QUARANTINED

"Quarantined", that was how the sentence was delivered without much ado. I did not know if this was better than the M&D (Medicine & Duty) or at least some other medical category. After all "returning without a worthwhile medical category to the squadron premises was dangerous for your personal well being", was the statutory warning read out in all seriousness by the Cadet Sergeant Major(CSM). Obviously I was not foolish to ask the doctor, what it meant, you don't get on the wrong side of messiahs in NDA. Some angels among them doled out the Att C (sick in quarter) quite liberally and were revered by the whole generation of cadets. A quick glance through the dictionary revealed that I had hit the jackpot, I was to be confined in the premises for a period of hold your breath...14 days! I owed this largess to a second termer who was diagnosed with Chicken Pox and his cabin happened to be opposite mine. He was immediately rewarded with the status of a "pal", I was not alone, the flank cabin mates too joined in and we were all accomodated in the Squadron Ante Room. All meals delivered right there, TV at our disposal, also the TT table, "gar firdause zamin hami ast hami ast.."( If there is heaven on earth, here it is, so said Emperor Jahangir mesmerised by the breathtakingly beautiful Kashmir valley). For the NDA cadet, this hiatus was better than any "firdaus" anywhere(!)

Although my first experience of a contagious disease was when Conjunctivitis came calling in 1980. We were in RIMC those days and cadets were being despatched home if they contracted the "red eye". Many of my classmates  scooted home merely by applying some balm on the eyelids. The doctor didn’t want to come near and would  just take a glance from a safe distance and send them away. I too tried but failed miserably, don't know if the balm was of poor quality or my eyes immune to it.  

The NDA experience with quarantine was thus very pleasant and brought back happy memories. Little did we know that someday, the whole world is going to be quarantined. This time too one has been lucky; in Udhampur we have practically been in quarantine since last eighteen months, after all apart from office and back, we hardly venture out. So these additional 21 days was not one of those bolts from the blue. In fact, the lockdown commenced with a scare, I had gone on an official tour to Srinagar on 16th Mar by a commercial flight and returned on the 19th. The airport staff were all masked and armed with the temperature screening device, I was a little apprehensive, but went ahead nevertheless. All was well, till the 23rd, when I received a call confirming whether I had taken the Indigo flight to Srinagar on the 16th, on my affirmative response, I was asked to immediately proceed for the swab test. The test done I was asked to remain in home quarantine till the results were available which would take almost 14 to 16 hours. I was totally asymptomatic and thus was quite confident, though the office staff and my better half were scared out of their wits, as they all would be in soup, if my tests were positive. Anyway, thankfully by mid day I had been declared Covid19 negative. Everyone was relieved, though home quarantine was to continue for the balance of 14 days. 




Getting back to NDA quarantine, there are some photographs going viral (not Covid viral! just viral, I wonder if this "going viral" will be the worst form of abuse in days to come......) of NDA cadets in quarantine, while most of the residential institutions have shut shop and despatched their students home, military institutions always take the bull by the horns. Effectively managing the quarantine, the training carries on, movies being screened in the squadron parade grounds, cadets maintaining adequate social distance, only folding the seats has given way to other means of yogic asanas while watching the movies. Maharaja asan,which essentially is executed with the forehead replacing  the hands on the floor and the legs remaining stretched to the extreme.

 The other photograph depicted the cadets standing by the window with the candles lit in solidarity with the rest of the nation in our collective fight against Covid. Covid 19 after all is a teen, adolescent,neither an adult nor a kid, quite confused, not taken seriously by the Americans nor by the Chinese. He is out to prove a point ...... how I wish the Chinks had waited for two more months before letting it lose, then it would have been christened Covid 20 and would probably would have been more reasonable. After all we have had the other versions of Corona, who were more manageable; naturally so....not in their teens. This virus has simply gone rogue, deriving perverse pleasure by quarantining the whole world and with no signs of it abating in the foreseeable future....
Now that the kid(Covid) will officially turn 20 in a few months, here is hoping that he would be tamed soon and the world would get on with life....bidding good riddance to Quarantine .... 

TABLE NO THIRTEEN

"Lucky for some one and three thirteen", or "Baker's Dozen" is how the tambola announcers call out this number. The regulars at Officers Institutes are familiar with it, even though they may actually be at the bar busy elbow bending, while the ladies are all ears. Thirteen is considered as an unlucky number and the myth of "Friday the Thirteenth" has only reaffirmed the conviction. Hollywood has also played its part by coming out with the iconic horror flick by the same name and making a killing (pun intended). "Paraskavedekatriaphobia" and "friggatriskaidekaphobia" also describe fear of this supposedly unlucky day. Merely trying to pronounce these tongue twisting words is adequate to bring bad luck. This Western superstition probably is rooted in the biblical "Last Supper", where thirteen people, Jesus and his twelve disciples, were dining.Personally though the saga of thirteen is filled with happy memories, I was married on the 13th.....then our daughter was born on the 13th which also happened to be a Friday.    

So "Table No 13", had to be evil, ex NDAs would recall that whenever the Physical Training Officer (PTO) got up from the wrong side of the bed or was probably denied his morning cuppa, the cadets were subjected to this inhumanly torture. NDA has a pretty scientific curriculum for physical training with different tables being assigned to the set of exercises. But Table No 13 was just simply "ragda", a euphemism for the toughening up which spurred the normally docile PT Ustaads (as compared to their Drill counterparts) into action. A pack of hungry wolves salivating at their hapless prey, some 300 odd cadets at their mercy. At the end of 40 minutes of intense physical training, we were left with bruised egos and limbs as well. 

The PT instructors were a different breed, unlike their drill counterparts who were ubiquitous, literally breathing down our necks. Each generation has had its share of Roshan Lall, Chain Singh Chib or Menon (the Kala Naag "jo apne baap ko bhi nahi chhodta(!)"), hiding behind the bushes, lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce on the cadets on any false move. PT ustaads were actually keen to put us through the paces for the specified physical and swimming standards. So the dive rolls and straight legged back rolls in the initial terms gave way to handsprings in the senior terms, or the chin ups to upper circles and so on for the vaulting horse as well. They were proud of their wards who were gymnasts like, but they made the others, lesser mortals like most of us sweat too to make the grade. 

Swimming test involved a 7 metre jump also, as a mandatory test, where some developed cold feet, while someone got so excited that he forgot to wear the swimming trunk itself and ran to join the squad sky clad, till the PT Ustaad had to remind him to look downwards. On one such occasion one of us had developed such a phobia that he was facing relegation but he refused to take this leap of faith. The PT Ustaad, Naik Ranbir Singh, a Himachali convinced him into just climbing up the seven metre board and wait... not to jump, which appeared to be innocuous enough and so he did, all the time keeping him engaged trying to motivate him. In the meanwhile Sep Thapa, the junior PT Ustaad in  almost  feline-like stealth climbed up right behind the cadet  and pushed him down..... with it went his fear  and he successfully cleared the test subsequently. 

Anyway, how did I think of the dreaded Table No 13 today, actually, we were in the midst of a briefing when the pen fell from the hand of the Chief of Staff (COS). The reflex action to dive and catch it mid air had to be suppressed till one of the back benchers came to the fore and did the needful. Why did this reflex action almost kick in, well the COS was our Academy Cadet Adjutant (ACA) in our second term. So one suddenly felt as though we were back in academy and the refill fell from the hands of the Cadet Sergeant Major (CSM) and the melee which ensued with second termers diving to retrieve it. God forbid if the refill landed on the floor, the second and third termers would be literally trembling imagining the worst. The refills I am referring to were ball point pen refills which we were expected to carry all the time along with nominal rolls and identity slips. I am sure the cadets today would have graduated to better and more efficient ways for getting the parade states. But reflex actions I am sure would have improved too……else 13 beckons!!!

Star Gazing

It must have been ages since I spotted the Great Bear constellation and the Pole star, I am sure most of us in the metros may not even be able to recall as to when was the last time we star gazed! It took me down the memory lane, every summer evening from the roof top that was a favourite pastime, lessons in astronomy, story telling all rolled in one. No coolers air-conditioners just gentle night breeze which itself got a little nippy past midnight and a blanket was a must even in peak summers of Hindi heartland in the months of May June.

Pole star or Dhruv Tara as we call it in Hindi was spotted and the mythology behind the star was recounted practically every evening, I wonder how many of us can recall ....a king by the name of Uttanpad quite henpecked, as most of these mythological kings tended to be. Two queens and Dhruva was born to the lesser favoured of the queens. Once while he was playing in the king's lap the step mother gets him off forcefully. Heartbroken he rushes to his mother who asks him to pray to the almighty who will bless him such that no one could then displace him. Fearless he walks into the jungle and prays... The Lord is pleased and gives him this celestial status. So it went.

The Great Bear is called Saptarshi after the seven stars named after seven sages and also Ursa Major. Some of you may recall there is an Ursa Minor as well, which was visible only on an extremely dark moonless night. The "Belt of Orion" is another popular constellation, which became part of our repertoire in the academy after lessons in map reading and night navigation, where the knowledge of one's North was an essential prerequisite. Although to be honest, most of us were quite clueless even with the compass, map sheet and the night navigation charts.

Orion takes after the Greek mythological hunter, of course almost every civilisation had a name for the constellations and myths associated with them.

Anyway it was neither astronomy nor mythology which was on my mind when I was on my post dinner stroll. Here in Udhampur we are truly blessed, fresh unpolluted air, chirping birds, seasonal flowers galore and a beautiful landscape in the backdrop with snow capped peaks. What more can one ask for!

Summer vacations was the most blissful period of our childhood, with the confidence of princes as we were treated by our doting grand parents, stars in our eyes and with no distractions ...not even TV, forget about the ubiquitous mobiles that have ruined the genuine pleasures of the unfortunate kids of today. No drudgery of homework, company of cousins of all ages from toddlers to the adolescents and all the time in the world, parents either busy or subdued by their parents...so it was the most chilled out time, as today's youngsters will put it.

A typical day would begin on the rooftops where we all slept under quilts (!) yes in summers, the nights were chilly, woken up by the first rays of sunshine. The fun commenced with the morning rituals as there was invariably only one wash room for the whole family (!) unimaginable today. At least a score of people to use it. The ladies of course were through with these rituals long before the princes and princesses descended onto 'Terra Firma'. One of the aunts usually the youngest one who would be a favourite with the kids would be entrusted with the onerous responsibility of bathing the younger ones amongst us, the second aunt would be in charge of dressing us all up, almost like an assembly line. There were days when the aunts would be busy and then we would have a field day  draw water from the well and pour buckets of water all by ourselves.. oh that shower was the best ever better than any of the waterfalls that we encountered later in life.

On one such occasion I was so thrilled at my ability to draw the water and pour over self that I danced around the whole area and stood right next to my eldest cousin who inadvertently lowered the bucket right onto my nose and in the bargain I got nicked and started to bleed profusely, my grandmother picked me up and held the wound with her hands in her vice like grip, my mother dared not lay her hands on me.The wound left an indelible mark on the nose, and it was so prominent that it has been my identification mark ever since then. Nobody was blamed, ostracised....the fun and frolic continued unabated. 

 Alas the world has become increasingly fragmented with nuclear families, live in relationships, joint families can only be reminisced about fondly.Post Covid-19, may be we shall see a return to the joint families, as people are returning to their families in hordes, We are all concerned about the well beings of our kith and kin spread globally, isolated, quarantined....

Moustaches

"Moonchen hon to Nathhulal ji jaisi!" Amitabh fans would recall this dialogue from "Sharabi" film, where Amitabh praises Mukri's moustaches in these words, although he himself was sans any growth on the upper lip, clean shaven. Isn't it surprising that moustaches which are synonymous with masculinity have been out of favour with the images of our Gods, whether it is Maryada Purushottam Sri Ram, Lord Krishna, or Lord Vishnu, even Adi Yogi Shiva despite his unkempt hair and the snake around his neck chose to remain without the whiskers. Our demi-gods the Bollywood stars and models have also chosen to remain clean shaven except when they have been essaying the role of dacoits and villains. 

Rajputs considered the moustaches as their pride and even a single follicle carried tremendous value. History is replete with examples when the Rajput's moustaches were accepted as a guarantee. Even today the blue blooded Rajputs will rather die than shed their prized moustaches. If I am not wrong the Guiness Book of World Record also acknowledges the longest moustaches of a Rajput, "An Indian man currently holds the Guinness World Record for the longest moustache – which is 18.5 FEET LONG. Ram Singh, from Jaipur in Rajasthan state, India, proudly holds the Guinness World Record for the longest moustache with his impressive 18.5 foot long facial hair." ( just confirmed from the web!) In the Rajput regiment in Indian Army, moustaches maintenance also entitled its owner an allowance for its upkeep.

Since femininity is defined by absence of facial hair of any kind, it is no wonder that their presence is associated with masculinity. So the onset of puberty is eagerly awaited by kids, the appearance of the first few strands are an undeniable proof that you have crossed the Rubicon and can't just be brushed aside as a mere kid.

"To sport or not to" with due apologies to the Bard, is the quintessential dilemma of the youngsters on the threshold of adolescence. Although in our family, the menfolk were all clean shaven types,but our generation somehow were unanimous and all siblings and cousins decided to proudly sport them, feeling manly. Unfortunately the first place where we had to part with them was in NDA, the very epitome of masculinity; the training academy for the armed forces. In a matter of seconds with just a few strokes of the razor, the bright smart youngster was reduced to a pansy. What a tragedy, but the intent was to make us realise the importance of these whiskers, so one had to clear the drill square test to earn the right to be a "man" ! Naturally, without the moustaches one was forbidden to venture anywhere beyond the four walls of the campus. Incentives can't get any better! So gradually the spirits started to soar with the tash sprouting back ......and we were strutting around the Main Street on the Sunday liberties, smartly attired in our crew cuts proudly twirling our painstakingly earned moustaches!

Moustaches have been very loyal and have stayed on as the years went by, the hair on the scalp proved very treacherous by parting company even before we had officially joined the middle ages. Our stints in high altitude areas with balaclavas for protection turned out to be more of a "bal-niklava" just expediting the inevitable. But our moustaches have weathered all such storms except that they have greyed. Some of us suddenly were gripped with insecurity of age catching up, colouring the hair and shedding the whiskers in our quest for perennial youthful looks, least realising the disappearance of moustaches covered up under the garb of a "shaving accident"  merely reduced them to be christened "Vrihanalla". In Mahabharat Arjuna having been cursed to an year as a transgender by Urvashi,  assumed this name and taught song and dance in the Matsya kingdon during the last one year of their exile. So the earlier one makes peace with the receding hairline and grey moustaches, the better. I think these have only added to our persona, at least I would like to believe that(!)

Thanks to Abhinandan, moustaches have made a come back and not one of those creeping in variety but a grand one, his handle-bars were an instant hit with the girls. Boys naturally rediscovered this simple attribute which could have their girlfriends swooning. Here is hoping the youngsters catch the bug, shed their unkempt neanderthal beards and be gentlemanly....

MENTORING

"Cadet Ranpreet Singh has been assigned as your cadet guardian", I was informed and introduced to a smart immaculately turned out Sikh boy slightly taller than I was. Guardianship is an onerous responsibility at any age imagine that for a 12 year old. Amazingly, he immediately took charge of things at hand; he was polite and super confident escorting my father and myself through the first day activities, while addressing the queries which my father was posing. I was actually a little overawed and was unusually quiet. The Monsoons arrive with all guns blazing in August in Dehradun, so the downpour was torrential and Ranpreet won over my father by holding the umbrella in such a way that although he was at the receiving end from the showers but my father was totally protected. A gesture unmatched, obviously it reflected on his upbringing and the value system as also the functioning of the school. He was there with me when I bid farewell to my father at the War Memorial, a tearful adieus when we finally parted ways. My father was reassured that I was in good hands!

The system of mentoring in the Armed forces and their training institutions is simply outstanding, unparalleled.  These mentors take their role very seriously, being strict and considerate in the right measure, wonder, how does a 12 year old acquire such maturity. The bonds between these gurus and their wards are forged for life. I was a raw youngster with just passable English and obviously not to the manor born. Mess etiquette was my first battle, using the fork to  gently nudge the veg curry into the folds of chapatti was the first skill acquired, lest I stay hungry. Opening-closing of plate, course wise meals and continental menus was all novelty and interesting. The various outfits/rigs PT, Drill, Inspection Parade(IP) type uniform, handkerchiefs (we the Rimcollians always carried two sets of hankies one for daily use which would obviously not be spotless, the other one was). The other funny rig was in the night suit, in the absence of the dressing gown, one had to put a towel around the shoulders, when moving outside your dormitory.  Ranpreet was always around guiding me through these ordeals. Then the time came for payback, we were required to memorise the names of the appointments and senior cadets, teachers and so on, we were trying our best but did not match up to the expectations of the senior hierarchy of cadets. The brunt was borne by the cadet guardians, which in due course was passed onto us in measures varying from a mild reproof to a full fledged dressing down. He was tough on the slippages and could be quite a bully when he was in one of those torrid moods. We bonded over Table Tennis, not a preferred sport in school, but having noticed my TT racquet in the box, he was the one who got me a few knocks in to assess my game. I had played state level and was quite good at it and had an edge over him as also other seniors, however this activity was generally conducted after lights out, since during the day we were not even permitted to enter the Middle Ante Room where the only TT table was kept.

We had our share of spats but by and large, the relationship remained cordial. Sometimes the Cadet wards play truant and the guardian is at the receiving end, ending up being punished for no personal fault. A very important lesson in parenting, which I am sure, comes in handy later in life. Similarly when the ward goes on to be an achiever, the guardian is justifiably proud. Excelling in academics or sports was one such way of getting in the good books and be rewarded by "extra pudding" on the dinner table. Unlike NDA, the guardian here does not get to put the ward through any physical punishments, but the control exercised is much greater, I dare say. May be because we were younger in age and more malleable.

The cadet guardian-ward relationship is unique and is life long, in my case since Ranpreet did not join NDA, we lost touch, till I got to know of his unfortunate demise and thereafter met his parents and younger brother. He had been an Investment consultant and was doing pretty well, after having graduated as an engineer.

NDA was a different ball game, we the Rimcollians, Georgians and Sainik school types were no longer rookies unlike our other course-mates. Second termers were put under the tutelage of an overbearing over-study raring to go, having borne the brunt for six months at the bottom of the pyramid. Here the Over-studies do not indulge in parenting but ensure the "undies" are pre-mustered for the Corporal's pre-muster which is followed by the pre muster of the sergeant. Accordingly the bathroom clearance for the dukkis was generally around 0415 hours for the muster (the first parade in the morning) scheduled at 0600 hours. More about the Musters some other time. The over studies were actually "hover-studies", hovering over all our activities with powers to punish....Sherry Peter was my over study, from SS Kazhakottam, generally believed to be terror types. We enjoyed a different connection though; we shared our birth date, 21 Mar, the spring equinox. He was in a dilemma, in normal course this coincidence should have automatically anointed me the coveted status of a "pal", but as the over study he felt he would be severely handicapped in discharging his duties (!) So the "palling" had to wait till next year 21 Mar. 

The over studies had to ensure their wards were dressed appropriately whether these were the authorised dresses or the typical NDA attires of "Taant Police Order, Paper Drill Order, Superman, Phantom, Congo Rig.....". For the uninitiated, these dresses need some elaboration, Taant police Order was Khaki Drill Shorts, Ammunition boots, White patrol tunic and Side cap, depicting the Maharashtra policeman. Paper Drill Order comprised just newspapers converted into shorts and shirt; with the ammunition boots of course...this designer outfit would have put many an haute couture to shame! Superman was even more ingenious, a dungaree with swimming trunk over it, with a towel flowing as the cape but Congo rig took the cake, just garter flashes to cover the vitals, rest was sky clad. As though the dresses were not enough, there were several other interesting stuff such as the "out of the box" exercises which we were routinely put through to toughen us up, the Academy whiskey ( a sufi meditative trance achieved by revolving like the darwish except that instead of raised hands, we had our finger firmly on terra firma), Cream roll ( front roll and back roll carried out alternately to provide an equitable balance to mind ,body and soul), side rolls.....these physical exercises not only helped us build our muscles and the six packs but achieved the yogic outcome of cleansing our stomachs of the "vaat, pitt and cough" by making us throw up.

Meals in NDA taught us the true value of two square meals by literally ensuring the meals were partaken only in perfect square motion of the hand, i.e. the hand had to move in a straight line  to the plate, from where it had to move in a perpendicular motion , parallel to the mouth and from there it had to trudge along the straightest path to the mouth, finally returning to the plate in a perpendicular motion again. After this elaborate exercise the hands needed to rest in your lap, before commencing the same drill again. Then there were even more innovative ways of consuming soups, with forks rather than the mundane spoons again training our minds to focus shaolin style on the substance without any distractions.
These set of instructions obviously needed mentor-ship of a very high order and I dare say, I was singularly lucky(!)

By the time we reached the Indian Military Academy, we had become "purane paapi" and didn't need any mentoring whatsoever and took to it like ducks to water. The physicals were just a re-run of NDA so we could just sleepwalk through these. Before we could say "Rajaram Sitaram", we had taken the Antim Pag and received the President's Commission duly signed by none other than Giani Zail Singh!

On joining the unit, it fell upon 2Lt (now Col) Rohit Mehrotra to straighten out the crooked Rimcollian who had joined the elite Airawat Signals fraternity. He is such a thorough gentleman that his goodness rubbed off on goondas like us, we had no option but to emulate him. After all you can't take a panga with someone who is ever ready to apologise even when you are at fault. Someone has very correctly attributed the successful careers to their senior subalterns and their grooming in their formative years in the unit. All the officers took it upon themselves to ensure we were put through a tough training regimen which has stood me in good stead over the 32 odd years of commissioned service.

I think I took this mentorship a little too seriously and got after the youngsters in the units as also in MCTE when I was an instructor for Young Officers. I took pride in the fact that while I made life miserable for them, in the bargain ended up toiling doubly hard. But it was all worth it........

Vikram

Vikram had become a part of the lexicon after Chandrayan- ll, named after the father of Indian space programme,  appropriately christened, though odds were heavily stacked against it succeeding in the first go. Some of us old timers would recall "Betal Pachhisi", the tale of King Vikramaditya and Betal the spirit. Most of us were introduced to this story by 'Chandamama', a very popular children's magazine those days. So the connection between Moon(Chandamama) and Vikram has a history. In fact there was a Sunday morning TV serial too where Arun Govil the celluloid Ram from Ramanand Sagar's Ramayan was King Vikramaditya and yesteryears character artist Sajjan was the Betal.

Each story or episode was essentially a part of the larger canvas, where Vikram was tasked to recover a corpse from a tree in the jungle, the spirit would thereafter narrate a story and ask him questions relating to the story with the condition that if he uttered a word, the corpse would return to the tree and if he did not answer the question despite knowing the answer, he(Vikram) would die. The stories were focused on the prevalent social norms and were tricky, leaving the reader curious and Vikram in a dilemma. But why I am narrating this tale here, well, it is the perseverance and determination of Vikram which stood out, every time the betal disappears with the corpse he would dutifully retrace his steps and again embark on the same journey.

Etymologically Vikram is essentially a Sanskrit word, with 'Vi' derived from Lord Vishnu and 'kram' meaning a stride/step, so a giant stride our Lunar probe Vikram indeed was. Lord Vishnu's strides span not just the earth but the universe as a whole.

There have been other great warriors and valourous individuals who have lived upto the name of Vikram, Chandragupt Vikramaditya the Mauryan King was another illustrious one. The most recent one of course was Capt Vikram Batra,PVC (posthumous),  "Shershah", the King of Lions, as he was affectionately addressed by the troops. His bravery and courage is now part of the folklore, "Yeh Dil Mange More" was his response after the capture of Tiger Hill during Kargil War.

I am not sure whether all these names were also part of the consideration for naming Vikram, unlikely, as the name of Vikram Sarabhai himself was apt for this historic occasion. But looking back, ISRO could not have made a better choice...... So persist we did against all odds and emerged victorious, temporary setbacks mere spur us on for further glory. 

A Close Shave

A Close Shave.....

Today's youngsters are all Virat Kohli look alikes....clones, same bearded chins with hardly any clean cut faces. I wonder why has this reverse evolution commenced in the men folk,  where they have got so entangled in the facial hair that they have messed up Darwin's treatise itself. At this rate,  soon they should be growing their vestigial tails on their derriere! I actually feel sorry for the girls too as they have very little choice, it must be quite a task for poor Anushka to spot Virat from the 10 other identically bearded blokes on the field. Ironically  Team India is sponsored by Gillette, I wonder why....their ad agency needs to be sacked. They must be crazy, if they think the shavers of the country will plump for their products because of their patriotic sporting zeal of sponsorsing Team India which comprises only hirsutes.

When we were kids, this daily ritual practised by our fathers was rather awe inspiring for our generation. We would monitor every action very closely as it was an essential part of growing up, something akin to the girls watching their mothers dressing up in the traditional saris all decked up. Their favourite attires were the chunni wrapped around like a sari in which they would proceed for their favourite passtime, no prizes for guessing... Shopping! An activity which is 'sans pareil' at every age, when it comes to the fairer sex of the species. 

So getting back to more masculine pursuits, the once ubiquitous activity of shaving, which was an art, the fathers would invariably settle down comfortably on a chair with a table or a teepoy, where a mirror would be placed, we would run along to fetch hot water, the shaving round, brush and the razor would then make an appearance and be laid out majestically. There were no squeaky slimy shaving gels nor the obnoxious foaming ones, no messing of hands, the brush, which I was told of real animal hair(pigs), the brush would be immersed in the water and the stubble would be softened up for the task at hand. This activity was almost like caressing the chin in a rather delicate manner preparing it gently for the harder stuff ahead. After the foreplay, the brush would now make a contact with the shaving round, 'Godrej', very popular brand those days, and a vigourous bout would ensue, with brush emerging the winner with adequate lather ready for the plastering which now the face was due for.This activity required a little precision, so as to ensure that no part of the chin was omitted. The razor would then be opened to fit the blade, the razors had an elaborate mechanism, with a knob at the bottom being rotated to 'open sesame', the mighty razor, a Topaz blade would then be placed gently into the slot. The knob would turn again to close the opening, now finally the show was set to commence. With the precision of a surgeon, the razor would flow smoothly over the lathered face removing the stubble, all this while the face would be assuming rather dangerous contortions, to ensure no stubborn follicle managed to hoodwink the razor sharp eyes. The mopping up operation was generally a hurried affair, with a towel to wipe the extra left over lather and the razor being opened again to remove the blade for rinsing before being wiped clean and replaced in its cover safely tucked in for the next 24 hours, when it was to be summoned again for its duty, except on a Saturday, when the Sunday sabbatical was observed for the stubble as well. This activity was so mesmerising for the young minds that almost each kid attempted it on his own, ending up nicking himself in the bargain with a bloody face scaring the hell out of the young mothers. The dads were at the receiving end for not having been careful, that we scoundrels managed to get an access to such a dangerous gadget. 

We could hardly wait for the first signs of facial hair attempting to emerge from the dark recesses underneath the skin, when we again got to take a shot at it. By now I was a 16 year old with some growth on the upper lip which was visible, proudly twirling these strands of whiskers, we were soon to be jolted out of this treasured tache. The first casualty at the NDA Wing Ghorpuri was our little moustaches, which we had nurtured so proudly with lots of love and care! The drill instructors were deriving perverse pleasure in depriving us of our manly appearances and 300 of us were reduced to 'chiknas' with just a single swipe! The saving grace was we were all in the same boat..the misery was shared. But that was just the trailer, now the harder part of the daily shave before the first parade was looming large. The charm associated with shaving as a ritual which we had so keenly observed had been reduced to this monotonous mundane affair, where hurriedly we would go through the motions. Many a times just  dry shave and splash Old Spice after shave lotion,   so that drill instructor would be convinced that we had indeed done the needful. The alcohal in the lotion would cause a terrible burning sensation but we did not have a choice. After all a dry shave saved us those precious minutes in the morning, when everyone was in a tearing hurry. 

The closest shave of my entire life was reserved for a little later in the term, Flt Lt Grewal, or Gary as he was known in the Wing, was the duty officer and he appeared to have been at the receiving end from his better half, so we ended up as the lambs to be slaughtered. There were some of us who had skipped the shave that morning, with hardly any growth, we did manage this stunt every once in a while. Gary sir observed each of us closely almost as though using a magnifying glass and wherever, there was even a hint of a black spot anywhere on the chin, we were branded as defaulters. Punishments had to be meted out immediately and for effect!!! so the whole division was summoned, we were asked to get Colgate toothpaste, Cherry blossom polish and blanco, a gooey paste was formed and applied on our faces and then we were asked to use the razor to get rid of the invisible growth... The result was a number of snicks, with skin having been  literally peeled off the face and the mess that we made of ourselves, with the blood oozing from these incisions into the pasted face on it was grotesque. He of course enjoyed it thoroughly, went back laughing all the way. We had learnt our lesson, never save the shave less you get shingled rather closely. As we realised soon enough, in one of the camps, it was the turn now of using another improvised device for shaving, which was akin to those used by the prehistoric homo erectus probably, yes we used the stones to scrub the stubble to the delight of the perpetrator, Capt Vijay Bakshi, who did not 'baksh' anybody!