Masking

 "To mask or not to mask", borrowing from the Bard's Hamlet "To be or not to be", obviously the similarities are stark, masking actually is being, and without the mask is an invite to "not to be" almost akin to committing suicide. Masks have become a way of life in the past about 15 months or so, ever since the advent of Covid and the Nation wide lockdown in Mar 2020; we are dutifully following the diktat. How times have changed.....

Masked men apart from the surgeons, were essentially criminals, robbers, thieves, kidnappers, killers etc who wanted to hide their identity while they committed the crime and got away without being recognised. Surgeons, of courses adorned the masks for a benevolent life -sustaining cause of ensuring hygiene before wielding the scalpel to prevent the patient from getting any other infections. Although, there used to be a joke doing the rounds that the doctors covered their faces to keep the patient from identifying them in case of a botched up surgery. 

Our introduction to masks and masked men was through the super heroes, Phantom, the ghost who walks, Spiderman, Batman and our own desi Kriish. Most of these super heroes stared at us through the pages of the comics, which each one of us treasured and enjoyed reading and rereading them umpteen times. They were fascinating characters, masks added to their enigma. Even today quite a few of us would rather spend a leisurely Sunday perusing our favourite comic, the child in each one of us rekindled. 

Then somewhere we grew up and jettisoned these divine pleasures, exchanged them for the worldly stresses. That is where we came across "masking" as practised by the people, to hide their real intent, feelings, emotions. Masks are traditionally worn by the tribesmen and these are treasured by most of us. In fact  we prominently  display them in our Living Rooms.The traditional African mask is worn during celebrations, dances and festivities and ritual ceremonies commemorating social and religious events. They play a very significant spiritual and functional role in the community (Wikipedia). In India Kathakali dancers as also our tribals in different parts of the country too have their own distinct masks.

Professionally also we were introduced to the term Masking, a term associated with manoeuvre warfare, with an elaborate definition, although quite self explanatory, which was exploited by most of us during war games and exercises quite successfully in keeping away from prying eyes of the umpires and the senior hierarchy. The software geeks are also familiar with their own versions of masking.

Trust the fashion industry to latch on to anything and exploit it, so our divas proudly strut around in matching masks, which are specially customised to their attires. The ladies now have another accessory added to the haute couture.

Masks and the theatre were synonymous, with actors donning them in their different avatars. As  life itself is a theatre where each character has to play different roles, thus each one has to put on different masks. Jim Carrey's Mask in the Hollywood film was an apt description of the way mask gets its evil act on.

As we grow old, we lose our innocence and the masks make an appearance camouflaging our real self, our very identity. So much so that we start identifying ourselves with these masks and lose our true selves.Philosophy apart, we have been behind these triple layered masks for a while, though many amongst us continue to be stupid thereby endangering not just themselves but also others who come in contact with them. The masks of ignorance which most of us display very proudly now needs to make way for the masks of responsibility for not just each one of us but also as a social responsibility. So mask on until we finally bid adios to Corona....

Sameer you will be missed

Sameer Anukul, 16304, 49 Div, Mike Squadron, NDA Wing Ghorpuri, a thin and wiry spectacled young boy with a ready smile, that is the recollection of our first meeting. We were roommates, with Reuben Peters, NA Vinod, KPS Rana, Sameer and self. Quite a motley bunch of cadets, Peters from Orissa now Odisha, the NDA merit list topper, the joker of the pack, always upto some tricks. Sameer’s dad was in the Air Force, he had studied in KV Tirumelgherry Secunderabad, KPS was from Sainik School Nagrota, an outstanding sportsperson, but generally quiet by nature, may be a little uncomfortable amongst the Angrez, that the rest of us were. Vinod was a TamBramh a Tamilian Brahmin, a second generation fauji, his father was a Gunner, with quite a few tales of his participation in the 71 War. 

We were blooded together, never heard Sameer complain or crib, always cheerful and a voracious reader. The six months just whizzed past and we landed up in the main academy, but in different squadrons, he was from Social Science stream, I was a techie, so hardly any interactions during the next five terms. Then we landed up in the same Company in IMA, Keren, his frame remained the same, more cheerful and outgoing and was an excellent team person. He opted for Paras, which seemed a little odd with his physique, we would often joke that you needed weight for the parachute to descend down, he would probably simply fly off. These maroon berets types are made of a different mettle, whether Sameer, Akshaya, Yash, Sreehari or GP or even Arvind Sharma, each one very different from the other, the first three very thin, but fit, not the cross country or Boxing or Obstacle medallist variety but fit, GP was a fit candidate, my class type since NDA, Arvind was big, taller on the plumpish side but every bit a paratrooper. Battle hardened, each one an outstanding professional soldier. 

After the academy, we did not cross paths, but then you keep hearing about your friends through mutual friends. He had done his staff course after the Kargil war where his battalion 5 PARA had a major role to play. I finally caught up with him when I was doing the rounds of Army HQ prior to my UN deployment, he was in the HQ, having been overlooked for the promotion, already made up his mind to quit after 20 years and was preparing for it in right earnest. He made a very successful transition to the Corporate world, excelling and quickly rising in the hierarchy, just going on to prove that his parting ways with the Army was Army’s loss. His calibre was recognised by the industry and his industrious nature, clear thinking and strategic vision propelled him into the big league. 

I again bumped into him in Bengaluru, that is where he was settled sometime in 2009-10. I was recovering in the AirForce Command Hospital from a bout of Bell’s Palsy. I met Yash and Amit Pande also there. Amit was in the CMP Centre preparing to jump ship, while Yash as usual remained the hard core OG. Then we met up during the Reunions, always a pleasure to chat up with him, pull his leg for the girth that he had accumulated around his waist and the whiskers that he was so proud of, resembling those of Merv Hughes, the Australian bowler. Until suddenly when I saw Haldia’s desperate message on the group on 20 Apr that he was with Sameer driving, looking for a hospital bed, as his condition had deteriorated. The course-mates started to look for beds in these pandemic times, the most prized commodity. Finally it took Arvinder  who swung it in the Max Hospital at Patparganj, after he was denied admission in Base Hospital. Though later even that was available after the Generals of our course got into the act. The next battle was looking for a Plasma donor, where again, Sehrawat and Haldia managed it. Haldia has been rock solid , a true brother, he left no stone unturned. Despite all the efforts, it was time for him to say adios, I am sure he would not have wanted to go down like this, but he did go down fighting, truly like a soldier, despite the odds, he did not give up and we all remained hopeful that he would recover. Sadly, he didn’t. Loss of a course mate is like losing a brother, having been through thick and thin, we are way more than blood brothers. May he rest in peace at Valhalla.

Digital Thermometer

There was a time, when the thermometer inserted into the mouth, one was hoping and praying to the Lord Almighty, please let the mercury be at 99 at least and higher the better, a 101 was a sure Att"C" (Sick in quarter) for 72 hours, but even a 99 would get you at least 24 hours off. We would try all possible stunts, someone suggested keeping a cut onion under the armpit was a confirmed method of tricking the mercury in the thermometer into generating a reading of 100 plus. It never worked for me though! We would convince ourselves that we were down with a fever and the thermometer was playing tricks, despite blowing all the hot air into it, it just refused to budge beyond 98.4 deg F. With a normal temperature there was no hope for any leniency from the Duty Medical Officer and the Medicine & Duty (M&D) was like extending an invite to the CSM to be transformed into the mighty Khali in the WWF arena and  we were reduced to the punching bags who would be reduced to pulp.

Anyway, without digressing, the culprit was the thermometer and even today it is this device which continues to play truant. In the pandemic times, how one wishes that the instrument stays true to its traits of returning a 98.4 reading, but alas, it just refuses to heed our call. The mercury in the glass thermometer has paved the way for its digital avatar, which is quite precise in its reading down to decimal place. Its predecessor made the reading such an art form that as kids we could not make head or tail of that invisible streak of mercury which just flashed for a millisecond and before we could correlate it with the scale, it disappeared, despite squinting, holding it against light or any other means, till one of the oldies in the family grabbed it and with a flick announce the severity of fever. I always felt they fibbed, till I grew old enough to be able to read it myself. The digital one also comes with the beep to take it out of the mouth, unlike the glass mercury one, where one had to just hold the pulse and try reading it for about a minute. Then the elaborate exercise of giving it massive jerks to bring the mercury down again before depositing it in the case for safekeeping from kids. Mercury was highly toxic and could prove highly dangerous.

But somehow, due to the reliance on "old is gold" adage, we are more comfortable with the good old ones where there are no false reports, no cells discharged. Same as in the Blood Pressure instrument, the old phus-phus variety clinical mercury manometer as against the digital version, where discharged cells return erroneous results, which could prove very costly.

The latest to join the bandwagon is the pulse oximeter, a household name, which was unheard of till Covid struck. This is a simpler device though, and the readings are also pretty simple to record. In fact for the Corona patients it is the lifeline, which gives out the Oxygen level in the blood and any reading below 92 is a cause for worry, something akin to the CBSE Board score of less than 90. A report of 85 spells doom whether Board result or Oxygen level. 

As we battle the pandemic at all levels including personal ones, I wonder, how the cadets reporting sick would be feigning sickness now with all these digital gizmos, may be the CSMs are themselves armed with these to weed out the malingerers. But trust the ingenuity of cadets, when they could fall from the Log Tables, thereby getting photosynthesis in their legs to fool the Drill instructors, I am sure they will devise methods to hoodwink these machines as well.....

Casus belli

 

Potbellies grow and stay forever, the realisation dawns on you rather late. Initially you tend to ignore it, thinking it is just an irritant and will simply disappear by itself. This rotund growth which surreptitiously appeared and decided to hang on despite my best efforts to shake it off. The long brisk walks and exercises graduated to Yogic asanas which left my torso quite contorted but could not make even a dent in the belly which seemed to be relishing these activities and mocking my efforts. I was also consoling myself, I am in my 50s now, a little bit of fat around the waist adds grace and so on. Then came the acceptance, more so, since right from the time I was a kid, my mother was always concerned about my skinny appearance and encouraged me to eat well. This motherly affection which is centred on the stomach is a universal phenomena across the length and breadth of the country and knows no caste, religion, region culture or language barriers. A legacy which we all can be justifiably proud of, that at least there is unanimity in one key aspect of our lives, so whether we have a Uniform Civil Code or not we have a Uniform Feeding Code for Mother India.

 Old habits die hard ... one always yearned for the flat stomach which one was justifiably proud of, after all in uniform, this protrusion was always frowned upon and rightly so. The only saving grace was, my weight continued to be in the permissible 10 percent underweight from the prescribed weight for my age and height. The Body Mass Index (BMI) was perfect just 22.5. 

Over the last four decades and more that I have been in uniform, which includes nine years stint in RIMC, NDA and IMA, I have stretched my limbs to the extreme limit, so have most others of my ilk, but I dare say that I happen to be amongst the chosen ones, having broken more number of bones, torn more ligaments and gone under the surgeon’s scalpel on a number of occasions. Most of the time due to my own exuberance and stupidity(Carry on Doctors (https://senseinthenonsense.blogspot.com/search?q=carry+on+doctors). I always believed in getting on the field rather than sticking to the drab gym, till this pandemic hit us and the Delhi pollution left me with no choice but to explore this option. A captive gym with a trainer to boot, what more can one ask for?

Lo and behold, I started off on my gym regimen under the watchful eyes of the trainer hoping to firstly address all my nagging pains in the knees, ankles, shoulders etc with adequate muscles to support these rather fragile joints, before Osteoporosis sets in.

Cometh the hour cometh the man… so here I was Arnold Schwarzenegger wannabe on my way towards six packs. In the academies we never kept an account of the number of packs, the only packs we recall were the Pack 08 or the Chindit Pack (The Chindits, known officially as the Long Range Penetration Groups, were special-operations units of the British and Indian armies which saw action in 1943–1944 during the Burma Campaign of World War II- Wikipedia). We had the double , triple or on a rare occasion even a four/five packs Bajri( Construction sand) Order(filled) or RRCO (Riding rig Chindit Order), but these had nothing to do with the abs.

soldier in chindit order

I was greeted by these perfectly chiselled hunks from Haryana who had each of their muscles in their perfect shape, as though these Adonises were modelling for an Anatomy class for the medical school.  I was advised a quick rehab for the creaking joints to set course for more strenuous exercises ahead. Here I presumed I would be like Sly Stallone with "Eye of the Tiger" playing in the background or may be the desi "Tu Bhag Milkha!" , but the Haryana connection naturally was more inclined to "Kaisi dhakad" and "Dangal dangal". Reconciled to the wrestling akhada(arena) beats even the TV played only WWF further reminding you of the path ahead. 

But then I am what I am, so here too I stretched it to the point when the joints simply refused to entertain or even indulge me, I was reminded of Munna Bhai in that Sanjay Dutt movie “Munna Bhai MBBS” when he mentions that he was not even aware there are 206 types of bones which can be broken. All the muscles and ligaments about whose existence I was blissfully ignorant suddenly erupted and made their presence felt. The pain though was well worth the effort, I was feeling more energetic and raring to get back on the Squash/Tennis courts, which I was missing badly. But the casus belli the "belly" proved to be a tough customer like the Delhi Belly, refusing to yield an inch. I haven't thrown in the towel as yet.....may be the belly will gradually!

 

Ripped Jeans

 

Ripped jeans have tripped the honourable CM of UK, Uttarakhand. But obvious, it couldn't have been United Kingdom as they apparently do not have any qualms about genes forget about jeans. The genes are playing truant with Harry meeting his Sally (Meg...han) or may be it is more like "Harry met Sejal" after all with blue blooded prince ending up with the mixed race American. Anyway getting back to the original culprit, that pair of jeans which raised this storm in the knee cap in the first place.

Jeans have nothing to do with traditions, in fact jeans made their presence felt as the attire for typical blue collar workers, coarse, rough and tough. “If we were to use a human term to describe a textile we might say that denim is an honest fabric - substantial, forthright, and unpretentious,” as quoted in American Fabrics a magazine in US in the 60s.  Then somehow the bourgeois got wind of this piece of clothing and converted it to haute couture (high fashion).

 So the ripped ones pass the test with flying colours, ‘honesty’ in the fabric is a given with no sleight of hand here, as some of our desi shopkeepers are known to be expert in hiding the flaws in the materials for sale, with the flaws carefully camouflaged and subsequent denial and “Blame it on the “customeRio” types. Forthright is actually an understatement here, these are simple ‘ in your face’  and with absolutely no pretensions whatsoever. So just take a peek on the images of two of the finest specimens of this designer wear ……..

Somewhere down the line these tatters became a fashion statement, the beggars in India can now have their own line of prêt a porter (ready to wear) and can proudly boast of their high end attire while serenading on their daily promenades on the streets ‘walking the ramp’ rather than ‘street walking’.

Frankly to most of the people in and around our generation, this fashion statement is beyond our imagination, while we may not mind ogling at the exposed anatomy but as an attire worthy of being shown off….well well! I will of course refrain from  commenting on the knees, ankles or any other part of the anatomy, won’t like to be in the shoes of Mr Rawat.

Now taking a look at the etymology of ‘ripped’, the Mirriam Webster describes ripped as a slang “To be stoned or high out of ones mind by the means or weed/ To look very muscular and built/ To take information off a portable device. Usually a CD.”  The ripping of info is out of context here, as far as the other two are concerned I will leave it to the readers to decide if the definition fits the bill or rips it….. The jeans in question have been ripped threadbare in any case!

TOOL KITS

Tool kits are distraught they have traditionally been the prized possession of the proletariat, Karl Marx and Lenin up there in heaven are watching over the goings on shocked out of their wits. The hammer and sickle of Comrade Mao are witnessing how suddenly the media is going hammer and tongs and sullying their good honest name and associating it with the
anti nationals. They have always stayed true to their conscience and believe they have helped the cause of nation building with their implements and the sweat and blood of the artisans who have used them and built this beautiful world, fed the people and finally even while they were laid to rest.
 This tool kit which has no physical tools whatsoever and is actually just a couple of lines of code put together by these white collar nerds on their keyboards with the PCs and laptops, have managed to create something so obnoxious with not even a ‘with your permission’. This is highly embarrassing and even downright shameful.

Hammers of the world have decided to go on a strike, no not their usual strikes on the anvil but as in ‘tools down’. In solidarity even screw driver has taken umbrage and left all the screws in the lurch, even the bar tenders have stopped mixing screw drivers in empathy. The spanner is genuinely upset that it was his calling to put the spanner in the works, but now these Gretas and Dishas have taken on this mantle. What has the world come to?

Hack saws and chisels are languishing in the carpenter’s bag as even ‘hacking’ these days is associated with these cyber warriors, gradually chiseling away at their domain. In fact domain has already been usurped by the good for nothing DNS (domain name system) which at one time was supposed to be job of the tool kit of an ENT surgeon’s scalpel correcting the ‘Deviated Nasal Septum’.

Plumbers and masons have wrenched their fists in sheer desperation, files were already quite upset at sharing their names with the infamous bureaucratic files which have traditionally been the nemesis of all honest working class gentry. As if that was not enough, even Bill Gates and his ilk have created files of their own which do not smoothen anything but instead give a crooked back to most of the youngsters who remain hunched in front of their screens.

The emergence of this tool kit is the last nail in the coffin of the carpenter’s tool kit. It is now time to call a spade a spade, enough is enough, if these misguided youths want to axe something they must pick axe their own feet. Obviously all this does not auger well, but even all the washers can’t wash away their sins.

The spirit level has demanded a level playing field, after all the sh*t which has been flying around ever since this kit was unearthed, it has asked for renaming it 'stool kit'! Probably more apt. 

Left Handed Compliment

 

The “glorious uncertainties of Cricket”, is how the victory of the underdogs, normally described in Cricket parlance. Indian Cricket team seems to have discovered quite a few tricks over the years and have more often than not turned the tables on their more fancied opponents. We did it in West Indies 50 years ago, when a diminutive Sunny Gavaskar led the charge and humbled the mighty West Indians in their backyard with a stupendous 774 runs in just four tests with a double hundred against the likes of Sir Garfield Sobers, Rohan Kanhai…. They carried the form to England and trumped them too same summer. But somethings are too good to last and 1974 Indian tour of England was a disaster, with India being bundled out for a paltry 42, subjected to a humiliating 3-0 whitewash. 46 years later, Down under, dismissed for 36, we were all reminded of our miserable performance in Lords years ago. In fact there was a popular what’s app forward, that Sunny Gavaskar took 60 overs to score 36 runs in the First ODI World Cup, Yuvi took 6 balls to score those many in the 2007 ODI World Cup and Indian team managed it collectively in Adelaide in 2020.

Rising from the ashes, the Indian Cricket Team just proved all the Cricket pundits wrong and left them with eggs on their faces at Gabba! Guess what... it is the Left handers who have clinched it for us. Left handed batsmen enjoy a special status in Cricket, actually Left handed people by and large are supposed to be more talented, be it art, sports or in general. Actually to be honest I am a little prejudiced being a Left handed batsman myself, not that I have been much of a cricketer just school level. But in India of the 70s and 80s every kid was a cricketer at some level or the other while most of us were restricted to the typical Gully Cricket with balls varying from Tennis balls to rubber ones and at times even make shift cloth balls. Some of you may be amused or rather wondering what this cloth ball is all about ...well the strips of waste clothes, typically worn out vests, socks were bundled together and stuffed into a cloth bag with a round shape, it worked especially when these balls just did not hurt anyone nor did it cost a packet.

Gully Cricket did not have any need for stumps at any of the ends, no pads or guards and there were no stipulations regarding the number of minimum players, even two were a quorum! Funnily, although I am a right handed person, I started to bat Left handed. I have often wondered whether it was deliberate or just one of those things. Actually in early seventies, Salim Durrani an all-rounder who was a Left handed batsman was known for his swashbuckling batting, despatching the ball into the stands on demand. Then there was Alvin Kalicharan a stylish West Indian Left handed batsman who personified elegance and class, so may be to emulate them I batted with left or may be just to be the odd one out, you know, to be different, stand out from the crowd. I wonder how many of you recall, the catch phrase of “Maggi Hot & Sweet Ketchup” ad which featured Pankaj Kapur and Javed Jaffri, where Pankaj Kapur used to answer Javed Jaffri’s query about how this sauce different from any other, with just “It’s different!”.

Be that as it may, my Left handed batting did provide me with an opportunity to represent my teams as an Opening Batsman just to keep the opponents in a perpetual quandary with the left right batting combination. As viewers would recall Sachin and Saurav Ganguly proved to be ideal foil as openers in One Day International Cricket matches. So no left handed compliments for the lefties, who have been proven match winners over the years. This feat has again been demonstrated in ample measure by young and talented Rishabh Pant in Gabba and again in Motera; more recently by Axar Patel the left arm off break bowler who simply wrecked the English side at Motera Stadium in Ahmedabad. While the right handed ones can plod on and even seek refuge behind Sachin but the the Lefties were always the more stylish batsmen for every Sachin there was a Brian Lara. The walls would be right handed but it is the Yuvis, Pants and Sauravs who have regaled us with their flourish with the willows. May their tribe grow and entertain us ever more…