THE OBSERVER-(M-42)

 😎THE OBSERVER-(M-42)😎

Sun 16 May 2021

               MESS AT THE

            OFFICERS MESS

    Remember the days when the term "waves " used to signify either those things in the ocean or at the worst a heat or cold wave ? No worries of a second or third one ?

There used to be such leisurely times too, when Doordarshan was the only TV channel available for limited sessions. That too only on a B&W TV ( colour TV was yet to make its appearance ) and Vividh Bharati and Radio Ceylon were popular entertainment. Almost sounds like prehistoric times now. But those are the ones i'm talking of. So just for a moment, take time off from the news and enjoy a refreshing read this Sunday. It is guaranteed to bring those roses back to your cheeks !

                Where am i headed to ? What is life all about ? Is there any purpose to it or am i just drifting aimlessly, buffetted here and there by the powers that be, forces beyond my control ?

These were the kind of questions flitting constantly across the young subaltern's mind during the first few years of his career. But then, come to think of it, the very same questions do keep popping up even right now - both with regards to life in general and to  the penning down of this narrative in particular. Digging around a little deeper ( and wider) , one finds that this has been the case at every stage of life from the moment one got into this habit called thinking ! And then there is the Master Question, what exactly is the source from where  all these questions spring up ? The answers are still being sought.

          Time is of the essence and not something to be wasted was one of the strident notes of the music playing out in the head during those days brimming with youthful energy. Any time not spent in complete enjoyment of the moment was construed to be a total waste.I enjoyed every bit of the daily routine from the minute i sipped my bed-tea. This was had sitting propped up with a pillow behind my back, blowing thoughtful rings from the first smoke of the day .And so the day went till i dropped dead at the end after the last post-dinner puff. The end of the day was usually not very far from the beginning of the next. During weekdays, the schedule was jam-packed , leaving little room for

anything other than what was the official schedule. Even if most of it consisted just of making oneself present at the right place in the right dress at the right time. The advantage in being a junior in the hierarchy was that once presence was marked, the rest was deemed to be the responsibilty of the seniors.

            By this time, a second star had added considerable weight on the shoulders and some of that had gone to the head too.Many of the unit officers had completed their tenures and left while others including some youngsters had joined in. These kept pouring in regularly at six-monthly intervals. So at last there was someone else down the pecking order now, waiting with plate in hand and forlornly eyeing the left-over pieces of chicken during parties in the Mess. And speaking of parties - there were many. The boss was a staunch believer in building camaraderie in his team through close interaction amongst the officers and families on a regular basis and anything he believed in was put into action.

          Guess this would be just about the right moment to introduce  the cast that took part in the daily drama. My immediate senior was Capt P, fondly called Sher by all the juniors.Those were the days when entitlement of free rations to officers had just started.This meant that when one settled down as usual for dinner after suitably arousing one's appetite with sufficient amounts of the preferred poison, looking forward to a royal feast, the waiter would more often than not turn up with spinach or tinda/lauki or pumpkin with yellow dal. On such occassions, this Sher would haughtily thrust away his plate with the remark - " Sher ghaas nahi khata. " Hence the monicker. This was particularly funny because his build was more along the lines of a sleek gazelle than that of a lion or tiger and the same could be said about his voice. Still, he managed to carry on himself the demeanour of a ferocious tiger.This Sher had a room to himself  at the top of the staircase leading away from the dining hall. He insisted on sleeping with his door latched from inside. Nothing much wrong with that, only thing is he also had the unique gift of getting into such a deep sleep that even an earthquake was unlikely to wake him up. And that is exactly what it sounded like every morning, with his sahayak and the Mess staff taking turns at banging on his wooden door. To top this, once awake he would launch into a tirade demanding why he had not been woken up earlier ! He also had this peculiar habit of addressing all seniors as Sir and others as Sher.

           My immediate junior and room-mate for some time was S. He had a penchant for astrology and palmistry.He was obsessed with this strong fear that his hair was constantly falling and that he would go bald soon. So Sher promptly christened him - Ganja. The one after him was G. Till his arrival, things were moving quite smoothly in the Mess. Every evening was a celebration of sorts with drinks, snacks and music in equal amounts being the order of the day.Though individual tastes in music varied, all enjoyed blaring it and talking of this and that till dinner time. The odd senior officer finding himself caught in this muddle would politely excuse himself and break off for dinner at the earliest opportunity . The rest of us did not recognise any time or other limits. This was clearly not an evening routine suitable for those beyond a certain age.

        Then arrived the inevitable haddi in the kebab. It took some time for us to realise why this chappy's arrival had suddenly made life seem very suffocating, as if there had been a sudden depletion in the atmospheric oxygen.For one thing, he was a goody-two-shoes very unlike us and did not believe that drinking every evening till the cock started crowing was a mandatory and essential part of unit life.He would slip out of his room just in time to join the early diners and just as quickly slink back into it.But what made life totally  miserable was his habit of constantly asking questions. That in itself was not so out of the ordinary for a newcomer. What was unusual about this one was that he asked questions to which he already knew the correct answers. Moreover, he made it a point to indulge in this habit of his in full hearing range of the public at large. Nothing could make a senior officer more uncomfortable than the spectacle of a junior broadcasting over All India Radio, as it were, that he did not have the correct answers.

 Sher was unfortunate to have this guy in his Company as his immediate junior, which meant that they were thrown together for the better part of the day. But he soon found his own method of tackling this latest menace. He told the Question Master that he was allowed to ask only five questions in a day. Following this,the daily early morning conversation between these two went along  these lines.

( QM would already be setting into his bread and eggs as Sher walked majestically down the staircase from his room ).

QM to Sher : Good morning Sir. 

                      How are you ?

Sher : Fine. One.

QM : Will u be coming for this

          evening's lecture, Sir ?

Sher : Maybe.Two.

QM : Have you seen the 

         newspaper today, Sir?

Sher : Yes. Three.

QM : What's the topic for the 

          lecture, Sir ?

Sher : Finance. Four.

QM :  No Sir, that has been

          changed to Arboriculture.Will 

          you be attending, Sir?

          ( Here it may be worthwhile

             to note that our man also 

             had this nasty tendency of 

             repeating the most   

             uncomfortable question )

Sher : I told you, maybe . Five. Your 

           quota for the day is now

           over Remember, no more

            questions.

All the above before Sher could make his way down the stairs for breakfast. 

One day, QM was tasked to accompany me during an exercise in the desert to "learn the ropes ".

 While travelling with me in the dark as we crossed yet another cluster of huts, i was desperately poring over the map to try and identify where exactly we were.Outwardly,

i was trying not to appear as lost as i actually was. True to form, QM asked - "Which village is this, Sir ? "  Sukhchainpura, i answered with a confidence i actually did not truly feel. " No Sir, it is Harisighpura, "  came QM's reply on the trot. 

      As if all this was not enough, this fellow was a golf player of some repute and spent a lot of time on the greens with the CO and other senior officers. There was a strong feeling that he leaked out the dark secrets of the rest of us during these golfing sessions.

         The picture would be incomplete without mention of the two Mess cooks, Vasu and Anand Rao. Vasu was the senior amongst the two and much in demand during parties at other Messes and homes.His leave could not be sanctioned without prior approval of higher-ups and was generally timed to coincide with that of the CO's. He was a real specialist in Continental and Chinese dishes. Anand Rao on the other hand was more down to earth and could do wonders with brinjal, karela and even tinda/ pumpkin when he felt like it.His only drawback was his fondness of decorating his desserts with a peculiar shade of green. Both of them were highly temperamental and had to be kept in good "spirits" to get the best out of them. One had to be very careful in commenting about their cooking. The slightest remark about even the amount of salt could send them

into a sulk for days. Of the waiters, Dondappa, the senior-most was much in demand and invariably away on attachment to some higher

establishment or the other. Vijayan and Mohanan took turns in serving the food and drinks. Gangarde, the masalchi, was a wrestler and looked like one too. 

          The Mess was housed in a three-bedroom bungalow with a huge lounge, dining room, a small lawn in front and a little kitchen-

garden at the back. The Mess Staff entered and exited through the small gate at the side and lived in tents pitched at the back. An empty plot to the side was used for additional tents for the staff. It was located in Sector-6, Panchkula which at that time was developing slowly, with many vacant plots and hardly any movement through the day.

          It so happened that i came to be one of the first few occupants of this place, when the unit returned after manouvres in the desert. I still recall that fateful hot summer day when i was cooling off in my room. No one other than the Mess staff was around on that Sunday, the others being away on leave or duty.After an early breakfast, i was lying in my room, not knowing what to do. There was a light knock on the door and Dondappa shimmered in and announced, " Sir, i have kept some beer in the fridge." Though at a loss to understand why this fact had to be particularly announced to me, i just thanked him and continued with what i was doing- i.e. nothing. It was really hot that day and after some more time, Dondappa came and announced that the beer was now  chilled. Once more, i thanked him, but by this time i am quite sure he noticed that my mouth had started drooling. I had by now started weighing the pros and cons of inaugurating my activity in this Mess with a cold bottle of beer. After all, it WAS  really hot and then i was also duty bound in a way, to see that the unit Mess functionined properly in all respects.

Dondappa eased this situation by shimmering in yet again and asking, " Shall i open up a beer, 

Sir ?"

Put across that way, i thought it would be impolite to refuse such an

offer and nodded assent. With the beer came the question, " What about some snacks to accompany, Sir ?" 

          You see, this Dondappa was no ordinary mortal, he was an institution by himself. While on duty

( and that is the only form of him that was visible to the naked eye ), he had the air of the ADC to the President of India ceremoniously escorting him for taking the salute at the Republic Day Parade. He did not walk, he floated. And when he brought beer to the thirsty youngster, it came in a silver mug, along with the freshly opened bottle neatly enconsced in a sparkling white damask crisp starched white napkin.

           I called this day fateful because it laid the trend for the days to follow. Weekends began with Saturday afternoon beer and ended early on Monday morning

with a severe hangover after the Sunday revelry that followed Saturday. On weekdays, the drinking was "restricted" to the evenings.

          Fate had ensured that my path crossed that of Dondappa rather than that of some conscientious senior officer of the unit that first Sunday. Who knows, instead of striking a close life-long relationship with beer and such- like, i might have ended up deeply studying Military History and subjects along those lines.Destiny. No regrets.To each his own.