GRAFFITI

 Taking off from one of my previous blogs on NDA Satchel,(https://senseinthenonsense.blogspot.com/2024/01/man-bag-good-old-nda-satchel.html); the man bag of today, where I had promised to write another one on the graffiti on the satchel. We NDA cadets  did not have very many outlets to express our creativity, unlike our lucky(!) brethren who go to normal university and colleges. We are all aware of the explicit graffiti which adorns the walls of the colleges, particularly in the wash rooms. I am sure the young lads are inspired by our ancestors of Ajanta and Ellora or may be even Bhimbetka, near Bhopal which are famous for their cave paintings. Since the young generation can't find any caves to indulge in this creative art form, they make do with the wash rooms which are somewhat akin to caves themselves. The graphical details of human anatomy and human genitals which some of them probably learn in their Biology classes are practised here itself. The other prominent place reserved for this display of art form was the toilets in trains, where every inch of the walls was covered and apart from the anatomy tutorials displayed, there were litterateur who inscribed all kinds of couplets which left no one in doubt about their amorous  intent. Some of them were more social in nature who wanted to help the mankind in general who left their contact details too for any consultancy in future.

Graffiti incidentally originated as an art form, the word itself traces its origin from Greek word  "graphein" meaning "to write". It became an expression of homo sapien's creativity and was not considered vandalism initially, in fact political graffiti changed the course of many nation's history. But getting back to the NDA cadets and their satchels. The most prominently displayed ones worn proudly were the ‘stars’ which some of us adorned on them. After all it's no mean task to join the flag ranks so early in life, so a single star denoting the rank of a Brigadier and two stars denoting the coveted rank of a General left no one in any doubt about the exalted status of the cadet. For the uninitiated let me explain, a relegation by six months entitled one to the rank of a Brig and two such relegations and he was anointed a General in NDA parlance. Nobody messed around with a General, he was a man to be shown the respect his rank deserved. These stars were prominently displayed on the satchels. Then there were school affiliations displayed equally proudly, so a “Rimcollian” or “Georgian” or the “Sainik Schools” name too appeared quite regularly. Mind you this privilege of Satchel graffiti was reserved for third termers and above as piddly dukkis or second termers were required to carry the issue type NDA satchel which did not have a sling broad enough which could have any graffiti on it as it was more like a string. But come third term and one of the first items procured from the Gole market was a brand new satchel which had a broad sling which facilitated our trysts with creativity. 

 The service of our choice Army, Navy or Air Force had to be there, so a "Pongo", "Born to Fly", "Lord of the Seas" was equally common.  Some believed in expressing it in art form and so a “crossed sword” or a “bayonet”, or “wings” or “anchor” also were seen conveying their choice of service quite clearly.  The trick was to inscribe something unusual and unique to make heads turn and get noticed, which was an unusual trait as cadets by and large preferred to lie doggo. The reasons were obvious if we stood out of the pattern, we were noticed which was an invitation to trouble as the sergeants  and the Drill Ustaads on the prowl would immediately pounce on you. But somehow satchel graffiti rarely attracted that kind of attention. Drill Ustaads of course did not comprehend it and appointments were generally more amused than annoyed and let it pass. 

Some of us were enamoured by the cavalry, so a “Rommel” or “Desert Fox” was quite popular, a “Swastik” or “Nazi” too was not frowned upon. The cadets from Jatland proudly identified themselves as Texans and made it a point to let the world know of their origin.I know of someone who proudly claimed his descent from Uzbekistan and had Uzbek inscribed. Sometimes an odd inscription could also be found in Hindi but by and large English reigned supreme. Our knowledge of foreign languages was also on display with French, Russian and German words and phrases also making heads turn, like mine was "Joie de Vivre" my mantra which I have lived by, all my life.

ONE WAY TICKET

 Tickets are the life and soul of any politician now a days. No prizes for guessing, I am referring to the much coveted Party ticket for contesting the elections. Actually it should logically be a nomination of candidate from the party for a particular constituency, but it is normally referred to as securing a ticket. Merely getting a ticket does not by any means assure the candidate of winning at the hustings, in fact the hard work and toil commences after that. The rough and tumble of politics, the road shows, door to door canvassing, organising and addressing rallies, keeping the press in good humour and of course during this period pretending to keep the voters at the core of electioneering is by no means an easy task.

We, the masses have had our own trysts with tickets and in fact that is one of our routine struggles, securing a reserved railway ticket is the most difficult amongst these. The others being a cinema ticket, a parking ticket, referred to as challan by the traffic police, bus ticket and so on. For some of us, getting hold of an IPL match ticket holds greater value, though the entertainment in elections is no less, except that the match provides instant gratification. As we strive for the elusive railway ticket during peak season, most of us are prepared to pay extra, use touts and approach our contacts similarly the candidate has to go the extra mile in his pursuit. As Chanakya said in his “Arthshastra”, employ sam, dam, dand, bhed, i.e. first diplomatically, if that doesn’t work, buy it, if that too doesn’t, then use threats of punishment and finally divide the opposition. Our politicos are adept at following this treatise, so fair or foul, means don’t matter, the end result does. All is fair in love, war and elections. So denial of ticket to an aspirant is reason enough for him to seek greener pastures in the rival party.

Ticketless travel is an offence, but there is quite a sizeable population which thrives on this mode of travel without bothering with the hassles of confirmed tickets. The 70s and 80s saw most of us travel by trains, we travelled long distances to go to residential schools after vacation, to the training academies, on postings, on holidays and so on; more often than not despite holding valid tickets to travel we were shown the door. Unlike Mahatma Gandhi in Pietermaritzburg we were not thrown out on the platform, as we were more tactful and managed to survive the journey as reaching the destination was important and could not be compromised. Sometimes it was the good old dollar (a bottle of Rum), sometimes cash was the king and some other times we just had to rough it out, travelling standing next to the toilets or on the vestibule itself. With air travel becoming more affordable we were spared the blushes as even if we had to pay through our nose we could get a confirmed ticket and reach the destination in time.

The other most sought after ticket was a ticket to ride on the ferris wheel, circus or roller coaster. Black marketing of cinema tickets was quite common and I am sure all of us have, sometime or the other paid up that “dus ka bees”, rupees twenty for a ten rupee ticket for a movie which we had to watch and could not get the tickets from the window as the show was supposedly house-full.

 Irony is that as kids we wanted to be taken for a ride and even as grown up adults we are eagerly awaiting our turn, just that now it is not us who gets to buy the ticket, it is our worthy elected representatives who do and we are the ones who are taken for a royal ride every once in five years. How I wish we could sponsor a “One way ticket to the moon!” for quite a few of them.

Festival of Democracy

  Democracies have a periodic exercise where the citizens exercise their franchise and elect a government which they expect will then run the country on their behalf. That is a different matter that more often than not, they end up being disappointed and the resultant anti-incumbency makes them opt for an alternative. The cycle gets repeated every four-five years; while the people go through the motions having burnt their fingers, it is the politicians and business which eagerly await this jamboree. After all this is the time to make a killing, business prospers, the wheels of  election economy are set in motion, canvassing material, posters, life size cutouts, vehicles and aircrafts for ferrying the celebrities to the different corners of the nation for electioneering, hiring of PR professionals, conduct of surveys, opinion polls, psephologists and of course the fourth estate has a field day.  

Election season in India is normally referred to as a festival of democracy. India being a land of festivals it is quite an appropriate description of this monumental exercise. Our elections are a true reflection of the collective psyche of our countrymen. These days the print and electronic media are full of only election news and even in that, for hours together the panelists and the anchors are busy conjecturing as to who is going to win the lottery of the party ticket, especially the ruling alliance. What amuses me is that we the common people watch and read this crap 24x7 endlessly, as though we are ticket aspirants ourselves. As if that is not enough we have very strong opinions on whether the award of ticket to Mahua Moitra from West Bengal would prove beneficial to TMC or not, although most of us have never been to Bengal nor do we have any claims of any acquaintance with Ms Mahua.  Ms Mahua is a controversial and interesting character and does grab our attention, but  discussing the chances  of someone like Nitin Gadkari being given a ticket is downright ridiculous. We also get to know how our worthy leaders have earned their spurs with details of criminal cases against each and how they have enhanced their wealth in the last five years. Isn’t it amazing that while their personal wealth has taken wings during this period, the same is not the case with voters of their constituency. May be there is a case where the earnings of the member during this period ought to be distributed for the welfare of their constituency only, after all these earnings are owed to them.

The debates on the electronic media routinely end up in verbal duels rather than healthy discussions, no Presidential style debates like the world's oldest democracy, the United States of America. In this era of social media driven electioneering, where X, Facebook, Youtube, Instagram and Whats app rule the roost, one misses the good old style  door to door canvassing, when the candidates undertook this once in five years exercise of paying a curtesy visit to the humble voter's doorstep seeking their support. They were humility personified, would willingly dine with you, touch the feet of the elders to seek their blessings and promise you the moon. Then there were the Tongas or auto rickshaws with loud speakers moving from lane to lane canvassing for the candidates with interesting slogans, there were souvenirs which were distributed, the lapel badges, flags with election symbols and the names of the candidates. The symbols were cow and the calf, pair of bulls, the humble plough, the earthen lamp with the Left retaining their identity with hammer and sickle and so on. 

I wonder if you recall "char chawanni thali main, ______ (the rival candidate) nali main" kind of sloganeering. Trolling has now assumed gigantic proportions  and is a full time business opportunity for many. The advent of AI is already transforming the conduct of this exercise totally, we are already witnessing Modi Ji address a spellbound Tamil audience in impeccable Tamil with the perfect diction. Language will no longer be a barrier, which may enable leaders to connect with the masses in a better manner. So as they say in Tambola ( Housie) eyes down for the next number, the full house is the prize at stake, our eyes and ears are glued to 4th of June, the day of reckoning, and then no surprises for guessing the villain, the Electronic Voting Machine (EVM).

ED

Academies are run in a simple manner where they follow the Newton's Third Law in letter and spirit, i.e. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction; you commit a breach of laid down rules and regulations, you are immediately rewarded with due punishment. Punishments are scaled and are appropriate to the misdemeanour, so major transgressions land up the perpetrator with something called  Restrictions, which has a punishment run in full battle gear, FSMO(Field Service Marching Order) and includes reporting to the authorities in uniform at different times of the day. The lesser ones get you an ED, you must be wondering what has ED got to do with the training academies of Indian Armed Forces. Enforcement Directorate or ED in short is reserved for those who indulge in most corrupt kind of financial deals. Unlike Enforcement Directorate, this ED was almost inconsequential Extra Drill. But the scare of ED did get most of the cadets to toe the line, but not all cadets cared about it;  some were prepared to  take a risk and took a chance once in a while. Then there were some tigers who derived some sort of pleasure in flirting with danger, if they got away, it was fun and if their luck ran out, then just too bad. To make things worse we even had a Drill instructor by the name of ED Chand, who was responsible for the conduct of these EDs. 

 Those of us who enjoy horror movies get a kick in getting scared and revel in it, but then there are very many who don't relish this genre and stay away from them. Be that as it may, while growing up our mothers would often scare us with the proverbial "Baba" who would come and kidnap us if we did not behave. This "Baba" was a figment of our imagination and we refrained from crossing the limits. In India today, that Baba has emerged in a new avatar and it is the politicians and corporates who are supposedly erring in their dealings and the Govt as benevolent mothers do, just scares them with  "ED" Enforcement Directorate. This ED though is not imaginary, it is an organisation which has a lot on their plate. Its mere mention sends the supposed defaulters scurrying for cover, they utilise all possible tricks up their sleeve to keep this ogre like force away. The ED is devouring everything which comes under its sway, and boy, there are some very big names who have finally succumbed. 

As a consequence the letters E and D of English language have taken an offence, as now a days merely uttering ED together sends shivers up the spine of many. “ed” together was such an innocuous suffix which just converted the verb to its past tense.  Those were the days, so relax”ED” that people just roll“ED” their eyes when things got out of hand and enjoy”ED” their lives. But unfortunately these days some of the verbs just do not have the heart to accept any summons to ‘change the tense’ despite nudges by the dictionaries and grammarians. The opposition parties have thus decided to just use the present and future tense, as the past leaves them very tense, “ED” only worsening the issue. The ruling party revels in utilising “ED” as they have a lot of issues of the past which they feel need to be brought out of the closet. As it is their sense of the past is not restricted to the last 75 odd years, they talk about a whole millennia so there is plenty of scope for exploiting “ED” although in its present form it is the “ED” which they intend to let loose to correct the  perceived wrongs. 

Drill Ustaads of NDA

 "Shyam Sharma makra cadet!" That was the usual refrain from our Drill Instructor (Ustaad)  Subedar Ramgopal from the Rajput Regiment in NDA. Despite having told him umpteen number of times  that my name was Suyash, he continued addressing me as Shyam in the two and a half years that we spent in the Academy. The fact is that Drill Instructors are institutions by themselves, each one leaves a profound impression on us despite the fact that what they actually teach us on the Drill Square is not rocket science, but nevertheless they leave a lasting impression on all of us. Although Ramgopal was not of the same calibre as Subedar Major and Honorary Lieutenant Darbara Singh or Subedar Lobi Ram or even Subedar Menon, whose claim to fame was his threat, "Cadet main kala naag, aapne baap ko bhi nahi chhodta"( "Cadet I am a black Cobra, don't even spare my father") was enough to scare the cadets into staying within the realms of discipline and not cross paths with him. 

While Darbara Singh had such an aura around him that he was looked upto by all the cadets, not just for his impeccable turn out but for his sense of integrity and loyalty. Since he was the head of all the Drill Instructors he controlled them, unleashed them on our misdemeanours and many a times motivated us with his soul stirring accounts of 1962  Sino-Indian war that he had been part of. His account of the significance of the "Nishaan", the Regimental Colours left all of us teary eyed having understood that the colours depict the  sacrifice of our brave brothers who laid down their lives for our motherland. 

The usual picture that comes to mind of Drill Ustaads is smartly turned out, ramrod straight gait, cane in hand their marching - almost like poetry in motion, the moves were as though a classical dancer was in her element, the pauses between the execution of flawless drill manouvres left the cadets almost spell bound. The manner in which they handled a cane or a rifle was as though it was not a mere prop but an additional limb on their torso. The movements were so smooth that the props just added to the magic being weaved in front of us. No wonder, we cadets were so mesmerised and ended up surprising ourselves with our performance at each Passing Out Parade. The standards of drill presented invariably  left the guests dumbfounded.

The Drill Ustaads were not mere Drill instructors they were the keepers of the discipline of the cadets, they were omnipresent, at the Gole market, Pune town near the cinema theatres, bus stops, restaurants which we frequented, MG Road, Deccan, Kondhwa or Pashan Gate; on the road in the Academy, be it Periphery or the road to Khadakwasla Lake or the Third Battalion Road. They would emerge from the shadows in the dark,  from bushes or behind trees nicely camouflaged just waiting to pounce on their prey, any cadet who was not following the laid down rules, i.e. not marching/cycling in squad, cutting bounds, slovenly turned out and we ended up losing our I-slip (Identity slip) which we all were required to carry, bearing our name, number and squadron and ended up finding our names in the next Battalion/Academy Routine Orders with the award of punishments.

The most remarkable part of the relationship between a cadet and the Drill Ustaad was that they were aware all along that their trainees are officer cadets and will soon be officers under whom they will have to serve and will have to salute. Elsewhere the teacher and taught equation remains unchanged throughout their lives, teachers are always on a pedestal, but here   they carry on nonchalantly; salute their trainees with the same pride may be a little more as their protege are now worthy of being saluted by them. That ladies and gentlemen is the biggest strength of Indian Armed Forces.

BOND-ED LABOUR

 Bonds are in the news, James the most famous one is obviously not too happy with this notoriety bestowed on them. After all 007 was to carry out the task in style with subterfuge and shaken not stirred martini. Here these bonds which occupied pride of place in the treasury have now been reduced to the state of commoners, having to disclose their sources; but natural they are peeved with this RTI business. Why should this be anybody's business to poke their nose in this mutually beneficial arrangement being a win-win for both the parties.  Bonds are supposed to be debt security instruments which most financial consultants would advise you as a must have in your financial portfolio. The aim being that since these are assured returns as against equity they are more reliable. Electoral bonds also serve the same purpose they provide the investor security that their contribution will not go unnoticed and they will benefit in a quid pro quo manner. The catch is being 'incognito' although in our scriptures it is the secret charity, 'gupt daan', which is supposed to be the epitome of virtuousness. But then these dyed in the wool disruptors would obviously not have read any of the scriptures so they insist that the identity of the donor be disclosed. I am again reminded of the age old idiom,"Miya biwi razi to kya karega kazi?"( If the bride and the groom are ready what can the pastor do?) The donors and the recipients  are happy these spoilsports have come to ruin the party.

When we were kids and played gully games with friends, there were these spoilsports who would descend down and demand that they too wanted to join in, with the dictum, "Khelenge nahi to khel bigadenge" literally meaning either we play or we disrupt the game. These RTI activists are akin to these disruptors, since they can neither purchase the bonds, I believe each one costs a Crore ( 10 million Rupees for the Yanks), well beyond the commoners, nor can they be the recipients of this bounty. Political parties are unlike our parties where we go enjoy a drink, snack around, some casual conversation and be off. These parties also have similar agenda though people join the party, and get to frequent resorts quite often where they do exactly the same thing and get paid for it by the state for being honourable members of the legislative bodies and then by the rivals who are out poaching, the highest bidder of course gets to be the winner. The parties get to keep the bonds, these are Fevicol type bonds which are forged for perpetuity, no not forgery type forge, oh the perils of this foreign language, though many donors would have loved to actually forge them and get away with it. 

The bonds of friendship and the bonds of love are for keeps. We have had our own trysts with bonds too, in fact there was a time when I would refer to myself as a bonded labour. Let me explain, when we joined school, RIMC, my father signed a bond that I would join NDA on culmination of the five year curriculum there. If I had reneged then my father would have had to cough up the total cost of training incurred on me by the Govt of India. Then a similar bond was signed in NDA that I had to complete the training regimen of three years else the same strictures of paying up. Once I was commissioned we were bonded for life as it is, but we had to serve for a minimum 20 years to earn our pension, then we could seek premature retirement without any conditions. But then, I underwent a Degree Engineering course, which tied me down for five years, before I finished that bond, it was time for Staff College and the bond was extended for another five years. This continued till I was deployed for UN Peacekeeping Mission in Cote d’Ivoire where I was asked yet again to sign a bond for five years and so it went on with Higher Air Command . By the time I was free of the bondage I had got so used to this state that I have now chosen to join on reemployment serving my term for another two years here. I am dreading the period when I will finally be a free bird with nothing to tie me down. These days  readers of my books and blogs have forged a different kind of bond with me, which I genuinely enjoy. May such bonds continue to  bloom !

Sordid saga of the stomach

A cow has four stomachs, I am not sure how many of you actually know this fact. I am a hard core Maths stream variety since school days, so much so that we were taught Biology by our Physics teacher who had to stand in as our school did not have anyone to teach us the finer aspects of life sciences. But even I remember this fact, may be because this figured as one of the questions in our NDA entrance exam way back in Dec 82. I found this very intriguing and no wonder this has remained in the memory bank somewhere, which otherwise is overflowing and the erase function is carried out randomly but the recent events generally get obliterated almost immediately.  

You must be wondering as to how come this holy cow is figuring in this nonsensical column, after all bovine population is sacred so this may be tantamount to sacrilege. Be rest assured I have no such intentions. The four stomachs thought struck me as I was ambling across a royal wedding lunch spread which comprised all possible vegetarian dishes from Oriental to Continental with all types of Indian cuisine thrown in ranging from Bengali sweets to South Indian Dosa Idli, Rajasthani Ker-sangri, Punjabi Makka ki roti Sarson ka sag and Chaats of all kinds. How I wish we were endowed with multiple stomachs where we could fill each one with  different types of delicacies without any fear of upset tummies and buffer overflow resulting in corrupting the digestive system itself. Then at leisure we could chew these honeyed cud relishing each one to our heart's content. But alas, that is not so, invariably we end up overstuffing ourselves as it is the taste buds which usurp the decision making sending our grey cells packing till we are full to the brim.  

These days such lavish spreads are quite common during the wedding season and one wonders whether the dishes are also in some sort of competitive spirit in terms of quantity ie numbers and their aficionados. There are hard core fans who stick to the their palate and there are some who are the adventurous kinds  who are keen to try out the exotic dishes. It is the adventurous ones who freak out with such spreads with nothing to lose, taste and discard if not palatable. Incidentally gluttony is supposed to be a sin in Abrahmnic religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islam but we the Orientals have no such qualms, on the contrary a pot belly was always considered a sign of prosperity. Although zero was invented by Aryabhatta an Indian but this size zero syndrome is a purely western construct, I wonder what would be the effect of such a gastronomical splendour on the anorexic girls that we come across. 

This profligacy takes its toll and typically for the satisfaction of the taste buds it is the belly which ends up suffering the consequences. The stomach naturally doesn't have the stomach to digest this torture which is inflicted on it. It can't grin and bear it, per force it surrenders. Let me conclude with the prayer O God either grant these ignorant specimen of our species stomachs as per their desire or give them wisdom to know the limits of their only treasure trove.