In such circumstances, the casing cover fell on the head of one of the commandoes who was trying to unlash the Gemini from inside the casing. He began to bleed profusely and had to be brought inside for treatment. The sub’s wardroom also doubles as the sick bay. The commando refused to be treated in what he thought was exclusively the Officers Mess. It took a lot of persuasion before he could be brought in for treatment. The commando sat in an upright position of ‘Savdhan Baith’ taught to him in his regiment while the Doc stitched up his scalp. He neither batted an eyelid nor made any sound while his head was being sutured.
After his head was bandaged, the Medical Officer advised bed rest and pronounced the commando unfit for further operations. However, he insisted on joining the rest of his platoon when the Gemini’s were to be launched for actual deployment next morning at dawn. He could not be persuaded to stay back and enjoy the beaches of sunny Seychelles instead. Taking part in the operation was a matter of honor for him. He would have no face to show his mates if he returned to his regiment with only small head injury to show for his efforts. He was released. The covert operation was successful. His Regiment had won the honors.
MY KALVARI DAYS - Lieutenant Commander Deepak Sikand (Retd.)
I have written stories about my days in the submarine service. These may please be treated only as stories and nothing else. Some facts may have been dressed up a bit to make them appear humorous. My memories of events which occurred more than 25 years ago could have become a bit foggy. We were a quarter century younger then and had our moments of fun. I have mentioned some names in the stories. No malice is intended towards anyone. I shall bear full responsibility if I have inadvertently affected the feelings of any veteran by my writings.
IT IS KALVARI!
I was not always at the bottom of the Navy List. When the Manniya Rashtrapati ji granted me his commission, I was automatically placed at the bottom of this August Book of Reference. IJ by virtue of the fact he came two courses later, started out below me. But IJ was an impatient man. When the post MR list was being made for Kalvari, he somehow wormed his way into it from some back door. Being a fair man that he is, JMS was ticking off names strictly as per descending order in the book. It did not require the genius of JMS to notice IJ’s name at serial 6-A and mine at 7 in the Kalvari list to infer that there was some kaala in the daal. IJ was shown the door. I retained my place at honorable No.7. Thus began a glorious chapter in my life that was Kalvari.
The mood was upbeat when the crew assembled in Bombay. A new star was rising in the East who, for the sake of brevity, we shall call Gary. A film by the name of ‘Godfather’ was showing at the Regal in which the late Marlon Brando played a stellar role as the Don. Picking up from where the late Don Corleone left (Godfather II had yet to be written) Gary decided to have his band of loyal followers. I of the ‘Black Dog’ fame was the first Capocini to be recruited. Chops, JK and others came in later. Like the Don in the film, Gary decided to do away with all competition. The gentle, ever smiling and overly professional KV was the natural enemy to be eliminated. He was also a course mate you see. Gary devised a North – South divide. He divided India into two parts, namely Punjab and Madras. Not only I, a Rajasthani was made a Punjabi but Sivarao from Kakinada also hailed from Sadda Punjab as per Gary’s interpretation of the Country’s Geography. The only Madrasi in the group was KV! I remember later in Vladivostok when Vinod Choudhry and KV went to place calls to their respective mates, the lines got crossed. Unknown to him VKC found himself greeting Lakshmi in Chennai, ‘Shagun Oye Ki haal hai tera?’ and KV to Shagun, ‘Varas, Amundi Chepundi.’
Coming to this Punjabi-Madrasi imbroglio, I am reminded of Both Watches at Vladivostok. While we had all fallen in and Ashim Gupta waited for the Coxswain to make his report, Marwah Singh Marwah would arrive from the Gastanitsa Primorye with his mustache and beard dripping with melting snow. Gary would not be able to contain himself at the sight of an army of Sava Lakh coming from the opposite direction. He would do a Line Tor while a helpless Gupta ji looked on and hug the Electrical Officer with a hearty ‘Marwah Oye Drastutya! In his Punjabised Russian. Enthused by the fervor of such greetings in their Mother Tongue, Marwah and his assistant JK declared Punjabi as the Official language to be spoken in the Motor Room. Poor Sundram, the motor Chief, had to do a crash course in Punjabi if he had to make himself heard. It was good that Thicky, the Cap at the time, did not get to hear of any of this.
Let me not divert you with this language controversy and take you back to Bombay where we had assembled. Gary had by now issued his own CTM. As his No.1 Capocini I was appointed as the Assistant Navigating Officer. Others got their portfolios in accordance with the Don’s wishes. It was only later when JMS took over command from Thicky that this Mafia was disbanded. Having witnessed my sterling performance in the Aft Ends, I was made KV’s assistant. It was business as usual for me. Only difference was that there was no sound powered telephone or summons from Fore Ends to worry about. Saby, the no nonsense Malyalee was made Assistant Navigating Officer. Thus was broken the back of the emerging Mafia. Or was it? You will have to wait for the next serial of this narrative to find out. Ciao.
KALVARI- II
We lived in a highly competitive world of our own making while in service. If you look back, you may realize that so much of what we did then is really quite irrelevant today. The undeclared cold war between brother officers somehow reveals its ugly head in a foreign land. That is bad news. But the good news, if it may be called such, is that such things happen with people of all nationalities. I can say that on firsthand experience since I have worked with crews of several nationalities on board Merchant Ships.
I believe some such situation had developed in Vladivostok when JMS came and broke the ice; literally I mean. One of his first actions was to organize a picnic for the entire IN Detachment. The Parivochikas were included for the sake of Indo-Russian friendship. This should have been an eventless picnic since we had left Michael behind in Goa. But Michaels of this world have a habit of taking Avatars. In Russia he appeared in the Form of Sasha. ‘Indiski Sasha’ he called himself.
Earlier, PK the Electrical Officer had lost his heart to one of these pretty Parivochikas. The rules were strict. PK had to be repatriated to India. The boys at the Submarine Directorate in Delhi thought they had the problem solved when they sent the Sidha Sadha Bhramachari JK to replace PK. What they failed to reckon was that he too was a Sharma.
The Parivochikas were curious at the arrival of this new Sharma. They bombarded JK with questions. Since he was yet another Sharma, one of them asked if he was related to PK Sharma. ‘Yes’, he said, ‘I am JK Sharma, brother of PK Sharma.’ ‘Are you also a Engineer?’ enquired another while handing him a bottle of Vodka. JK, who was by now the center of attraction among this crowd of appreciative young ladies, did not want to disappoint them. ‘I am a Vodka Engineer’ he said putting the bottle to his mouth and not letting go until it was empty. You know a foolhardy act when you see one. The effect of the spirit was instantaneous. JK fell on his back; knocked out flat. Holding on to each of his limbs the Parivochikas carried the now passed out JK to the relative comfort of the heated Aftobus of the Soviet Navy. This was the time when Gary pronounced that JK had lost his soul.
I do not know where lost souls go but JK found himself in the Soviet Navy Hospital. He got Pneumonia due to exposure to cold. Not many people in India get Pneumonia. If you were one of the unlucky one to be afflicted with the disease, you will agree that it does restrict your mobility somewhat. You are mostly confined to bed if you manage to live through it. Not so with our very own JK, who according to Gary had lost his soul. Lost souls burn in the fires of hell. So what is a bit of Pneumonia to them? Not so with our very own desi Sasha. Our Cap decided to visit this Sasha at his Hospital bed. He took me along to see how this lost soul was faring. We were met with the Director of the Hospital. He took us personally to Sasha’s Hospital Bed to enquire about his health. Lo and Behold! Not only was our Sasha missing from the Hospital but his attending Nurse was also found AWOL.
Saturday Nights was the time when we visited the restaurants for a bit of song and dance. Purged out of lurking Pneumonia, Sasha joined us for this Saturday Night revelry. A young Russian Lass had taken fancy to this Indiski Sasha. The two of them decided to celebrate their newfound friendship. In his broken Russian Sasha spoke of the evening’s plans to his friend. What he wanted to say was that they would go and pick up some Champagne from Avangard Stadium (Where our Depot Ship was berthed) and party. What he conveyed was that he was a performing Chimpanzee who had escaped from Avangard Stadium. Thus ended what appeared to be a very promising evening.
KALVARI – III
‘Navigation is an art of taking a vessel safely from one place to another.’ The opening line of Vol. I of Navigation published by the Admiralty begins with words to this effect. The underlying word is art and not science. Study of Navigation is Science but its practice is an art. Ask Commodore Vishnoi if you do not believe me. I was his navigator on Kalvari in subsequent years. Though the ND School allowed me to pass through its portals without any black mark to my discredit, VSV thought otherwise. But let me not join issue with the venerable Commodore and focus on this Ace Navigator whom we have all agreed to call Gary.
Air India (We all traveled Air India in those days) published Maps charting out the routes of their Craft. You could get these maps on board if you demanded one. Gary got his. With this he proceeded to monitor the progress of the 707. In Moscow we were transferred to an Aeroflot IL flight, which took us to Khabarovsk. We missed the morning connecting flight to Vladivostok and had to wait until evening. The Intourist were good enough to arrange for a sightseeing trip of the city so that we need not wait all day at the Airport lounge. Weary of the Jet Lag, most of us slept through the entire bus trip through this beautiful city on the banks of the river Amur. Gary who had studied the Air India map like the back of hand decided to test our knowledge when we had boarded the Aircraft especially arranged for the Indian crew. ‘You had such a nice trip of the city’ he said while we waited for the Yak to take off, ‘Do you even know where you are?’ he queried. Some of us looked blank while others shook their heads in forthright honesty. ‘I will tell you, where you are’ he said as if addressing a bunch of nincompoops. Running his finger through the map he said, ‘You are, you are…..’ The noise made by the Yak’s engines saved Gary further embarrassment as he too forgot where we were!
Once bitten, twice shy goes the saying. Gary decided to take no chances for the return trip to India by sea. He ‘liberated’ the bridge of the PKZ and proceeded to equip it with charts, publications and other necessities in order to make the arduous task of passage planning as simple as possible. This, according to him, was a full time job. In his opinion a mere six months was too short a period to plan such a long passage. Gary’s ‘bridge’ could easily have become tourist attraction but for his obsessive need to maintain privacy. One morning he invited me to visit his citadel as soon as the Marwah Drastutiyas were over. I thought I was about to be rehabilitated as his Capocini in order to bring some unfinished business to its logical conclusion. However, I was in for a surprise of a different kind. Having waited for a full minute after my first knock, I was received by Azad Kumar, the Navigator’s Yeoman. ‘Please be seated. Gary Sir will join you soon’ Says Azad who also doubled as Gary’s Butler. I flung myself on a comfortable sofa also ‘liberated’ from the Soviet Navy. His next question took me by surprise. “What is your drink?’ Nine ‘O clock in the morning!! “I shall have some Mineral Water Azad’ I say. Capocinis are not expected to show any emotion. I am served some of the harmless bubbly stuff in the finest of crystal on a platter. Gary makes a grand entry after I have gone through my first sip. ‘Sikki, I am so pleased with you. There is a Padarak for you.’ And Azad brings a telephone instrument on the same platter, which bore my drink some time ago. I go off happily bearing my present thinking that it was a thank you for services rendered in the past. Later, I was to discover that all Officers barring the lone Madrasi received this gift from Gary, which was also ‘Liberated’ from the Soviet Navy in the form of Indo-Soviet Druzba!
KALVARI –IV
If you think I was questioning Gary’s Navigational skills in my last dispatch, you have missed the Bulls Eye by several yards. He is a different man at sea. So what if he kept the Air India map in his back pocket as a ready reckoner. It is said that some famous seagoing Captains have kept little green and red balls in their closets for inspiration. If you knew your port from starboard then the rest was easy. Didn’t we as junior officers learn our ROR from Gary’s rhymes?
Green to Green, Red to Red; perfect safety, Go Ahead!
Red over White, fishing at night. White over Red, Pilot Ahead.
Didn’t we, for that matter, reach the Indian shore safely without any untoward incident? If that is not enough, then let me provide some clinching evidence. In subsequent months, a different Captain commanded Kalvari. My position as the Capocini was restored. I became the Assistant Navigating officer. We had sailed from Port Blair to Vizag on surface. On reaching the Sentinals, Gary set a course of 301*(T) I think. We did not have any of the fancy electronic aids for Navigation then. Gary handed over the good ‘ol sextant to me and said,’ She is all yours, Sikki.’ Morning, noon, evening I took sights and placed the boat all over the Bay of Bengal. But Gary wouldn’t budge. He maintained a steady 301*(T). Sure enough, on the appointed day and appointed time we found ourselves within rubbing distance of Dolphin’s Nose.
There were fun times in between. Port Blair had only one jetty then. We were berthed alongside two other fleet ships. On a Sunday morning these two ships were to sail. This would have meant that we had to lay off and consume valuable battery power until reberthing. The consequence would have been that Marwah and his boys would be charging the batteries while we consumed six packs at the Megapode’s nest. Gary had been sincere in his Drastutiyas with Marwah. He could not bear to stand the elekys slog it out while we enjoyed. He convinced the Cap that instead off laying off why we didn’t go on a sightseeing trip of the scenic Andaman Islands and save battery juice. On setting sail for what was to be picnic, Gary announced on the circular,’ Gentlemen, this is your Navigator speaking. We are now on a sightseeing trip of the islands. You may come up to the bridge and feast your eyes.’ But Allah, may praise be upon the lord, had willed otherwise. The sea became very rough as soon as we left the sheltered waters. The boat rolled and pitched heavily. That put an end to the much touted about picnic.
In our next Avatars, I became a mate on one of the Indian Tankers carrying oil and Gary was code named Pilot ‘Uniform’ by the Bombay Port Trust. All I had to do was give a shout to Gary on the VHF and he would have himself assigned to bring our ship alongside the Tanker Berths at Butcher Island. The Mate is stationed at the Foxle for berthing Merchant Ships. I would meet Gary at the Pilot Ladder when he came to board the vessel in the official discharge of his duties. The Drastutiyas and hugging would go on while the rest of the Ship’s Company waited for the bonhomie to end and get on with the country’s oil trade.
Shipping Companies all over the world keep cartons of Marlborough’s and bottles of Black Dog/White Horse, which are padaraked to Pilots, Customs, Port Officials etc. as tokens of appreciation for the selfless work done by them. Now, Indian companies feeling the resource crunch go on cost saving mode. A Black Dog saved is a Black Dog gained is their axiom. The Captain was sure that his Mate would contribute to the Company’s cause. I hinted to Gary that a Black Dog less would go a long way in helping him and me maintain better health. But Gary had his sights set on the Harbour Master’s job. The Marlborough and Black Dog were for the present incumbent. Gary could only expect to get the coveted job if a few kind words are written about him in his ACR. Gary decided to meet my request halfway. He did not speak a word about it to the Cap. He merely put his empty bag on the chart table with a body language which said,’ Fill her up!’
It is not that Gary did not have a soft corner for his erstwhile Capocinis. Let me illustrate this point with this story. Owing to a strange rule devised by the Customs, we used to be paid our salaries in fifty rupee currency notes. I was signing off from this vessel, which meant that all the arrears of salary had to be paid to me and my dues cleared before I signed on the dotted line terminating my contract. This meant several bundles of Fifty Rupee notes. You were bound to be searched regardless of which gate of the Indira Docks you exited. Now the Custom boys who thought they were the only ones doing all the hard work demanded a share from what they considered to be our loot. I sent an SOS to Gary to help me save my hard earned money. He rose to the occasion and collected the bag of my spoils. The game plan was that I would reclaim the cash in the evening when I visited his house at the Port Trust colony near Sasoon Docks. While collecting the cash, Gary gave me the good news that his daughter Riga was getting married in a few days time. When I reached his house in the evening and requested my money, Gary surprised me by saying,’ What Money? I thought that was a wedding present for your niece.’ My heart missed several beats before I could say anything. Dons have soft corners for their Capocinis, serving or retired. Not only did he return me my money, we spent the rest of the evening polishing off a bottle of Black Dog.
KALVARI – V
(On the subject of Love)
Some Emperors have forsaken kingdoms, others have built immortal monuments. Epics have been written with love as its central theme. Helen, the face that launched a thousand ships has been immortalized in the Iliad. Battles have been fought; lives have been lost; all in the name of love. I do not know which line divides love, infatuation or plain attraction towards the opposite sex. I have found myself in and out of love as a younger man. Like several other things I have attempted in life (Dive a boat for instance) I have come a cropper in this very passionate form of human emotion. However, let me not bore you with how I have been a dud in whatever I have done and let us talk about Kalvari.
Which red blooded Indian Seaman can resist the charms of the Gori Chitti Rusi Mem? You had to be our Gadra Padra Jatt from Gurdaspur (the late Navin Chopra) to be impervious to such temptresses. If Gary is to be believed then even our Bal Bhramachari Peeks had lost his soul to not one but two Devushkas at the same time. Matters of the heart are best left as private affairs of an individual. I shall try to be more general in my approach. In my opinion it was the sailor who had better looking and more savvy girlfriends. How did they do it, I do not know. But one thing I know for sure. Each one of them passed himself off as some Officer or the other. The Chulmois smugly called themselves Comandeer. The girls knew that the boat had a Chulmoi Comandeer. Impersonating the Old Man was easy because the Cap did not interfere in such matters. So the claim would go uncontested. Now there is a fair sprinkling of Blondes among Russian ladies. They are not necessarily dumb as far as blondes go. A bright spark among them once quipped, ‘If there are so many Comandeers, Starpoms, Sturmans and the like then who is the Michman, Who is the Matros?’ ‘I am the Michman, says Thami the 40 plus Torpedo Chief’. So it came to pass that the Top Heavy Kalvari had so many Captains, Exos and such and only one Petty Officer. No sailors. Absolutely no sailors. You see it is like this with girls, once you have lost your heart to a Guy then it does not matter if he is Commandeer or Matros.
Peeks had this Guitar and he had practiced this ‘Bum, bum, bum..Bombay Meri hai’ number to near perfection. He was lustily belting out the ‘Ladies are nice, Gents are full of pride.Come to Bombay’ routine on a Saturday evening at a local restaurant. I was dancing with this pretty little thing (I myself am five foot something) when she asks, ‘Who is this Indiski Tavarish’. ‘One of the lads who can sing a bit.’ I shrug. ‘But who is he?’ she insists. ‘Never mind, let us dance.’ Says I. ‘But I want to meet him’ she persists. ‘Peeks, this one is for you’ I tell a triumphant Peeks and pack up and go back to my Rum and Water at the good ‘ol PKZ.
I was not good with Bombay lasses either. I had brought this Gold Spot model on Vela to show off to my shipmates a couple of years earlier. We were going down the Sangway from Amba when she ‘Spots’ Krishna Hyphen Subra-Manian elegantly sucking his pipe on the Captain’s deck of Amba. Spotting the sexily graying side burns adoring the Hyphen, she goes into this ‘Who is this’ routine. That takes the steam off me and I am waiting for the evening to end. Sporting graying side burns myself today (with a balding pate, beer belly and a pair of specs to complete the description) I am always at an edge when my wife of 27 years may go into this ‘Who is this’ questionnaire when a good looking guy may happen to pass by.
Drifter. You can call me that. I have moved away from the subject in hand with relation to Kalvari. Let me pick up from where I left off in the next serial. Ciao!
SUCH ARE THE WAYS OF LOVE
Dry Dock repairs were complete. The party was over. She was ready to go home. Kalvari I mean. Parting is always a sorrow. The scene at the PKZ was a real tearjerker. What with those pretty Devushkas clinging on to their Indiski beaus. And the Mahurat was coming to an end. The Soviet Navy Brass band was huffing and puffing on their Trombones or whatever they are called. The Captain First Rank detailed to see us off seemed keen to bring his arm down from the salute he was holding on to for the last half hour or so. But no Admiral Goroshkov or his Teekhi Okeanski Flot could persuade those determined lasses to let go their Chorni catch which sustained them on chewing gum, jeans et all for the last couple of years or so. What about the Patriotic Indian Matros yearning to return to his Motherland you might ask. Even his resolve seemed to waver. ‘What was the dashing young Captain doing?’ you would insist. His commands on the Loud Hailer went over deaf ears. The combined might of the Soviet and Indian Navies seemed ineffective over the powers of love that July afternoon.
The band stopped playing. Captain First Rank brought down his tiring arm. No command emanated from the Indian Captain’s hailer. The spell was broken. The men came on board. Lines were cast off and we set sail for home.
We were to touch Kobe and Hong Kong enroute. The programme was rescheduled and we headed straight for Manila for a 9-day R&R. What an R&R it turned out to be! Manila’s Hotel Admiral is adjacent to Rizal Park where the city’s lovelorn Filipinas congregate in search of a lover. And what better targets can there be than the recently heartbroken Indian sailor. Never lacking in good ‘ol hospitality, the boys invited the ladies to their rooms. Admiral Hotels of this world do not object to visitors being entertained by guests in their rooms. All they do is to make a small notation in their registers.
Some of us preferred to date the Hotel’s front desk instead of entertaining the ladies of Rizal Park in our Hotel Rooms. On a day when the Ship’s company went to see the famous Pagsanhan falls at the other end of the Luzon Island, we were dancing to the tunes of Salsa with them at the local disk. Needless to say we received one hell of a hollering from the Cap the next day. Great leaders are known for their compassion. The Cap not only forgave our trespass but also loaned us the use of his car to see the most beautiful of water falls in one of the oldest rain forests of the world.
Like I said, all good things came to an end. This time too, there were tearful scenes at the jetty. The actors were the same. Only difference was that the Filipina had substituted the Devushka.
This story could have ended happily but for one small hitch. Veterans of Foreign cruises would recollect that we had to surrender unspent foreign money before leaving port. One spent the last dime shopping (entertaining guests in hotel rooms in this case) so that there was no money left to surrender. The Cap had only X amount to settle the hotel bills. Imagine his surprise when the Hotel slapped an additional amount as guest charges. They not only had the name of the guest but also the time and number of visitors each had entertained. There were a lot of red faces on Kalvari that day and a very very angry Captain. We all emptied our pockets and pooled in our combined resources to pay for the deficit. The boys on the jetty had to be declutched from some very determined ladies with exotic names like Judith Carlos, Fleur-de-Liza Lauz, Marilou Concepion, Luz Manalo….. and sent down the hatch before the boat cast off.
For those who cannot visualize the full impact of this story, I recommend you read the Odyssey or its condensed version if you please.
CHOPS
A diverse lot that is what we were on Kalvari. Friendships, which developed after only a few months of association, have endured even to this day. It was not only on Kalvari but similar associations developed and endured on other submarines too. Rather unfortunate we lost such a fine ex-shipmate. He was a real Officer and Gentleman. Let me end this Kalvari series with a tribute to Navin Chopra.
We first met when he joined Vela for his Dived Watch keeping Ticket. I was his senior but Chops was on a fast track. We got our tickets on the same day. The competitive spirit never left him. In later years we met again at Venduruthy. He had come to do the TAS course. I was there for my ND. It is said that Chops made his position very clear to his classmates. ‘Gentlemen’, he said ‘I have come here to stand first in the course. Some of you may be smarter than me but I intend to overcome that drawback by sheer hard work. I shall out study each and every one of you. If you study 24 hours, I shall study 25 and achieve my goal.’ That was the kind of resolve, which Navin Chopra had. He did come first in his course.
Chops was always an outdoor man. He was not among the Salsa dancers. He preferred hiking, jogging and adventure instead. A teetotaler, Chops joined in the fun whenever the Ward Room was celebrating. I never recall him to be a bore or loner. Chops was just Chops. That’s it.
He loved to swim. When the US Navy PC3 Orion dropped its Sonobuoys around a surfaced Kalvari in the Straits of Taiwan, it was Chops who dived into the sea and retrieved them as a Souvenir for Cochin’s NPOL. It is said that he was once carried away by the strong current while swimming off Vizag’s Coromondal beach. His friends ashore tried to draw the attention of boats, which were fishing, at some distance but to no avail. Just when it seemed the large waves were going to get the better of Chops, a helicopter belonging to the Circars flight happened to fly overhead. Attention of the Pilot was drawn towards Chop’s near drowning situation and a real life rescue at sea was effected.
Weeks after returning from Russia, we were to take part in Fleet Exercises off Andamans. Chops was the Torpedo Officer then. We had a very hectic day storing and loading Torpedoes. Chops was on his feet all day. We finally sailed late at Night. Chops had the first watch after we cleared Vizag harbour. Passage Routine had been announced by then. It was a full moon night. The sea was calm and placid. We were 20 to 25 miles from land. Dolphin’s Nose light was still visible. A tired Chops was perched on top of the Fin. He asked the lookout to fetch him some coffee. There was no sign of Chops on the Bridge when the lookout returned with coffee. The helmsman steering from the Fin too had no idea of Chops’s whereabouts. As the second Navigator, I was plotting in the Chart House when the lookout called me on the Kahstan. He informed me of Chops absence from the Bridge. I asked him to check out the Fin toilet but Chops wasn’t there. It was then I made the announcement on the circular about the missing Chops.
Sam Dan was in Command of Kalvari then. He came up on the bridge. It was clear by then that Chops was not on board. I saw a firm resolve on the Captain’s face. He clenched the railing in front of the Captain’s seat on the Bridge and said,” By God, I will get him.” Thus began, what at that time appeared to be a hopeless search for a Man Overboard.
Someone gave a wheel order and forgot all about it. Yours truly forgot to mark the position on the plot and so on. The initial response to the emergency was mildly chaotic. Order was soon restored and proper search put into effect. Periscopes were raised, searchlights rigged, extra lookouts positioned and loud hailers brought on the bridge. The sub went on a maneuvering mode and began a search pattern. We did a number of unsuccessful passes around the position where we thought Chops might have fallen overboard. The Radar Chief, Kanwar, had only recently joined the submarine arm. No one took him seriously when he reported what he thought was a coconut on his screen. For want of a better option we altered course to investigate this ‘Coconut’ and directed the Projectors (Searchlights) in the same direction. Lo and behold, there was Chops swimming towards us about 2 cables on our starboard bow. A cry of jubilation went out from the ship’s company. We had found our man.
Recovery was simple. Fore Planes were rigged out. Casing party went on the deck with Lifebuoy and heaving line. The boat was maneuvered to stop next to Chops and he was picked up on board. The first thing that Chops did after being rescued was to apologize to the Cap for having fallen overboard. The Cap magnanimously decided to overlook the incident. We recommenced our passage and went on to carry out some very successful operations with the fleet that season.
Chops didn’t remember how he fell off from the relative safety of the Bridge in calm weather conditions. He told us that survival instincts took over once he was in the water. After watching the boat’s stern light dip in the horizon, he decided to swim for the shore. Soon he realized that it would not be possible to swim the 25 miles to shore. He decided to conserve energy and float. Hopelessness gave way to excitement when he saw the Masthead light of Kalvari. But the sub passed a few cables away without noticing him. Again, Hope gave way to despair when he saw the boat turn around and the stern light dipped once again. These mixed emotions continued to trouble him until he was finally rescued.
There may be many other instances from Chops’s short but exciting life that you may remember. In the end, all I can say is that Chops lived and died on his own terms. He may have had his own reasons, which convinced him that life was not worth living from the point of time he ended it.
IT IS KALVARI!
I was not always at the bottom of the Navy List. When the Manniya Rashtrapati ji granted me his commission, I was automatically placed at the bottom of this August Book of Reference. IJ by virtue of the fact he came two courses later, started out below me. But IJ was an impatient man. When the post MR list was being made for Kalvari, he somehow wormed his way into it from some back door. Being a fair man that he is, JMS was ticking off names strictly as per descending order in the book. It did not require the genius of JMS to notice IJ’s name at serial 6-A and mine at 7 in the Kalvari list to infer that there was some kaala in the daal. IJ was shown the door. I retained my place at honorable No.7. Thus began a glorious chapter in my life that was Kalvari.
The mood was upbeat when the crew assembled in Bombay. A new star was rising in the East who, for the sake of brevity, we shall call Gary. A film by the name of ‘Godfather’ was showing at the Regal in which the late Marlon Brando played a stellar role as the Don. Picking up from where the late Don Corleone left (Godfather II had yet to be written) Gary decided to have his band of loyal followers. I of the ‘Black Dog’ fame was the first Capocini to be recruited. Chops, JK and others came in later. Like the Don in the film, Gary decided to do away with all competition. The gentle, ever smiling and overly professional KV was the natural enemy to be eliminated. He was also a course mate you see. Gary devised a North – South divide. He divided India into two parts, namely Punjab and Madras. Not only I, a Rajasthani was made a Punjabi but Sivarao from Kakinada also hailed from Sadda Punjab as per Gary’s interpretation of the Country’s Geography. The only Madrasi in the group was KV! I remember later in Vladivostok when Vinod Choudhry and KV went to place calls to their respective mates, the lines got crossed. Unknown to him VKC found himself greeting Lakshmi in Chennai, ‘Shagun Oye Ki haal hai tera?’ and KV to Shagun, ‘Varas, Amundi Chepundi.’
Coming to this Punjabi-Madrasi imbroglio, I am reminded of Both Watches at Vladivostok. While we had all fallen in and Ashim Gupta waited for the Coxswain to make his report, Marwah Singh Marwah would arrive from the Gastanitsa Primorye with his mustache and beard dripping with melting snow. Gary would not be able to contain himself at the sight of an army of Sava Lakh coming from the opposite direction. He would do a Line Tor while a helpless Gupta ji looked on and hug the Electrical Officer with a hearty ‘Marwah Oye Drastutya! In his Punjabised Russian. Enthused by the fervor of such greetings in their Mother Tongue, Marwah and his assistant JK declared Punjabi as the Official language to be spoken in the Motor Room. Poor Sundram, the motor Chief, had to do a crash course in Punjabi if he had to make himself heard. It was good that Thicky, the Cap at the time, did not get to hear of any of this.
Let me not divert you with this language controversy and take you back to Bombay where we had assembled. Gary had by now issued his own CTM. As his No.1 Capocini I was appointed as the Assistant Navigating Officer. Others got their portfolios in accordance with the Don’s wishes. It was only later when JMS took over command from Thicky that this Mafia was disbanded. Having witnessed my sterling performance in the Aft Ends, I was made KV’s assistant. It was business as usual for me. Only difference was that there was no sound powered telephone or summons from Fore Ends to worry about. Saby, the no nonsense Malyalee was made Assistant Navigating Officer. Thus was broken the back of the emerging Mafia. Or was it? You will have to wait for the next serial of this narrative to find out. Ciao.
KALVARI- II
We lived in a highly competitive world of our own making while in service. If you look back, you may realize that so much of what we did then is really quite irrelevant today. The undeclared cold war between brother officers somehow reveals its ugly head in a foreign land. That is bad news. But the good news, if it may be called such, is that such things happen with people of all nationalities. I can say that on firsthand experience since I have worked with crews of several nationalities on board Merchant Ships.
I believe some such situation had developed in Vladivostok when JMS came and broke the ice; literally I mean. One of his first actions was to organize a picnic for the entire IN Detachment. The Parivochikas were included for the sake of Indo-Russian friendship. This should have been an eventless picnic since we had left Michael behind in Goa. But Michaels of this world have a habit of taking Avatars. In Russia he appeared in the Form of Sasha. ‘Indiski Sasha’ he called himself.
Earlier, PK the Electrical Officer had lost his heart to one of these pretty Parivochikas. The rules were strict. PK had to be repatriated to India. The boys at the Submarine Directorate in Delhi thought they had the problem solved when they sent the Sidha Sadha Bhramachari JK to replace PK. What they failed to reckon was that he too was a Sharma.
The Parivochikas were curious at the arrival of this new Sharma. They bombarded JK with questions. Since he was yet another Sharma, one of them asked if he was related to PK Sharma. ‘Yes’, he said, ‘I am JK Sharma, brother of PK Sharma.’ ‘Are you also a Engineer?’ enquired another while handing him a bottle of Vodka. JK, who was by now the center of attraction among this crowd of appreciative young ladies, did not want to disappoint them. ‘I am a Vodka Engineer’ he said putting the bottle to his mouth and not letting go until it was empty. You know a foolhardy act when you see one. The effect of the spirit was instantaneous. JK fell on his back; knocked out flat. Holding on to each of his limbs the Parivochikas carried the now passed out JK to the relative comfort of the heated Aftobus of the Soviet Navy. This was the time when Gary pronounced that JK had lost his soul.
I do not know where lost souls go but JK found himself in the Soviet Navy Hospital. He got Pneumonia due to exposure to cold. Not many people in India get Pneumonia. If you were one of the unlucky one to be afflicted with the disease, you will agree that it does restrict your mobility somewhat. You are mostly confined to bed if you manage to live through it. Not so with our very own JK, who according to Gary had lost his soul. Lost souls burn in the fires of hell. So what is a bit of Pneumonia to them? Not so with our very own desi Sasha. Our Cap decided to visit this Sasha at his Hospital bed. He took me along to see how this lost soul was faring. We were met with the Director of the Hospital. He took us personally to Sasha’s Hospital Bed to enquire about his health. Lo and Behold! Not only was our Sasha missing from the Hospital but his attending Nurse was also found AWOL.
Saturday Nights was the time when we visited the restaurants for a bit of song and dance. Purged out of lurking Pneumonia, Sasha joined us for this Saturday Night revelry. A young Russian Lass had taken fancy to this Indiski Sasha. The two of them decided to celebrate their newfound friendship. In his broken Russian Sasha spoke of the evening’s plans to his friend. What he wanted to say was that they would go and pick up some Champagne from Avangard Stadium (Where our Depot Ship was berthed) and party. What he conveyed was that he was a performing Chimpanzee who had escaped from Avangard Stadium. Thus ended what appeared to be a very promising evening.
KALVARI – III
‘Navigation is an art of taking a vessel safely from one place to another.’ The opening line of Vol. I of Navigation published by the Admiralty begins with words to this effect. The underlying word is art and not science. Study of Navigation is Science but its practice is an art. Ask Commodore Vishnoi if you do not believe me. I was his navigator on Kalvari in subsequent years. Though the ND School allowed me to pass through its portals without any black mark to my discredit, VSV thought otherwise. But let me not join issue with the venerable Commodore and focus on this Ace Navigator whom we have all agreed to call Gary.
Air India (We all traveled Air India in those days) published Maps charting out the routes of their Craft. You could get these maps on board if you demanded one. Gary got his. With this he proceeded to monitor the progress of the 707. In Moscow we were transferred to an Aeroflot IL flight, which took us to Khabarovsk. We missed the morning connecting flight to Vladivostok and had to wait until evening. The Intourist were good enough to arrange for a sightseeing trip of the city so that we need not wait all day at the Airport lounge. Weary of the Jet Lag, most of us slept through the entire bus trip through this beautiful city on the banks of the river Amur. Gary who had studied the Air India map like the back of hand decided to test our knowledge when we had boarded the Aircraft especially arranged for the Indian crew. ‘You had such a nice trip of the city’ he said while we waited for the Yak to take off, ‘Do you even know where you are?’ he queried. Some of us looked blank while others shook their heads in forthright honesty. ‘I will tell you, where you are’ he said as if addressing a bunch of nincompoops. Running his finger through the map he said, ‘You are, you are…..’ The noise made by the Yak’s engines saved Gary further embarrassment as he too forgot where we were!
Once bitten, twice shy goes the saying. Gary decided to take no chances for the return trip to India by sea. He ‘liberated’ the bridge of the PKZ and proceeded to equip it with charts, publications and other necessities in order to make the arduous task of passage planning as simple as possible. This, according to him, was a full time job. In his opinion a mere six months was too short a period to plan such a long passage. Gary’s ‘bridge’ could easily have become tourist attraction but for his obsessive need to maintain privacy. One morning he invited me to visit his citadel as soon as the Marwah Drastutiyas were over. I thought I was about to be rehabilitated as his Capocini in order to bring some unfinished business to its logical conclusion. However, I was in for a surprise of a different kind. Having waited for a full minute after my first knock, I was received by Azad Kumar, the Navigator’s Yeoman. ‘Please be seated. Gary Sir will join you soon’ Says Azad who also doubled as Gary’s Butler. I flung myself on a comfortable sofa also ‘liberated’ from the Soviet Navy. His next question took me by surprise. “What is your drink?’ Nine ‘O clock in the morning!! “I shall have some Mineral Water Azad’ I say. Capocinis are not expected to show any emotion. I am served some of the harmless bubbly stuff in the finest of crystal on a platter. Gary makes a grand entry after I have gone through my first sip. ‘Sikki, I am so pleased with you. There is a Padarak for you.’ And Azad brings a telephone instrument on the same platter, which bore my drink some time ago. I go off happily bearing my present thinking that it was a thank you for services rendered in the past. Later, I was to discover that all Officers barring the lone Madrasi received this gift from Gary, which was also ‘Liberated’ from the Soviet Navy in the form of Indo-Soviet Druzba!
KALVARI –IV
If you think I was questioning Gary’s Navigational skills in my last dispatch, you have missed the Bulls Eye by several yards. He is a different man at sea. So what if he kept the Air India map in his back pocket as a ready reckoner. It is said that some famous seagoing Captains have kept little green and red balls in their closets for inspiration. If you knew your port from starboard then the rest was easy. Didn’t we as junior officers learn our ROR from Gary’s rhymes?
Green to Green, Red to Red; perfect safety, Go Ahead!
Red over White, fishing at night. White over Red, Pilot Ahead.
Didn’t we, for that matter, reach the Indian shore safely without any untoward incident? If that is not enough, then let me provide some clinching evidence. In subsequent months, a different Captain commanded Kalvari. My position as the Capocini was restored. I became the Assistant Navigating officer. We had sailed from Port Blair to Vizag on surface. On reaching the Sentinals, Gary set a course of 301*(T) I think. We did not have any of the fancy electronic aids for Navigation then. Gary handed over the good ‘ol sextant to me and said,’ She is all yours, Sikki.’ Morning, noon, evening I took sights and placed the boat all over the Bay of Bengal. But Gary wouldn’t budge. He maintained a steady 301*(T). Sure enough, on the appointed day and appointed time we found ourselves within rubbing distance of Dolphin’s Nose.
There were fun times in between. Port Blair had only one jetty then. We were berthed alongside two other fleet ships. On a Sunday morning these two ships were to sail. This would have meant that we had to lay off and consume valuable battery power until reberthing. The consequence would have been that Marwah and his boys would be charging the batteries while we consumed six packs at the Megapode’s nest. Gary had been sincere in his Drastutiyas with Marwah. He could not bear to stand the elekys slog it out while we enjoyed. He convinced the Cap that instead off laying off why we didn’t go on a sightseeing trip of the scenic Andaman Islands and save battery juice. On setting sail for what was to be picnic, Gary announced on the circular,’ Gentlemen, this is your Navigator speaking. We are now on a sightseeing trip of the islands. You may come up to the bridge and feast your eyes.’ But Allah, may praise be upon the lord, had willed otherwise. The sea became very rough as soon as we left the sheltered waters. The boat rolled and pitched heavily. That put an end to the much touted about picnic.
In our next Avatars, I became a mate on one of the Indian Tankers carrying oil and Gary was code named Pilot ‘Uniform’ by the Bombay Port Trust. All I had to do was give a shout to Gary on the VHF and he would have himself assigned to bring our ship alongside the Tanker Berths at Butcher Island. The Mate is stationed at the Foxle for berthing Merchant Ships. I would meet Gary at the Pilot Ladder when he came to board the vessel in the official discharge of his duties. The Drastutiyas and hugging would go on while the rest of the Ship’s Company waited for the bonhomie to end and get on with the country’s oil trade.
Shipping Companies all over the world keep cartons of Marlborough’s and bottles of Black Dog/White Horse, which are padaraked to Pilots, Customs, Port Officials etc. as tokens of appreciation for the selfless work done by them. Now, Indian companies feeling the resource crunch go on cost saving mode. A Black Dog saved is a Black Dog gained is their axiom. The Captain was sure that his Mate would contribute to the Company’s cause. I hinted to Gary that a Black Dog less would go a long way in helping him and me maintain better health. But Gary had his sights set on the Harbour Master’s job. The Marlborough and Black Dog were for the present incumbent. Gary could only expect to get the coveted job if a few kind words are written about him in his ACR. Gary decided to meet my request halfway. He did not speak a word about it to the Cap. He merely put his empty bag on the chart table with a body language which said,’ Fill her up!’
It is not that Gary did not have a soft corner for his erstwhile Capocinis. Let me illustrate this point with this story. Owing to a strange rule devised by the Customs, we used to be paid our salaries in fifty rupee currency notes. I was signing off from this vessel, which meant that all the arrears of salary had to be paid to me and my dues cleared before I signed on the dotted line terminating my contract. This meant several bundles of Fifty Rupee notes. You were bound to be searched regardless of which gate of the Indira Docks you exited. Now the Custom boys who thought they were the only ones doing all the hard work demanded a share from what they considered to be our loot. I sent an SOS to Gary to help me save my hard earned money. He rose to the occasion and collected the bag of my spoils. The game plan was that I would reclaim the cash in the evening when I visited his house at the Port Trust colony near Sasoon Docks. While collecting the cash, Gary gave me the good news that his daughter Riga was getting married in a few days time. When I reached his house in the evening and requested my money, Gary surprised me by saying,’ What Money? I thought that was a wedding present for your niece.’ My heart missed several beats before I could say anything. Dons have soft corners for their Capocinis, serving or retired. Not only did he return me my money, we spent the rest of the evening polishing off a bottle of Black Dog.
KALVARI – V
(On the subject of Love)
Some Emperors have forsaken kingdoms, others have built immortal monuments. Epics have been written with love as its central theme. Helen, the face that launched a thousand ships has been immortalized in the Iliad. Battles have been fought; lives have been lost; all in the name of love. I do not know which line divides love, infatuation or plain attraction towards the opposite sex. I have found myself in and out of love as a younger man. Like several other things I have attempted in life (Dive a boat for instance) I have come a cropper in this very passionate form of human emotion. However, let me not bore you with how I have been a dud in whatever I have done and let us talk about Kalvari.
Which red blooded Indian Seaman can resist the charms of the Gori Chitti Rusi Mem? You had to be our Gadra Padra Jatt from Gurdaspur (the late Navin Chopra) to be impervious to such temptresses. If Gary is to be believed then even our Bal Bhramachari Peeks had lost his soul to not one but two Devushkas at the same time. Matters of the heart are best left as private affairs of an individual. I shall try to be more general in my approach. In my opinion it was the sailor who had better looking and more savvy girlfriends. How did they do it, I do not know. But one thing I know for sure. Each one of them passed himself off as some Officer or the other. The Chulmois smugly called themselves Comandeer. The girls knew that the boat had a Chulmoi Comandeer. Impersonating the Old Man was easy because the Cap did not interfere in such matters. So the claim would go uncontested. Now there is a fair sprinkling of Blondes among Russian ladies. They are not necessarily dumb as far as blondes go. A bright spark among them once quipped, ‘If there are so many Comandeers, Starpoms, Sturmans and the like then who is the Michman, Who is the Matros?’ ‘I am the Michman, says Thami the 40 plus Torpedo Chief’. So it came to pass that the Top Heavy Kalvari had so many Captains, Exos and such and only one Petty Officer. No sailors. Absolutely no sailors. You see it is like this with girls, once you have lost your heart to a Guy then it does not matter if he is Commandeer or Matros.
Peeks had this Guitar and he had practiced this ‘Bum, bum, bum..Bombay Meri hai’ number to near perfection. He was lustily belting out the ‘Ladies are nice, Gents are full of pride.Come to Bombay’ routine on a Saturday evening at a local restaurant. I was dancing with this pretty little thing (I myself am five foot something) when she asks, ‘Who is this Indiski Tavarish’. ‘One of the lads who can sing a bit.’ I shrug. ‘But who is he?’ she insists. ‘Never mind, let us dance.’ Says I. ‘But I want to meet him’ she persists. ‘Peeks, this one is for you’ I tell a triumphant Peeks and pack up and go back to my Rum and Water at the good ‘ol PKZ.
I was not good with Bombay lasses either. I had brought this Gold Spot model on Vela to show off to my shipmates a couple of years earlier. We were going down the Sangway from Amba when she ‘Spots’ Krishna Hyphen Subra-Manian elegantly sucking his pipe on the Captain’s deck of Amba. Spotting the sexily graying side burns adoring the Hyphen, she goes into this ‘Who is this’ routine. That takes the steam off me and I am waiting for the evening to end. Sporting graying side burns myself today (with a balding pate, beer belly and a pair of specs to complete the description) I am always at an edge when my wife of 27 years may go into this ‘Who is this’ questionnaire when a good looking guy may happen to pass by.
Drifter. You can call me that. I have moved away from the subject in hand with relation to Kalvari. Let me pick up from where I left off in the next serial. Ciao!
SUCH ARE THE WAYS OF LOVE
Dry Dock repairs were complete. The party was over. She was ready to go home. Kalvari I mean. Parting is always a sorrow. The scene at the PKZ was a real tearjerker. What with those pretty Devushkas clinging on to their Indiski beaus. And the Mahurat was coming to an end. The Soviet Navy Brass band was huffing and puffing on their Trombones or whatever they are called. The Captain First Rank detailed to see us off seemed keen to bring his arm down from the salute he was holding on to for the last half hour or so. But no Admiral Goroshkov or his Teekhi Okeanski Flot could persuade those determined lasses to let go their Chorni catch which sustained them on chewing gum, jeans et all for the last couple of years or so. What about the Patriotic Indian Matros yearning to return to his Motherland you might ask. Even his resolve seemed to waver. ‘What was the dashing young Captain doing?’ you would insist. His commands on the Loud Hailer went over deaf ears. The combined might of the Soviet and Indian Navies seemed ineffective over the powers of love that July afternoon.
The band stopped playing. Captain First Rank brought down his tiring arm. No command emanated from the Indian Captain’s hailer. The spell was broken. The men came on board. Lines were cast off and we set sail for home.
We were to touch Kobe and Hong Kong enroute. The programme was rescheduled and we headed straight for Manila for a 9-day R&R. What an R&R it turned out to be! Manila’s Hotel Admiral is adjacent to Rizal Park where the city’s lovelorn Filipinas congregate in search of a lover. And what better targets can there be than the recently heartbroken Indian sailor. Never lacking in good ‘ol hospitality, the boys invited the ladies to their rooms. Admiral Hotels of this world do not object to visitors being entertained by guests in their rooms. All they do is to make a small notation in their registers.
Some of us preferred to date the Hotel’s front desk instead of entertaining the ladies of Rizal Park in our Hotel Rooms. On a day when the Ship’s company went to see the famous Pagsanhan falls at the other end of the Luzon Island, we were dancing to the tunes of Salsa with them at the local disk. Needless to say we received one hell of a hollering from the Cap the next day. Great leaders are known for their compassion. The Cap not only forgave our trespass but also loaned us the use of his car to see the most beautiful of water falls in one of the oldest rain forests of the world.
Like I said, all good things came to an end. This time too, there were tearful scenes at the jetty. The actors were the same. Only difference was that the Filipina had substituted the Devushka.
This story could have ended happily but for one small hitch. Veterans of Foreign cruises would recollect that we had to surrender unspent foreign money before leaving port. One spent the last dime shopping (entertaining guests in hotel rooms in this case) so that there was no money left to surrender. The Cap had only X amount to settle the hotel bills. Imagine his surprise when the Hotel slapped an additional amount as guest charges. They not only had the name of the guest but also the time and number of visitors each had entertained. There were a lot of red faces on Kalvari that day and a very very angry Captain. We all emptied our pockets and pooled in our combined resources to pay for the deficit. The boys on the jetty had to be declutched from some very determined ladies with exotic names like Judith Carlos, Fleur-de-Liza Lauz, Marilou Concepion, Luz Manalo….. and sent down the hatch before the boat cast off.
For those who cannot visualize the full impact of this story, I recommend you read the Odyssey or its condensed version if you please.
CHOPS
A diverse lot that is what we were on Kalvari. Friendships, which developed after only a few months of association, have endured even to this day. It was not only on Kalvari but similar associations developed and endured on other submarines too. Rather unfortunate we lost such a fine ex-shipmate. He was a real Officer and Gentleman. Let me end this Kalvari series with a tribute to Navin Chopra.
We first met when he joined Vela for his Dived Watch keeping Ticket. I was his senior but Chops was on a fast track. We got our tickets on the same day. The competitive spirit never left him. In later years we met again at Venduruthy. He had come to do the TAS course. I was there for my ND. It is said that Chops made his position very clear to his classmates. ‘Gentlemen’, he said ‘I have come here to stand first in the course. Some of you may be smarter than me but I intend to overcome that drawback by sheer hard work. I shall out study each and every one of you. If you study 24 hours, I shall study 25 and achieve my goal.’ That was the kind of resolve, which Navin Chopra had. He did come first in his course.
Chops was always an outdoor man. He was not among the Salsa dancers. He preferred hiking, jogging and adventure instead. A teetotaler, Chops joined in the fun whenever the Ward Room was celebrating. I never recall him to be a bore or loner. Chops was just Chops. That’s it.
He loved to swim. When the US Navy PC3 Orion dropped its Sonobuoys around a surfaced Kalvari in the Straits of Taiwan, it was Chops who dived into the sea and retrieved them as a Souvenir for Cochin’s NPOL. It is said that he was once carried away by the strong current while swimming off Vizag’s Coromondal beach. His friends ashore tried to draw the attention of boats, which were fishing, at some distance but to no avail. Just when it seemed the large waves were going to get the better of Chops, a helicopter belonging to the Circars flight happened to fly overhead. Attention of the Pilot was drawn towards Chop’s near drowning situation and a real life rescue at sea was effected.
Weeks after returning from Russia, we were to take part in Fleet Exercises off Andamans. Chops was the Torpedo Officer then. We had a very hectic day storing and loading Torpedoes. Chops was on his feet all day. We finally sailed late at Night. Chops had the first watch after we cleared Vizag harbour. Passage Routine had been announced by then. It was a full moon night. The sea was calm and placid. We were 20 to 25 miles from land. Dolphin’s Nose light was still visible. A tired Chops was perched on top of the Fin. He asked the lookout to fetch him some coffee. There was no sign of Chops on the Bridge when the lookout returned with coffee. The helmsman steering from the Fin too had no idea of Chops’s whereabouts. As the second Navigator, I was plotting in the Chart House when the lookout called me on the Kahstan. He informed me of Chops absence from the Bridge. I asked him to check out the Fin toilet but Chops wasn’t there. It was then I made the announcement on the circular about the missing Chops.
Sam Dan was in Command of Kalvari then. He came up on the bridge. It was clear by then that Chops was not on board. I saw a firm resolve on the Captain’s face. He clenched the railing in front of the Captain’s seat on the Bridge and said,” By God, I will get him.” Thus began, what at that time appeared to be a hopeless search for a Man Overboard.
Someone gave a wheel order and forgot all about it. Yours truly forgot to mark the position on the plot and so on. The initial response to the emergency was mildly chaotic. Order was soon restored and proper search put into effect. Periscopes were raised, searchlights rigged, extra lookouts positioned and loud hailers brought on the bridge. The sub went on a maneuvering mode and began a search pattern. We did a number of unsuccessful passes around the position where we thought Chops might have fallen overboard. The Radar Chief, Kanwar, had only recently joined the submarine arm. No one took him seriously when he reported what he thought was a coconut on his screen. For want of a better option we altered course to investigate this ‘Coconut’ and directed the Projectors (Searchlights) in the same direction. Lo and behold, there was Chops swimming towards us about 2 cables on our starboard bow. A cry of jubilation went out from the ship’s company. We had found our man.
Recovery was simple. Fore Planes were rigged out. Casing party went on the deck with Lifebuoy and heaving line. The boat was maneuvered to stop next to Chops and he was picked up on board. The first thing that Chops did after being rescued was to apologize to the Cap for having fallen overboard. The Cap magnanimously decided to overlook the incident. We recommenced our passage and went on to carry out some very successful operations with the fleet that season.
Chops didn’t remember how he fell off from the relative safety of the Bridge in calm weather conditions. He told us that survival instincts took over once he was in the water. After watching the boat’s stern light dip in the horizon, he decided to swim for the shore. Soon he realized that it would not be possible to swim the 25 miles to shore. He decided to conserve energy and float. Hopelessness gave way to excitement when he saw the Masthead light of Kalvari. But the sub passed a few cables away without noticing him. Again, Hope gave way to despair when he saw the boat turn around and the stern light dipped once again. These mixed emotions continued to trouble him until he was finally rescued.
There may be many other instances from Chops’s short but exciting life that you may remember. In the end, all I can say is that Chops lived and died on his own terms. He may have had his own reasons, which convinced him that life was not worth living from the point of time he ended it.
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.
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.
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