THE OBSERVER-(M-29)

 THE OBSERVER-(M-29)

Sat 31 Oct 2020

          PREM  KAHANI 

                   YA

          PREM ROGUE

           The narrative had to come to this topic some day or the other, so what better time than right now ? After the episodes of the Raising Day and The Shimla Accord, was to come the one regarding the Long Range Patrol.This tour on duty took me almost up to the source of the Sutlej in Himachal ; then  across a high mountain pass and  down the Ganga in Uttarakhand. A truly remarkable and memorable adventure. But, unlike the other episodes thus far which flowed freely from the word go,this particular one kept getting hiccups and hitting roadblocks. The otherwise smooth ride repeatedly got caught in a flood of emotions. Something had gone missing.It looked as if a very important and fundamental element had been left out from the sequence of life - events thus far. No human story can be said to be complete without the Cupid angle having been given its due place.

       So, in keeping with the natural flow and shelving the LRP saga for a later date, i now turn to matters of the heart - Prem Kahani and go down Prem Gali. Looking back, it is clear that the opening lines of this dominant chapter of my life were penned down early, when i was in Kindergarten. Our Class Teacher, Sister Jones,an Irish nun , unwittingly became the sole object of my devout admiration and adulation, the Queen astride the throne in my heart. Why ? For one thing, she was pink, pinker than anyone else i had ever laid eyes upon.Then she had sparkling blue eyes with a heavenly, angelic smile that lit up the hiils with sunshine and cheer. There i go again - but then,that is the background which necessarily needs to be put down before proceeding further.

       After Sister Jones, there followed a trail of recepients of my (mostly secret and sacred) devotion through school and college times till OTA days. Most of these Goddesses in human form had no inkling of my feelings towards them as i could never find the gumption to actually speak to them on the subject . Not a small amount of my time and energy was spent in numerous detailed dry runs of the moment of the all-important declaration of love that nevertheless lay unspoken inside me most times. The object of my adulation may have been changing on a regular basis but at any given moment,there was always only one name in the heart for whose sake one was ready to take on the whole world.The kind for whom one could happily lay down one's life.Towards the end of our YO's Course, it looked as if i had finally found the perfect  companion for life, my soulmate, in Pune.

          After joining the unit, i was looking forward eagerly for the day i would be passing through Pune en-route Belgaum for the Commando Course. Dreams of a joyful re-union in Pune kept me going through many a dreary day. But barely a month or two before that, i was detailed on this LRP at short notice. It took longer than originally scheduled  owing to seasonal landslides in that region . In order to avoid getting late for the Course, i left the patrol party when we reached Rishikesh after completion of patrolling.I did not wait to go for the debriefing at the start point in Sugar Sector and instead reported at the unit.

       Col  Sam Superman, a no-nonsense, Staff College Camberley type, had taken over as CO while i was away on LRP. Destiny willed it that my first official meeting with him took place in his office at that point of time. I requested to be allowed to proceed immediately for the Commando Course.At first he was very happy with my action.But after speaking to the Brigade Commander he told me to first rejoin the patrol party and attend the debriefing in Sugar Sector for completetion of formalities. I complied and reported back in double-quick time, requesting to be allowed to proceed forthwith for the Course but was asked to wait. No opportunity was there for me to extend the dialogue and explain why i was in such a hurry and that i wanted some leave on completion of the Course

            That evening,i sat all alone in the Mess, sipping glass after glass of rum and musing how unjust the entire system was, preventing a lonely pining heart from proceeding to Pune en-route Belgaum on bona-fide military duty!

Also unexpressed, remained my hopes for spending some leave - time in Pune after the Course.Enter Parthasarathy Premkumar Pattukottaiwale (known to the cops as P-cube); friend, philosopher and guide of the downtrodden,  from left centre of the stage, very soliticitiously enquiring about my well-being. Two or three drinks later, having gotten a firm grasp of the situation, fully aided and abetted by five or six cigarettes, P-cube came up with a simple solution. He always did. And in those days, we did not believe in "wasting" any time between thinking up a solution and putting it into action.

         Within moments, we were ringing the doorbell at the CO's residence. He was obviously taken aback at seeing the two specimens in high spirits at his doorstep at that late hour. But being the epitome of an officer and a gentleman that he was ( not to forget the Camberley part ), we were politely invited in. Aaah ! Obviously,we had dropped into a cosy little get-together he was having with his N.D.A. batchmate visiting him from outstation along with his lady wife. Being perfect gentlemen ourselves, after the customary introductions were over, we accepted the drinks offered and settled down. Soon, P-cube turned out to be the life and soul of this little gathering, having found a lot in common with the first lady. I kept sipping my drink, waiting for an opportunity to diplomatically present my case to Superman, with no success. But when P-cube is in his element in the evening, there is little chance of anyone else getting a word in edgewise, as everyone present there soon discovered.

       Keeping in mind the time- honoured tradition of not insulting the gracious ( though involuntary) host by having only one drink, we had three or even four, just to be on the safe side. We finally left the place on a high and cheerful note after P-cube quietly informed me to relax as he had taken care of everything. I went to sleep that night with the great satisfaction of having succeeded on a difficult mission.

       Early the next morning, i was surprised to get a phone-call from the Adjutant. For some strange reason ,he was very keen to know in detail what had taken place the previous day. When i told him how i had " called on " the CO along with P-cube, he asked if anything untoward had taken place in the process. I replied that i was certain that the evening had been a big hit. After some further cross- examination, the Adjt said that i should make it convenient to come to the office in No. 1 rig as the CO had desired that i should be marched up first thing in the morning.

          One thing about hanging around with P-cube is that when he is around, a very optimistic and positive air prevails even under the worst of circumstances. In the eyes of the pining lover-boy 2/Lt, nothing could have gone wrong when he was genuinely attempting to follow the calls of his heart. He  marched into the CO's office with his chin up , expecting nothing but good tidings,despite all the fears expressed by the Adjt.            

       What followed is unforgettable. Probably the CO thought that this was a befitting occassion to stamp his seal of authority on the unit once and for all.In hindsight, I am quite sure he spent the whole night preparing and polishing the impeccable speech he delivered. Because as far as admonishing speeches go, it was outstanding both in content and delivery.

He missed out nothing. The special relationship between a CO and any officer of the unit, that too a piddly 2/Lt was emphasised while also shedding some light on the protocol of calling-on on senior officers at their residence. And as if that was not enough, the very idea of utilising the services of a batch-mate for sifarish regarding leave on compassionate grounds was an unpardonable crime, in his opinion." Now F Off for your Commando Course ", said the CO. I saluted and dutifully did just that - 'F'-ed off from his presence and ho for the Course a day or two later after getting the official Movement Order. As for P-cube,after dropping me in the Mess that night  he was not to be seen for some months, in keeping with his standard operating procedure  of vanishing at the conclusion of his merciful "good-deed " missions without waiting for thanks.

          

THE DAILY OBSERVER-53

 😎THE DAILY OBSERVER-53😎

Sat 24 Oct 2020

CAMRADERIE & COMRADEGIRI

        Kat opened a can of worms and a whole lot of fish swallowed the bait.Vish laid out a red herring to spice-up the action.Birth pangs are not easily forgotten, espescially the ones all comrades of SS-33 / 24 went through with full camraderie during a particularly difficult Operation Theatre procedure without anesthesia in 1982. Evidently, the resultant scars have still not healed.On the contrary the wounds are raw and they start bleeding at the very mention of the alleged event and alleged culprit who was the alleged cause of it all.

Public enemy number one or the "prime accused " in this case happens to be Dandpal Singh Chodri .But all these years there has been a collective suspiscion that one of our very own comrades- in-arms  was the main reason for invoking the ire of the powers- that-be in those days.And the offense he commited was supposed be something along the lines of  "outraging the modesty of a young lady who happened to be the daughter of a VIP ". 38 years later, despite various probes by multiple agencies , there has been no progress in the case. And naturally, the stage has now come to the point where  : THE NATION WANTS TO KNOW.

         Seeing the worldwide outcry on the subject a high-level SIT was immediately set up to investigate the matter on priority.

Preliminary Findings are as under :- 

a)No FIR was registered

b)No medical exam was carried out.

c)No eye-witnesses are available

d)There was no CCTV or mobile phone those days, so no CDRs.

There are no official records of the purported crime committed by the purported accused.All that exists is the memory of the nightmare undergone by SS 33/24, which is so real that the receipients of that largesse still spend sleepless nights.

Meanwhile, owing to a new drugs angle to the case that has emerged after a late-night confession, it is reported that the NCB is going to be called for assistance. Some preventive arrests are on the cards.The ED is already looking into the possible money-laundering aspects and the NIA will be checking links to the underworld.

Group members having direct or indirect knowledge of the case are requested to place their statements on this site immediately for perusal and action. It is very heartening to note the overall keen interest shown by one and all, including hibernating members. Picture abhi definitely baki hai !

Happy Posting.

THE OBSERVER-(M-28)

 😎THE OBSERVER-(M-28)😎

Wed 21 Oct 2020

THE SHIMLA  ACCORD

       There was a collective sigh of relief in the unit after the Raising Day events were over and activities returned to normal. The CO proceeded on leave prior to his posting out and the atmosphere was markedly relaxed. One hot Saturday afternoon in my office, my eyes were fixed on the clock, looking forward to the chilled beer that i was sure would be awaiting my arrival at the Mess. Into this sylvan,serene and calm scene dropped in Satish Madhav Pandey with Alok (YO-mate and very close friend)  as also Patrick from yet another Engineer unit. They had been given a break from the 

Bridging Training Camp near Patiala that they were attending and had decided to surprise me with a visit.

       Within moments, we moved from the office to the Mess and the beer started flowing along with stories and snacks. Much before lunch was served, we had polished off all the chilled beer available and switched over to gin. The spirits were sky-high and the conversation veered around to the hills visible on the horizon and the charms they held. It felt like the great Himalayas themselves were welcoming us with open arms.

There arose a desire to leave the restricted area of the Mess and explore the wide open spaces around.  Keen to show off my new- found powers as Company Commander (Offg), i called for a 1xton for a visit to the city.By the time the 1xton arrived, we had packed up three bottles of Rum and decided to go to Shimla . A quick drive saw us reach the bus stand just as a bus to Shimla was exiting ( ostensibly the last one for the day).We waved and stopped it.

Out of the 1xton, into the bus, we were soon Shimla-bound. Three bottles of Rum carefully wrapped in newspapers and Patrick's small- size hand-towel  packed into his equally small air-bag formed our luggage.

       Our state of euphoria initially kept increasing, inhaling the pine-scented air as the bus made its way up the hills and peaked when it reached Solan, that Mecca of us spirit(ual) souls.As we passed Solan Brewery, we bowed our heads in reverence and uttered silent prayers in praise of that life-saving establishment and its illustrious founders.Those were the days when beer meant Golden Eagle and whiskey meant Solan No.1.But as we ascended higher, the effect of spirits and each-others company started wearing off, to be replaced by leathery tongues in parched throats and the typical hammering sensations in the head that signal a hangover. The conversation slowly simmered down and we were half-asleep when the bus reached Shimla.

 Getting off the bus,came the realisation that we would perforce have to spend the night in Shimla. 

This simple consequence of our earlier bold and swift decision- making had somehow failed to strike our brilliant minds earlier.We headed on foot straight to the M.E.S. Inspection Bungalow, where i knew our ( i.e. unit's ) resourceful and all-powerful Mess Head-Waiter was attached, only to be informed that there was no room.We trudged up to the Mall and i was sure that i would come across old friends (some even owned hotels) who could help in this matter. But it was peak Season time in Shimla and all available space was booked for the weekend. It also became clear to me ( rather belatedly) that much had changed since the time i had last been a Shimla resident years ago and the number of my close friends there was not at all as high as i had presumed. By now, it was nearing sunset and getting chilly. As a last shot, we tried the Railway Rest House but no luck there either, despite trying to lure the attendant with Rum.The waiting rooms at the Railway Station also yielded no result.

         Darkness had descended by then and our limbs were aching with all the walking around.Seeing that there was no other option,and being the only one familiar with the local topography and ground conditions, i lead the gang to the  Railway Yard where the next morning's train was parked. Desperate times called for desperate measures.We managed to pry open the door to a second-class compartment with hard wooden benches and promptly dropped our tired bodies, the legs screaming in agony .The rum bottles lay untouched, in fact even the thought of a small tot sent a fresh set of sharp needles poking inside our delicate heads.

         Into this dismal scenario, Patrick introduced his hitherto hidden pocket transistor and we began listening to the live running commentary of the cricket World Cup. Partly for the purpose of avoiding detection and being charged with trespassing on Railway property and partly to conserve the battery till the end of the match, the volume was kept very low. The transistor periodically changed hands and whoever had it kept relaying the highlights to the rest.

The newspapers used for wrapping the Rum bottles turned out to be very handy as good insulators with the night growing colder with time. The small hand-towel also kept changing hands as a convenient wrapper in lieu of a blanket.We shivered and squirmed on the hard wooden benches, nodding off now and then into a fitful sleep.With the battery almost dead, came news of the Indian victory.The transistor went silent at that point. But  whatever doubts we had on the actual result of the math were settled by the night watchman in high spirits shouting at the top of his voice as he did his rounds, tapping loudly with his stick --- 

"KAPIL DEV -( BOOM) , 

JEET GAYA (BOOM), 

WORLD CUP (BOOM), iNDIAAAAAAAAA ! (BOOM-BOOM)

At first light, actually a bit before there was any sunlight to expose our moves, we washed our faces and made our way to the bus stand. Any further attempt to hide our plight from the world at large was set aside when we reached the bus stand. Lo and behold - the same bus on which we had travelled to Shimla was making its way out.

As we waved the bus to a halt and got our tickets, Sardarji the conductor could not help commenting -  

" Badi jaldi vaapis chal pade ! "

" Jis kaam se aaye the voh ho

 gaya "  was the terse reply.

The journey back to Chandigarh was a silent and introspective one, with thoughts of laying off the spirits for ever and ever strong in the mind as is wont on such occassions following particularly heavy binges.All members of this expedition weresworn not to divulge any details of the same as they made their way back to the Mess.

THE DAILY OBSERVER-(M-27)

 😎THE OBSERVER-(M-27)😎

Sat 17 Oct 2020

              RAISING DAY

      While virtually driving down memory lane, more often than not, the very floodgates of the heavens open up. The world around gets drowned out in the downpour of memories from the hidden depths of the mind.The vision gets hazy even as the wipers work hard at keeping the windscreen clear. The roller-coaster ride becomes bumpy and  milestones float by like driftwood, each one screaming for attention.It then becomes essential to pick a vantage point in order to be able to step aside and describe the happenings in a coherent fashion. Raising Day June 1983 was one such landmark event.

          Raising Day of the unit in Chandigarh, for me my first.For the then CO his last as an insider . Due for  posting soon after that, he was set upon making the event a memorable one. And so it was- for everyone ! Months of preparation and rehearsals in which not a single soul was spared. Each and every man jack had many a role  to play in this Mega-event. For individual officers, it was supervision of at least one of these: PT display, Bhangra, Lezium, Jhanjh,Bara Khana and Mess Social in addition to routine affairs. 

             The ladies started their own preparations for an entertainment programme full of song and dance to be featured in the Mess Social, with all big-wigs in station in attendance. Every evening, It fell upon me to fetch the lady and daughter duo who helped with the music and dance  from the city to the Mess for practice and drop them back when it was over.Other than that, i had to play my signature "Aŕabian Theme" on the harmonica and plày accompaniment to another vocal Hindi number. The ladies took their act seriously and their rehearsals went on in earnest from day one.

         The dance presentation by all officers was another story altogether.Many days had gone by with a lot of tall talk about it but there had been no tangible progress. During a lull in proceedings in one of the CO's conferences, an officer had casually remarked about having seen such a thing in some other unit's function . This "bright"  idea  immediately caught the CO's attention and he was all for it. Seeing the CO's keenness, the senior lot nodded their heads in agreement.The juniors cursed under their breath and silently condemned the chatak originator of this idea to a horrible and painful future. Those showing support and adding ideas to this suggestion (and there were many) were initially under the delusion that they themselves would not be a part of it. I also remained an amused spectator to these developments, fondly imagining that i would surely be spared the ordeal due to my other commitments.The CO soon set all these notions right when he  announced that this was an item in which all except he himself would have to take part. 

         Finally came the day when the 2IC , prodded by the CO managed to get all officers to assemble in the Mess one evening, in an attempt to get things moving. There was a free flow of drinks and ideas which resulted in a broad game- plan for the item.Still, there was nothing concrete to show. It came to a point when everything else was at an advanced stage of preparedness  except this event. It was as if everyone was inwardly wishing it would just be magically cancelled at the last minute, though none dared to say this openly.The day for the CO's rehearsal came and when he saw the confusion , he spoke out on the issue with all his might .He declared that the officers dance was going to be the Star item of the evening and it was not going to get cancelled at any cost, so better to get cracking rather than to cut a sorry figure on D-Day.

       At last, some actual movement on this score was seen. One of the Coy Cdrs  said he would organise recorded music for the evènt. The theme would be African. The dance costume would consist of painted bare upper-bodies with short  grass skirts beneath  and feather head-dresses on top. A senior Major volunteered to be tied to a stake as a female captive around whom everyone else would do the dancing..Most of these freaky Bollywoodish and outlandish ideas emanated from another luminary who was comfortable with the knowledge that he would be away on a Course when time came to go on-stage. By the time, the others realized this, it was just too late to do anything about it.

         Before the Mess Social, came the Bara Khana, complete with an entertainment programme of its own. On the evening of this event, i discovered my immediate senior, Lt.P, pacing up and down his room in a nervous manner, trying hard to remember the lines he had to rattle out as the Emcee of the day. Taking quick stock of the situation, i opined to him that the best remedy under these circumstances was a couple of quick tots to steady the nerves,  boost the spirit and toggle the memory . He was much relieved after the treatment and took to the stage in a confident gung-ho manner. But sadly, neither of us had catered for the additional liberal doses of tonic very kindly provided by the organisers and eagerly gulped down by the MC in-between announcements on stage. Following a couple of rather bombastic announcements, there was some commotion and confusion. As a consequence, the ready and waiting eager-beaver education JCO took over the task of Emceeing. Come to think of it, i would not be surprised if he had deliberately engineered this sequence of events. After all, he was the one who had so painstakingly prepared the script for the Emcee.My friend,despite all his protestations was shipped off to the MH in the ambulance on a stretcher by the unit doctor. Nothing was  seriously wrong with him but in the eyes of our newly-posted, fresh from AFMC,chubby, pink-cheeked  Regimental Medical Officer, no chances were to be taken. He made full use of what he saw as a Godsent opportunity to assert his expertise and importance .

          On the Mess Social day, all the officers of the unit, after welcoming and offering the customary drink to invitees, kept disappearing back-stage one by one as the evening went by.The lights dimmed for the grand finale, announced with full fanfare - The Officers Dance.

Whooping and jumping wildly to the tune of African drum-beats, bare-bodied with short ( actually very short) grass skirts and feather head-dresses, the officers trooped on-stage, dragging a "lady" tied to a stake.The stake was placed in the middle and all danced around it, changing the dance - steps  every now and then by following the leader. At this point, it would be pertinent to mention that with little or no proper rehearsals, this show had perforce become more or less an impromptu one, with the initiative very much left to the highly "spirited" souls.The idea was to keep prancing around the stage for the duration, and hoping for the best.When the time came for pants to come off  and the grass skirts to come on, it was natural for all to fortify themselves with large doses of their chosen poison.Not to mention the expert advice on the subject that was readily available on the spot for any rookies in such matters.

      The lady at the stake screamed as the dancers went around, taking a poke at her every now and then with the spears in their hands. After all known (and unknown ) dance- steps had been exhausted, a circle was formed around the stake, all facing inwards.In synch with the music, everyone bent forward from the waist, arms stretched forwards till the heads were between the knees.The music slowly faded till there was silence.So far so good. All was going on as per the broad script. 

        The twist in the tale came when the music did not come back into action as planned. Heads bent, we all turned our heads left and right,looking at each other, the bent position getting more and more painful with time. Spectators burst into applause, thinking the show had ended, albeit rather abruptly. Desperate loud whispers could be heard from backstage.The NCO in charge of the music system was explaining that  the tape had got stuck.After what looked like ages,he managed to get the music playing once more. The lights onstage came alive and we all straightened  up gratefully  from the uncomfortable bent position and danced and whooped our way off-stage, carrying the screaming lady on the stake with us.Over the excellent dinner that followed, there was much praise for the extra- ordinary "co-ordination" shown in the dance, espescially in the last moments ! Unanimous opinion was that " The Officers Dance " was by far the item of the day.

          After dinner, with all guests gone, there was wild celebration with Scotch till the early hours of the morning.An event to remember, indeed. 

        What started off as the tale of the Raising Day ended up of its own volition as the story of " The Officers Dance ". Are the two really any different ? When the CO conducts the proceedings and all officers are in attendance, the whole unit dances !

THE OBSERVER-(M-26)

 😎THE OBSERVER-(M-26)😎

Sat 10 Oct 2020

LIFE IN THE UNIT

    

      With the unit back in its regular location, it was time to get a feel of routine activities. The newly dined- in 2/Lt got his chance of playing Coy  Cdr. when all the regular Coy Cdrs started going on leave in ones and twos What a heady feeling ! Here was a golden opportunity to show the world what stuff he was made of.Nothing was going to be allowed to take that away from him.

         All this time, he had been reeling under the dictates of seniors,bound  to quietly follow instructions when his head was brimming with  far better ideas.But no one seemed to take him seriously when he went so far as to dare to open his mouth about anything. Maybe now was the time to set matters right on that count. The Coy Sub,particularly, appeared to show a lack of enthusiasm to put the bright revolutionary ideas of the 2/Lt into action.With the Coy Cdr away on leave, it was a now or never situation.

 A routine weekday went something like this  : -  PT and breakfast over, the Coy Sub gave his report in the Coy office. This report was a summary of the previous day's activities, present day's forthcoming events and the OK report meaning that all was fine.After a short question-and-answer session, there was nothing much to do except pretending to be very busy and hoping the phone did not ring. The Clerk saw to it that the In-tray was kept filled with a steady stream of routine documents for signatures and the office runner kept checking every now and then for files to be removed from the Out-tray. The "Pending" tray was always there for anything requiring more than an ordinary  effort i.e. some application of mind.The runner took great pride in the specialised task of handling the traffic in the file-trays and was very happy to point out a signature or date missing every now and then.He also took upon himself the onerous task of informing about any important file that had been lying longer than was regarded safe in the Pending tray.The onus of seeing that there was no trouble on that count was on his shoulders. He, along with the Clerk would face the flak if a long-pending issue drew adverse comments from above..This system seemed quite convenient to me,in which i could be seen to do no wrong and indulge in procrastrination at will.

        After the customary tea and light snack, some more files were dealt with,keeping  half an eye on the clock. As lunch time neared, dal soup from the langar would make an appearance. In-between, there would be some glasses of cold nimbu-pani,the quantity depending on the nature and severity of the hangover from the previous evening's activities. There always lurked a deep suspiscion that there existed a conspiracy between the Coy Sub, the Clerk and runner.. 

Very cleverly and unobtrusively, these worthies saw to it that the 2/Lt sahib remained buried in files most of the time and did not go around poking his nose where it was unwelcome.  Lunch at the Mess was followed by a siesta and games parade in the evening. 

         But then, there were other days when the atmosphere would be enlivened with bursts of activity, some self-created out of boredom while others were decided by sub- ordinates or seniors or just plain circumstances..One such typical occasion arose when i was ordered to immediately rush to the city and get back with some urgently required information. While traversing the length and breadth of the desert in a 1×ton, i had slowly learnt to drive it and was quite proud of my skills behind the wheels of that powerful machine. But till then, i had not dared to drive in city traffic. As officiating Company Commander, i felt it was high time i shed all inhibitions and fears. Here was the chance i had been so eagerly waiting for, an important and urgent mission. Reaching the Company office after receiving orders from the Adjutant, i directed the Company Subedar to have the 1x ton ready. When the 1x ton reached and parked at the designated spot, i rushed to board it. The driver held the door on the left side for me to climb aboard but i brushed him aside and got on to the driver's seat, signalling him to hurry up and get seated in the co-driver's seat. Ignoring the muffled protesting noises emerging from him, i switched on the engine and the 1xton shot off the blocks like a racing car.I had pressed the accelerator to the floor, the way i had got accustomed to,while driving in the sand. The 1 x ton literally flew into the air and landed sideways with both the left-side wheels in a ditch that ran alongside the road.The spot where this occurred was clearly visible from the offices of tbe CO and Adjutant and my first thought was whether the big guys had spotted this acrobatic feat.

Stunned and shaky, i climbed out of the door like a cavalryman emerging from the cupola of a tank and the driver got out after me from the same door, also in a daze. i hastily looked around to see if anyone was watching. i was glad to see the Coy Sub rushing with the CHM and a couple of men. Before i could say anything, they manually lifted the vehicle out of the ditch and placed it on the road on all four wheels.I proceeded to the city, with the driver in his proper seat, all the time praying that no one else had noticed the fiasco.As no mention was made, i presume that it went unnoticed.

     Next came the day of the CO's conference. Notebook in hand and a brand new ballpen in the pocket, puffed up with self-importance, i settled myself in a chair in front of the C.O. Lt.Pat ( ex-N.D.A.) , a brother officiating Coy Cdr sat next to me likewise, notebook in hand and pen on the ready. The other two regular Coy Cdrs were visibly more at ease.The C.O. began by enquiring about the condition of the troops in general, in answer to which we all were ready with an "all is ok" report. 

      Then came the first bombshell, in the form of a question- " What are the timings of water supply ? Are the troops getting enough water ? " This googly, delivered out of the blue when all seemed hunky-dory, took me unawares. i was clean bowled. It was news to me that the water supply in the unit lines was a timed and restricted affair, unlike in the Mess. But where i was clean bowled, Lt. Pat did not even flinch. He confidently rattled off the timings of water supply (his own creation) without batting an eye-lid. Unfortunately for him, though, the CO had come fully prepared for this. Lt Pat was asked in an acid tone to check up the actual timings by kindly paying a visit to the lines someday when he found time to do so.

       Frantic scribbling on the notebooks followed for the remainder of the conference. Lt. Pat seemed to be finding much more to jot down than me as his pen was in action non-stop. Surprised at this, and not wanting to miss out any important points, i surreptitiously peeked into that notebook of his .What  Pat had been religiously and repeatedly writing was his own rank and name again and again !

Raising Day of the unit was coming up and the CO was desirous that the same should be celebrated on a grand scale. So all leave was to be curtailed and preparations begun in right earnest forthwith.

Getting back to the Company, i conveyed all directions of the CO to the Coy Sub. I also made it a point to ask him rather sharply about the timings of water supply and why i had not been informed about the problems on that count, as also other inconveniences being faced by the troops. He countered by informing how the Junior Adjutant was overtasking the Company and the Quarter-Master was deliberately issuing powdery coal ( choora ), taking advantage of the absence of the regular Coy Cdr.

That did it. Along with an NCO,ii went to the QM stores coal dump where coal distribution was in progress. Though i could not make out much, i made a big show of asking questions and jotting down some facts and figures in my notebook. With a very satisfied smirk, i came back to the Coy office and over a cup of tea, started preparing a stinging report on the state of affairs in the unit re coal distribution.I had not even gotten beyond the introduction stage, when the phone rang.

          Capt V, the unit Quarter Master, shouted at the top of his voice over the phone - " What sort of an officer are you ? How dare you go around inspecting my area without having the basic courtesy of informing me ? You come here forthwith ! " I am quite sure that i heard the Coy Sub chuckling away as i made my way to the QM office. Once there,i had to listen to Capt V,who minced no words about the kind of officers joining the unit of late,not aware of their position in the scheme of things and going around poking their noses all over the place.It was a thoughtful and sombre Officiating Coy Cdr who returned to the office .

        Hmmmm. There was a lot more to learn about working in an Engineer Regiment in peace location yet for the 2/Lt. !

THE OBSERVER-(M-25)

 😎THE OBSERVER-(M-25)😎

Fri 02 Oct 2020

THE CITY BEAUTIFUL

       Beautiful place with beautiful sites,structures, flora and fauna, Chandigarh has always been the city beautiful by  any standards. What a relief and pleasure it was to reach this haven after a long arduous drive in a convoy from the desert ! The unit was located at a spot which is presently adorned by the Command Hospital and the Mess was in a private bungalow across the main road in Panchkula.  

        Soon after arrival, a Husbands Night which also doubled-up as my dining-in party was organised in the Mess. Fancy Dress was the order of the day.Under the able guidance of the First Lady of the unit, the ladies had put together some entertainment  to welcome all officers back from Rajasthan  with a lot of pampering as if they were returning from a real battlefield.All this happened so fast after our return that the only fancy dress i was able to rustle up for the occasion was the costume used by the Jhanj troupe of the unit --- dhoti tied in Maharashtrian style held up by a belt with a pagri to match.

       The evening started off on a gala note, with the ladies arriving first in full strength; welcoming the returning warriors one by one with a garland, aarti and tika. Making a quiet, nervous  backdoor entrance,i kept watching the goings-on  almost unnoticed.None of the families had seen me before.Capt S, the unit Quarter Master, came dressed as a doodhwala complete with cans on a cycle with a hooter and shouting doodh- doodh. Others were there in different attires and soon the drinks flowed like water. The senior subalterns saw to it that  no time was wasted i and had my glass refilled each time before it could be emptied. i was quite content to oblige and said as much.As long as there was no mixing, i could carry on at it till kingdom come,or so i thought.But as the evening went by,i had to imbibe some heavy concoctions, prepared under the supervision of experts in that field.The first of these special ones felt as if a gigantic explosion had been set off inside of me . But soon, i found myself guzzling them down as fast as they came.Finally, there came a stage when i had to rush off to my room. I vomitted out most of the contents of my stomach in the bathroom. My bed looked so inviting after that, i just dropped into it like a wet sock. But i was almost immediately shaken awake and brought back to centre- stage. There i promptly sank into a sofa and my eyes closed despite my best efforts to keep them open. When i did finally succeed in opening my eyes a little later, i found everyone gathered in front and staring at me.Peering carefully through the mist that for some unknown reason seemed to have enveloped the rooom, i  made out the silhouette  of the CO standing right next to me. He was actually in the middle of his speech welcoming me to the unit. Unaware of that, i kept trying to stand up respectfully while people kept pushing me down till i eventually gave up the struggle.The thought that i would have to speak next sobered me to no small extent.It felt as if someone had poured a bucketful of ice cold water over me. When the CO had completed his address, i forced myself up from the deep recesses of the sofa with great difficulty and tried to stand upright without leaning onto something or other for support. Having somehow achieved this seemingly impossible task, i  searched for my tongue, which seemed to have got stuck to the roof of the mouth . The throat had gone absolutely dry and the lips opened and shut without any sound emanating.The ground seemed shaky and my legs felt as if they were made of rubber. Desperately trying to control my thoughts, which were wandering all over and trying hard to remember where i was and who were the "strangers" all around me, i managed to blurt out some words.

It was only much later that i came to know from someone how i had left no stone unturned in my speech to explain in great detail the way i had found myself in the Corps of Engrs by default despite having opted for infantry. Luckily for me, i had added that having seen the unit in action, i was proud to be part of it and would do my best to make up for defects in my learning.

        Speech formalities over, the Quarter Master ( himself also an ex-Otanian) took me under his personal charge and ordered me to tank up with him, drink for drink. To readily oblige was my automatic response.There was also some dancing to recorded music in which i whole-heartedly took part, holding on gingerly to my dhoti and praying silently that it would not fall off. 

          Soup was served, but my new-found caretaker would not have it, his basic thirst was not yet quenched. i, of course, was fully under his command and control.All the ladies were waiting patiently for quite some time while the two of us kept drinking.The drinks were sloshing up to my back teeth but the end seemed nowhere near. Finally, when the poor ladies were almost in tears, the CO had to sternly intervene and soup and dinner were had by all.After dinner, we saw off all the married officers one by one. My Coy Commander got on to his scooter,said goodnight to all and left, before his wife could hop on. We waited till he reached home, realised something was missing and came back for his better half.

           Next morning, all officers were marched up into the CO's office.Visibly struggling to control his emotions and maintain parliamentary language with great difficulty, he remarked on the events of the previous night,saying he had never seen such behaviour in his entire career. He felt the playacting of carrying on with the drinks had been carried on a bit too far and set a bad example for youngsters like me.Standing at the extreme end of the line and nursing the mother of all hangovers, i now realised that the 2/Lt in me had truly and finally attained man's estate !

THE OBSERVER-(M-24)

 😎THE OBSERVER-(M-24)😎

Sun 27 Sep 2020

DESERT STORM- PHATTECHAK     

          The sandmodel discussions got over and now it was time to put into practice all that had been preached.The Major Exercise was in the form of an offensive move deep into enemy territory. As part of this, the unit was tasked to lay tracks for the essential supplies columns to move on once the bridgehead had been established . Called "Trailblazing" in English,the troops  promptly and aptly translated it to  "Phattechak" in Punjabi. 

           Flexible-Duck-Board or FDB was the name of the main  equipment utilised for this purpose. 

Storing,loading/unloading, transporting,aligning and laying of these FDBs was Phattechak.All of a sudden, the vital statistics including weight of this otherwise obscure piece of equipment of World-War-II vintage assumed critical importance.

             The actual meaning and significance of the term truck 3 x ton(Tata Mercedes Benz or Shaktiman) and the seemingly minor and trivial detail like the weight of an FDB were driven home in no time.  A 3x ton could carry only 40 FDBs by weight even though it looked as if many more could be squeezed in .This simple fact was driven home the hard way,by hit and trial.Even loading,  unloading and storage of these FDBs was a specialised task which took some time for everyone to get familiar with.Vehicles available for the task were far less than ideally required for quick transportation.So each vehicle had to make many turn-around trips. Vehicles with 4×4 option and those fitted with sand-tyres were preferred but both were scarce.

         What looked so simple during discussions turned out to be a really complex task when it came to implementation on ground. Accurate recce and alignment of the track was the most crucial part of the proceedings, starting from the planning stage.More often than not, the picture as it appeared on the map was far different from ground realities. Some old settlements shown on the map turned out to have vanished and some new ones sprung up in the middle of nowhere.

        It was so easy to lose direction or get stuck in a patch of soft sand while navigating with the help of outdated maps, which at times showed an all-weather motorable track where none existed. A simple event like the passage of a camel-train or a herd of sheep could alter the entire scene in minutes, not to speak of sandstorms.In the absence of any major natural landmarks or sign-posting of any kind, it was very difficult to distinguish one cluster of huts or junction of tracks from another.It was no easy task for the 2IC of the unit whose role it was to align the track succesfully in unknown territory and end up at the correct spot leading to the bridgehead.All the more so when everything had to be done under cover of darkness.

            Having freshly arrived from a mountaineous terrain to the plains,the unit had yet to get fully geared up for the situation. This was the hard truth at all levels. A whole new set of terms were in use and new ideas were being tried out, demanding out-of-the-box thinking and innovation.One good thing about this large-scale exercise was that it brought into sharp focus the importance, relevance and inter-dependence of each arm and service as also the need for close co-ordination.

      While most of the unit was fully involved solely with the main task of laying tracks, Second- in- Command of the unit was given the additional charge of setting up and operating the Obstacle Crossing Control Organisation with me as his assistant.The exercise was expected to be a prolonged one with the unit spread out over a large distance.So everyone was expected  to survive on packed rations for the duration.Just before the start, we were joined by a group of officers who were attached to the unit for administrative purposes and were to act as umpires for the exercise. They were not a very welcome lot and rather looked upon as a logistical burden and with an eye of suspicion.Conversation would automatically become guarded in their presence.The poor chaps tried hard but without much success to convince all that they were just doing their duty and meant no harm.

By the end of the exercise, the unit had layed 103 Km of track. As for the Obstacle Crossing Control Organisation, it was successfully established in time.An area was neatly marked out with pickets and mine-tape, with lanes for entry, parking and exit.The 2IC was parked at the exit and me at the entrance, with the area in-between divided into lanes, to serve as the Waiting Area.With us was a time-table according to which vehicles were to be allowed in and out systematically in a strictly controlled manner. All i can say is that for some time things ran according to plan..After that, columns started arriving out of schedule but had to be allowed in. Soon, they had to be allowed out also regardless of the schedule  as there was a shortage of parking space.A little later, it became a free for all. The radio and line communication went for a six and our unit guides helped by  Military Police personnel stopped even pretending to be in control of matters.

         To make it worse, there was a sandstorm in the night. It became impossible to stand in the open. Nothing was visible and everyone took cover under whatever shelter was available. Sand was flying all over in swirls and all one could do was duck under cover and shut all apertures as best as possible. Even after that, there was sand in the hair, eyes, nostrils, mouth….. you name it.

           After a chaotic night, the dawn revealed a picture of what had taken place through the night. Scattered here and there were the odd  vehicles that had broken down or were stuck in soft sand while the majority of the column had crossed over. All types of communication had broken down and everyone was waiting for news of conclusion of the exercise.Cleaning out the sand and freshening up as best as i could, i walked across to the senior officer's 1x ton.He was up and about, trying to get his radio set crackling but to no effect. We realised there was not much we could do but remain still and await orders. We discovered that  the can of fish in my possession was all we had by way of rations and decided to have it for breakfast.He asked his sahayak to open it and serve it with tea. Right then, a Jonga with a white flag turned up with two officers on Umpire duty.They were very hungry and said as much. While i dutifully kept mum, my senior colleague coolly said that we were hungry too but there was nothing around. The smell from the freshly opened can of fish wafted from close by and the poor chaps sniffed the air pointedly but … nothing doing. After they left reluctantly, my unasked question was answered with the logic that what was there was not enough for four. Moreover, it was their own fault that they had not stocked up even after being forewarned.

There was the customary debriefing and summing-up in the end and the unit landed up on the outskirts of Bikaner. The first exposure to this fabled town was the Rajbhog served after lunch. Truly a food fit for kings, as imdicated by the name. Then came the Bikaneri bhujia for snacks in the evening. Some trg films were watched on TV screens in the town. Beautiful havelis with exotic glass and mirror work and paintings were a treat for the eyes. So was the lac jewellery which i  came to know about for the first time. There was also a visit to a temple dedicated to mice and some archeological sites at Pilibangan. Throughout the travels on the desert tracks, the only sign of women was around village wells, heavily veiled and always in groups. Now and then, one would get a glimpse of the most beautiful eyes peeping from small windows, or maybe it was  just my imagination playing tricks. Amazing what all a few days of isolated existence in a desert can do. There were also these gifted musicians who would turn up with their stringed violin-like instruments at langars and entertain us with folk songs.Strains of …...Kesariya balam, padharo mharo desh……. still ring in my ears after all those years.As for the lady in the picture --- i kept looking for her throughout my travels in the sand dunes, but every time i thought i had finally found her, she kept vanishing in a sandstorm !

          Maybe she will be found after the unit reaches Chandigarh, the city beautiful !

THE DAILY OBSERVER-52

 😎THE DAILY OBSERVER-52😎

Tue 22 Sep 2020

        THE GROUP ICON

            Sunday 20 Sep probably saw the maximum number of members marking their attendance on this site, with even Stuart Lawrence putting in an appearance. Saturday's sad event certainly seems to have shaken us all up like nothing else. The site witnessed an outpouring of feelings like never before with many of the usually silent or brief types writing paragraphs-full to express their feelings in great detail. The group s certainly evolving over time, and how !

         As Vidur pointed out early on Sun, life is like that - the rough and thè smooth follow each other, nothing is permanent. Messages of condolences for SK Sharma alternated with birthday greeting posts for Sirohi. Umesh Oberoi changed the group's icon and ordered an embargo on the usual lighthearted flippant posts. This "order "  was followed by all. Suresh Katoch came up with a touching eulogy to his college-mate and close friend, SK. And yes, SK was fondly known as "Tedha" and not " Bhoond" , the latter term was used for Katoch.

TDO stands corrected.

          Now coming to the matter at hand. First, it was Andrews whose finger changed the name of the group to " Ian Kerr ". Some confusion prevailed before things were set right by Alfie and further corrected by someone else.Not one to be left behind, Umesh changed the group's icon to suit the latest event. Last night Alfie changed the group's icon to the photo of an American General. Vijay Chougle suggested a change. Meanwhile, i suggested Gen Nathu Singh's photo and Alfie implemented the change with great difficulty ( the time then being well past 8 PM and Alfred being that much ahead on  his liquid intake ) .

         And this morning, it is noticed that the group icon is now changed to a bird's-eye-view of OTA by Vijay. Vijay's daughter is the one who has clicked this masterpiece from the air.  Bro Gurvi got so excited on spotting this early in the morning that he accidentally left the group.

See what an icon can do ? When one is unable to make out what it is, one tries to zoom the image for a better view. And when one tries such tricks, there us always the danger of finger-mischief !

      Make no mistake - a group  icon is a very important symbol - most of us take a look at it first thing in the morning and last thing at night. So it has to be something which evokes pleasant thoughts, not one which evokes nightmares or negative vibes.

        The present icon, at first sight apoears hazy and one is tempted to take a closer look by zooming. .And here is where danger lurks, as discovered by Gurvi. One gets drawn into the photo, spotting the White House,having all kinds of memories rushing in. Before one knows it - the finger has done the trick and one finds oneself out of the group by " galti se mishtek."

Sure,Uncle Alfie is always there 24 x 7 x 365 to add you back, but is such a state of affairs desirable?

i mean GCs accidentally leaving the group on a regular basis.Also, with so many Gp Admins, is it advisable to frequently fiddle with the group icon and description?

            As for myself, my eyesight is no longer what it once used to be. Seeing something new where the icon used to be, i zoomed in and what a sight it was ! Reviving all kinds of memories,not just of 1981-'82 but 1995- 2014 too.During the latter period, i resided and worked at Chennai Airport. Each time i flew in and out ( which was very frequent ) i used to make sure i got a window seat just to be able to see this view during take-off/ landing. I would try and make out the various landmarks - White House, swimming pool, Kot, Drill Square, OT Area, magazine, P Hill,St Thomas Mount, Adyar river and so forth. And all kinds of memories keep streaming in.

     So as long as the errant naughty finger is kept in check, tbis panaromic view of OTA is fine by me. Would very much like to know how others feel about it.

THE DAILY OBSERVER-51

 😎THE DAILY OBSERVER-51😎

Sun 20 Sep 2020

     OBITUARY

🕉🙏🕉🙏🕉🙏🕉🙏🕉

COL SURINDER KUMAR SHARMA IS NO MORE

LONG LIVE COL SURINDER KUMAR SHARMA

         The shocking news of the departure of Col SK Sharma last evening came about ten days after US Gill first gave the information about his admission in ICU, Fortis Hospital, Mohali. Said to be in a serious condition after a bout of typhoid,he had been on ventilator since then while various tests were carried out. During this period US Gill, Ian Kerr, Manjeet Sidhu,VK Duggal, Bhupi Batth,Arvind, Navnit and Mohinder were amongst those who visited the hospital, spoke to the family and kept us all informed about the developments on a regular basis.Volunteers were also on hand to donate blood if required.There seemed to be a little improvement in the vital parameters towards the end but after the biopsy results were received from Mumbai with " cancer of the blood vessels " as the diagnosis, came the news that he had breathed his last at 1630 hrs yesterday.Mortal remains have been taken to his native village in Himachal Pradesh for final rites, to be carried out some time in the morning today.

         What a journey it has been for Surinder,fondly called " bhoond" (beetle) ; from B.Com. in Govt College, Dharamsala to an interrupted CA in Delhi to join  OTA,Chennai and  then a distinguished career in the Army.

            GC Surinder was a genial, tough cadet in Naushera-8 with a keen sense of humour.In our second term, he moved to Meiktila Coy. He was fond of mimicking instructors and fellow GCs alike, one of his more popular acts being his rendering of the AEC officer's dialogue in Military History - " the morale is not just in the boots,it has gone  down to the grass roots. " He could always be counted upon to liven up the atmosphere with light quips from time to time. He was the life and soul at get-togethers with his keen ready wit and repertoire of stories. 

         Recollecting an incident from GC days, PK Sen ( his room-mate) asked SK one day - " Kol ka programme kya hai?" Today, i am quite sure that SK purposely pretended to misunderstand the Bong-accented question and replied - " Mujhe kya pata Kaul ke programme ke baare mein." PK Sen was late for the event as a result and claimed ignorance. When asked about this, SK maintained that he had mistaken Sen's query about "Kol " ka programme. He lightened many a grim moment with his imitation of different regional accents and typical mannerisms.

         I had the pleasure of enjoying his hospitality on many occasions in Raj Rif Centre soon after passing out. After that i met him during my last regular Army tenure in Jalandhar in the early nineties. He was doing very well in his unit in addition to being an efficient Secretary of the Jalandhar Club. I can never forget an excellent family evening at his place when his two kids (both serving Army officers today) along with my daughter had eyes glued on their newly-acquired colour TV, while we spoke of old times.

         The last time i met him was in 2013 when he was posted on re-employment in Stn HQ Shimla. He and Mrs. Sharma hosted an excellent dinner for the two of us in the Gaitey Theatre and we had a wonderful time together . By the way this involved a good uphill 5km walk for him. It was so nice to see him moving around majestically in his by then trade-mark hat and swagger stick. On being asked about the new swagger-stick addition, he said it was meant only for scaring away the monkeys.He went out of his way to help me to procure Black Dog for my school get-together. He came along with me to the canteen and it was great to see what a popular and respected figure he was . We spoke to each other on phone a few times after that when he had moved to Yol Camp. Of late, he had become reticent . Earlier he was active on fb but i do not recall him posting anything in this WA group of ours.

         Not easy to find guys like him, SK will be sorely missed by everyone. A big SALUTE for an innings well played and in style.

So long,buddy ! Bon voyaģe !

🕉🙏🕉🙏🕉🙏🕉🙏🕉

THE OBSERVER-(M-23)

 😎THE OBSERVER-(M-23)😎

Thurs 17 Sep 2020

            A nomadic existence in the desert. Here today, gone tomorrow.  Alternately moving and plonking as directed by the highers up, i slowly got used to the concept of being a small cog in the giant wheel that was the unit.The 1 x ton became my home away from home and i could not help getting rather attached to it. Many a time, we would reach the halting place late in the night after hours of travel and drop off to sleep the minute the camouflage net was up. By the time one started getting familiar with a particular location, it would be time to start moving again.

        After a beer and an extra- heavy lunch in the Mess on one such day, i was looking forward to a good afternoon siesta. I was dismayed to find that my oasis, the 1 x ton was missing from where i had last left it.Only the camouflage net was there, propped up by sticks. Under it was my bedding neatly rolled up with most of my meagre belongings packed in the trunk. What could not be fitted inside the trunk was displayed on top.The sahayak informed me that due to breakdown of the regular vehicle used for the purpose , "my" 1x ton  had gone to deliver lunch to the working party of the Company at a distant location.

         Of all possible things that could happen at that moment, the sudden realisation that a fondly anticipated siesta had been rendered impossible was probably the one most likely to upset the equilibrium of the 2/Lt's mind. And seeing that the only alternative was to spend the afternoon slouching on a camp-chair with the hot summer sun blazing through the gaps in the camouflage net, this mental agitation rose to a crescendo. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, it is said.My fury was close to, if not greater than that. To make matters worse,no one else seemed to be around at close quarters, all having tactfully vanished after giving me the news. My inner simmering matched the outside heat and i fumed.My feelings touched new heights when the 1 x ton came back late in the night, the rear cabin stained liberally with spilt dal.

          Having  already fortified myself in the Mess with a generous dose of rum and a good dinner under the belt, i decided it was time to take firm control of the situation. For a long time, i had been getting the feeling that the Coy Sub had been acting too big for his boots. He reported directly to the Coy Cdr on all matters and i was just a mute spectator to all that went on.No one seemed to be interested in the pearls of wisdom that were itching to flow from my lips all the time.The only ones who listened to me were the jawans during rum issue in the langar.This was the right time to make my presence felt, i thought to myself - now or never !

        Summoning Sub KS, i let loose my first ever sermon in the unit,from the elevated platform above the raised 1 x ton tailboard that served as my stage/ pulpit. There was no mincing of words whatsoever. Leaving no room for anythiñg to be said in- between, i poured out all the pent-up feelings of Mr.Nobody into that solo performance. 

        Sub KS reeled under this unexpected onslaught from a hitherto dumb 2/Lt and tried to get in a word edgewise, but i was uninterruptible. I was hearing my own voice after a long time and it sounded good to me, so i put all my energy into the act.Warming up further, i remarked that it was indeed a sad state of affairs when an officer of the Coy could not go for a simple necessity like lunch without the fear of coming back and finding his residence uprooted and belongings strewn all over. i meant my words to sting and i could see they had done just that.Rounding the sermon off with some terse remarks on what the world had come down to, i went to sleep with the contented feeling that i had now indeed arrived and made my presence felt in the unit.

           First thing the very next morning, Maj R hauled me over the coals and told me in no uncertain terms that nothing in the Coy, leave aside a 1 x ton, was anyone's personal property. If i had minced no words in my harangue the previous night, Maj R. touched new heights of oratory in his detailed dressing- down which freely elaborated on the Coy's larger interests taking priority over any individual's concern for his own comfort. Coming as it did, early in the morning and delivered without the aid of any spirits, this lesson went right home and stuck there for life.And the ultimate blow came when i was ordered to deliver lunch to the same working party that afternoon,check their welfare and report back.

     That evening in the Mess, it was a pensive 2/Lt nursing his glass of rum and licking the wounds from the morning's verbal lashing. The whole day had been spent by me delivering not just lunch, but tea and dinner too. i had reached the Mess late and tensely awaited the Coy Cdr's arrival to submit my report.  But wonder of wonders, the Coy Cdr asked me to perk up with another tot and start preparing for the upcoming BIG EXERCISE. All had been forgiven in the space of a day, no hard feelings carried over.

THE OBSERVER-(M-22)

 😎THE OBSERVER-(M-22)😎

Sat 12 Sep 2020

        MY NAME IS NOBODY

       Mouth shut, eyes and ears open,be seen,not heard were the golden rules laid down for the Young Officer.These I followed  gladly, even to a fault; except during drinking, eating and smoking.My second day in the unit began early. Waking up after a good night's sleep in the 1 x ton, i stepped out into the cool and refreshing desert air.The others were already up and about.  Gratefully sipping a steel  glass of  luke-warm tea offered by Pathak & puffing a cigarette, i peered through the gaps in the camouflage net at the hazy world around me. What next, i wondered,as I freshened up and headed towards the Mess at a quick pace.

A pall of smoke from the fires of various cook-houses burning firewood and coal hung lightly over the air with its typical smell.The sun was slowly rising over the horizon. The route to the Mess and back over the sand-dunes interspersed

with random thorny bushes had looked so simple and direct the previous day. Now it  seemed to have transformed into a complex maze.The tracks had been neatly watered down & tamped. The bushes were dressed-up with white mine-tape around them. Neat little metal markers pointed out the way to different locations. It took quite some time for me to realise that i had been actually walking around in circles and ending up at the same point repeatedly. Asking anyone for proper directions was a no-no for my own izzat's sake. My worst fears came true when a jawan who had noticed my meandering  offered his services to guide me to the Mess. This offer was accepted gladly with a sense of relief. Outwardly, i pretended to refuse. Apparently, movement around the unit during the previous day and the efforts at sprucing-up were the causes for the transformation of the landscape. As to why all the sign-posting had resulted in complicating matters rather than the other way round remains a mystery to this day !

       The first one to hit the Mess, i gulped down breakfast in a jiffy & parked myself at the Company office, waiting for Maj R,my esteemed Company Commander. A tent with a steel folding  table and steel armchair served as the Coy office. Another chair had been placed for me.The folding table was covered neatly with green blazer-cloth displaying the embroidered Coy insignia in front. The top was covered with glass weighed down by the customary pen-stand, paperweights and wooden in/out /pending tray. Sub KS, the Coy JCO,received Maj R. on his return from the Mess and submitted the morning report. After dishing out the orders for the day,Maj R briefed me about my duties over tea and  cigarettes. He informed me that i would henceforth be the Platoon Commander of No. 6 Platoon as well as the Officiating Coy Cdr. in

his absence.That done,I was ordered to immediately go to the Platoon location and get to know each and every person, details of his family and problems if any. Reading between the lines,i could see that he was not too keen for me to be watching the rest of his activities of the day with my super-keen YO eyes.Well,one knows how to take a " subtle" hint that one's presence is no longer required or desirable. A swift, expeditious and dignified exit 

followed.

I saluted and sped to the unit lines with the Coy Sub who took me first to the Mandir,Masjid & Gurudwara for blessings. By the time prayers had been said and formalities completed in each of these, it was tea-break, ideal for visiting the Coy langar. I enjoyed the proffered tea and snacks and lingered on. The Coy JCO excused himself and vanished. I kept chit - chatting with the guys, trying hard to remember names & details so that i could later jot it all down in the new note-book i had specifically opened for that purpose.

       Come lunch time,i made my way to the Mess. Unlike earlier, there was no beer before lunch, the atmosphere being businesslike.The list of Syndicate leaders and members was announced and Syndicate meetings were held after lunch. These were called brainstorming sessions but what i perceived was less of brain and more of storming. The unit had only recently moved to its then present location from the mountains. Many of the officers were newly posted. So this desert-warfare exercise was a new ball-game for all in which anyone could be equally right or wrong. At least that is how it looked to me. It was not at all difficult to remain a silent spectator to all the goings-on, merging with the background by pretending to be part of the furniture. Once again, one could not help regretting one's

own lackadaisical attitude during  the YO's Course training.

          But soon,the eyes and ears caught the familiar Lal Desh, Neel Desh narrative in a new setting. The OTA training came to mind and this gave a comforting feeling. Maps and sand-models oriented,  one began to get a glimmer of the larger picture that was being played out. Slowly, it began to sink in that  these goings-on were at a scale i had never dared even to imagine. Till that point,my musings on such topics had been confined  up to a level that was only one step above my direct  sphere of operation or influence. But here i was, an Engineer Platoon Commander in a Company which was part of a Regiment making up an Engineer Brigade,in the midst of discussions about the Brigade taking part in a major Formation - level exercise. Simply put -- Mind-boggling !

          The mock battle scenario was a swiftly changing fluid one. The CO returned from higher-level meetings and passed on news of the latest situation to the unit from time to time. This went on for some days after which things seemed to 

stabilise somewhat. Impending Engineer tasks were visualised along with resources that would be required in terms of stores and manpower . All officers were occupied in one way or the other with these planning  activities.

        Meanwhile, the rest of the unit ( rank and file) was kept occupied with repairing camouflage-nets and other routine maintenance tasks. This gave me an excellent chance  of interacting with the troops and getting to know them better. The tea-breaks and rum-issue days were best for this kind of work. Maj R had told me that he would be quizzing  me about such details at any time and i did not want to be caught napping on that count. After some initial hesitation, the guys opened up about their lives and problems. As for what was going on operationally they had no more idea than that the unit was "on scheme ". i rather liked their simple outlook, so practical. They accepted the fact that they were in for tough times ahead till the scheme lasted. The interlude before the next major activity was meant for relaxing and enjoying. As for the "scheme",they were sure that the Company Commander who was God personified, ably assisted by the Coy Sub, would see them through it all.The CO was a comparitively distant figure for them and the Commanders at higher levels even more so.

          Maj R held the reins tight over his Company and not a leaf could stir without his knowledge. The Adjutant was always on the lookout for adding to his own resources with the help of the Junior Adjutant who played the role of a talent scout for the regimental headquarters in addition to his regular duties. There were heated exchanges between the Adjutant and Coy Cdrs whenever it was felt that he was overstepping the sacred line. The temperature ( both internal & external) kept rising as the days went by and the unit kept moving from one location to another in preparation for the BIG EXERCISE.

THE DAILY OBSERVER-50

 😎THE DAILY OBSERVER-50😎

HAVE WE BECOME BLIND AND INSENSITIVE ?

Wed ,09 Sep 2020

Here is an extract of a message in an Army Group by Lt. Col Shokin Chauhan forwarded earlier by Alfred and last night by Arun  :

Dear Army family, 

I didn’t intend to write this but I thought I must. 

For those offended, please excuse me. 

1999 was a tough year for our army and even tougher for our unit.

I was blessed by the presence of the Medical Specialist, then Major Chakraborty (and yes he is the father of the now unfortunate Rhea). 

Maj Chakraborty helped the families of our boys, personally supervising their treatment and would ring me up weekly with a report about them.

I am eternally grateful to this officer for helping out our unit. 

A couple days ago, he rang me up and said, ....

Sir, isn’t there any one who will believe us?

 Our fraternity?

 Don’t we have some kind of support group for such cases?  

My daughter is innocent but she and my family are being destroyed by the media and false accusations.

Rhea was then  just eight years old and her brother Showik was an infant.

 I have personally known them and am absolutely certain that she is innocent and deserves  atleast our sympathy. 

Her only misfortune was to fall in love with who she did and to provide support to him till she humanly could. 

She is a daughter of our fraternity and has been brought up by the same values that we uphold. 

I thought that I would let you all know of her father’s contribution to the wellbeing of our unit. Warm regards.

                                 xxxxxxxxxxx

HAVE WE NOTHING TO SAY ON THIS ISSUE ?