Ps and Qs

Air India has been in the news for all the wrong reasons last couple of days, the premier Airline of the country back with the Tatas committed a faux pas by forgetting their own Ps and Qs by letting the passengers literally peeing and getting away with it. Appalling behaviour by the passengers who too forgot their Ps and Qs, crass, crude and abominable.. well we will run out of adjectives and we will be forced to resort to expletives ignoring our own Ps and Qs. The poor lady who was at the receiving end of the ‘pee’ did not have a ‘c(l)ue’ about the stream she was subjected to. Interestingly one of the theories regarding the origin of this phrase traces it to the pints and quarts of tipple. Obviously the pee man had gone overboard, forgotten the measures of the pints and quarts and probably consumed gallons.  

Air India was at the receiving end of the troll army with memes galore, some examples, “Earlier Air India pissed you off, now you are “pissed on”!” Another one wished the passengers that they  “have a pissful flight”. One air stewardess was announcing that “In case of increased pressure in the bladders, diapers would automatically drop down!”

Bladders are tricky and can give way rather unexpectedly as discovered by the elderly, enlarged prostrate being the culprit. But with the advent of adult diapers, the oldies are spared the embarrassment. Our mothers have probably had to suffer getting wet in the middle of the nights tending to us as infants when we did not have any control over any of our activities. I am reminded of another episode which too occurred in a public transport in another era, the episode dates back to 1978, when we were on our way back from Allahabad to Indore. It was peak summers, my father and me were to take the train back to Indore. Needless to say reservations in the train were not available and hence we were forced to travel unreserved in the General compartment. The fact that General compartments are overcrowded is an understatement, that evening, we were reduced to the state of sardines in the can, jam packed, actual cattle class. We climbed onto the space where luggage is to be stowed, incidentally there are no top berths in these coaches. The coach was full of tribals from Eastern Madhya Pradesh probably returning to their villages having finished their labour contracts. A Babaji was also stuck like us, but unfortunately he could not climb onto any of the upper echelons and had to brave it out amongst them. Sometime in the wee hours of the night, we heard the sage blow up as one of the kids perched on top had decided to let go. The kid was not to blame as there was literally no space for him to go to the lavatory as that too was fully occupied. The sage was thus given an abhishekam. 

Air travel was not supposed to be risky business though you were airborne, thousands of miles above the sea level, having placed your trust in the hands of expert pilots to steer you through safely. The risks to life have been substituted by grave concern for the dignity. The culprit was not in the cattle class but ensconced in the Business Class and obviously a valued Frequent Flyer, no wonder he was treated with kid gloves. Had he been travelling Economy he would probably have been escorted to the P(prison) without any Q(queue)!!

OUTTARRA from FENGOLO

                                                 

He was short, skinny, with sunken cheeks typically those of a chain smoker. A scraggy beard just added to the nondescript personality. His attire was always the same, dark coloured pants and an even darker repulsive smelly shirt with plastic sandals. At first glance, though, there was something mesmerising about him, may be his eyes, which seemed rather sharp. They somehow did not gel with his overall persona. Or maybe the fact, that he was so coherent and articulate in his speech, which again was rather odd. In Africa, the norm was to talk incessantly, annoyingly repetitive and in a language which sounded like French but only occasionally. In fact one really had to exercise one’s restraint to the optimum limit from repeating verbatim what had been spoken a dozen times by more than a dozen people.

Outtarra is a common West African family name and the person bearing this name could be of any nationality in the sub Saharan West Africa ie Mali, Burkina Faso, Côte d’Ivoire or may be even Guinea. It was more important for him to be identified as a ‘Malinke’, which incidentally is an ethnic group amongst the umpteen number of such groups in all these countries. Malinke are the dominant tribe in neighbouring Mali. The ethnicity here takes precedence over everything else including nationality. Getting back to Mr Outtarra, the man who has just been described above, was the chief spokesperson as he liked to describe himself, of all the foreigners in that village called Fengolo in Western Côte d'Ivoire. Yes he was a foreigner in his own land and so were all the villagers. The reason for their being treated as foreigners by the locals are strange but well to be honest, haven’t we heard of the “sons of the soil”, right here in India. 

Outtarra was my source, as the sleuths would like to call their informants, only difference being that he wasn’t being paid to do this. Generally intelligence operatives resort to various means to elicit information, the three Ws weaknesses ‘wine’, ‘women’ and ‘wealth’ money of course makes the mare go, wine being the other universal vice  and women even Rishi Vishwamitra could not control himself and fell for the charms of Menaka. History is replete with stories of Mataharis who have turned the tides of war many times. But Outtarra was keeping me posted with the happenings purely from a very selfish perspective and that was of self preservation. He and his ethnicity brethren knew they were being targetted by the “We” pronounced as “Vay” people.The We, sometimes called the Krahn or Guere, are an indigenous African people that inhabit areas in eastern Liberia and western Côte d'Ivoire. 

The fact that the two ethnicities had also embraced different religions, ‘We'  had adopted Christianity and ‘Malinkes' were essentially Moslem, may have played a part, but that was not the major issue. The core of the problem was post colonial arbitrary division of boundaries of nations. Asia and Africa have been at the receiving end at the hands of their respective colonial masters. Brothers turned into bitter rivals by this travesty of history. He had his own little business essentially dealing in Timber, the buyers were the Lebanese merchants who controlled this illegal trade in the war torn nation. Considering Ivorian standards he was well to do and was a natural leader of his community.

His information was always timely and gave us an edge over the militias, who were planning attacks on Fengolo itself.  Belligerents were located on either side of a Zone laid down by the UN. The village was located in the “Zone of Confidence”, a misnomer as that zone was everything but confident, the villagers in the Zone were lucrative targets for both sides. Fengolo lying to the Northern end of the Zone was targetted by the Govt backed militias. With his critical inputs we, the Casque Bleu (Blue Berets) managed to preempt the militias and prevented any major mishaps, so much so that the Force Commander Maj Gen Abdulaye Fall, a Senegalese national,  singled out the Duekouye Military Observers Team  and commended its sterling contribution to peacekeeping.

Actually it was Outtarra who deserved this commendation. 

 

Shift Delete

 

There is a feature in Windows Operating System, when one presses two keys, Shift and Delete together, the file or folder which one wishes to get rid off is deleted permanently. As against plain and simple "delete" as that merely sends the file to the 'recycle bin', from where we can retrieve it anytime. I can see the smirks on the faces of nerds, try it as much as you wish to, we will recover what we need to. This data once on the hard disk can only be deleted once the disk itself is physically destroyed, with the help of a hammer or crushed and burnt/buried. But for ordinary mortals the data once permanently deleted is gone unless you get into the past life regression therapy to recover it. The parallels which  are being drawn with rebirth are obviously with a purpose. The Gurus want us to “live in the moment”, I am sure each one of us has encountered these spiritual Godmen who sermonise on the joy of being and living the moment and most of us have found it takes barely a few minutes for our minds to start with its antics and we either hop skip jump to the future or land up in sometime past with huge regrets on actions and deeds done or missed.

 How I wish we could do the same in life, all the unpleasant memories, experiences despatched forever into the black hole, irretrievable. But all that we manage to do is send it to the recycle bin of life from where, it just makes a comeback like a counterfeit coin. Ekhard Tolle waxes eloquent on the "Power of Now", but we would rather procrastinate on everything, worry about inconsequential issues rather than just observe. Easier said than done...

So 2022 is gone dead and buried, an year when we thought we had seen the worst part of Covid and come out with our mental physical being intact, although one can't say the same about the emotional or psychological ones.  2022 will be remembered for the Russia Ukraine war which shows no signs of abeyance even after 10 months. World obliviously seems to be hurtling on the path of a climatic armageddon and the powers that be are too busy playing the fiddle trying to sort Russia out even if they have to cut their own nose to spite their faces; in the bargain losing out on the much needed sanity. 

There is an urgent need for a format command and rebooting the processor, unfortunately formatting the disk will lead to losing the pleasant memories as well. As individuals who are spiritually inclined and enlightened, this process of discarding the trash comes naturally. The lesser mortals struggle with it and there are those relish it, just love living in the past; oldies are normally afflicted with this disease,"In my time...", "When I was so and so..." Without these memories they would be reduced to zero, something which is anathema for them, little realising that all the Zen masters were striving to just be that, a big Zero, with no thoughts, just be there. As the French say "Joie de Vivre"....

One for the road

"Country roads take me home...." John Denver's all time favourite is  like an anthem to the roadies, no not the MTV type roadies, the ones who take to the road for a joyride and enjoy the feel of the road, the gushing winds caressing not just their bodies but also their souls. Those of you who have watched Alia Bhatt starrer "Highway" would recall the transformation of the heroine after the ride of her life, which started in highly unpleasant manner and unfortunately culminated with the death of the hero but she had discovered her mojo in this journey. 

 Having just returned from an outing to Jaipur from Delhi, I was wondering why are these trips more enjoyable and memorable than the ones undertaken by other means of transport which are way more convenient, by air or train for example. Firstly these are more grounded (pun intended), apart from the convenience and flexibility which a road trip provides. A halt for a cup of tea at a roadside dhaba, the casual chitchat with the locals just add spice to these jaunts. Then the fact that most of us get initiated into these trips rather early in our lives, so memories of those joyrides remain etched forever. 

I distinctly recall our countless family rides on the good old lambretta scooter of yesteryears,  perched on the carrier of the vehicle as my younger sibling got to stand in front with my father. These were relatively short distances just over 60 kms from Dhar (Madhya Pradesh) to Indore and back, but were loads of fun as these were undertaken as picnics. We could stop just about anywhere, pick up some farm fresh veggies or fruits such as mangoes or guavas depending on the season and relish them en route or relish the good old sugar cane juice at outlets euphemistically called "Madhushala". One didn't mind the discomfort of the carrier one bit and every such trip was eagerly looked forward to. 

These trips then gave way to the bus hikes which we undertook from Dehradun to Delhi, Agra or even Valley of Flowers. But the best one was the cycle trip to Chandigarh and back, where the dhaba owner of Narayangarh(Haryana) was reduced to tears at the ravenous appetites of 13-14 year olds who finished off his rations for the complete month in one single meal. Scooter or Motorcycle trips were normally over short distances and were typically for not more than a couple of hours, however with the opening of the economy, the aspiring middle class laid their hands on their first four wheelers, Fiat Padmini and Maruti 800, Ambassadors were for the manor born,  primarily the Babudom.

Post commissioning I was on wings with my own personal LML Vespa scooter, driving from Mhow to Dhar and back during my Young Officers' course. These trips were always undertaken during the Ramayan telecast time, as the roads were absolutely barren and one could drive at breakneck speed without any fear, as even the traffic policemen were glued to the TV sets. Serious self driven road trips commenced when we (Ramesh Balan and self) decided to drive from Mhow to Wellington in our Marutis. Since we had qualified for this prestigious course (Staff College), this was in a way, a reward for our efforts. Maruti lived upto its Hanuman characteristics, with six of us ,i.e. My parents both kids, my better half and me with loads of luggage some on the carrier fitted on top and the balance in the boot of the car. Wellington here we come!! It was the longest road trip undertaken by us, route was deliberately charted in a manner that we could go via Ajanta Ellora caves for tourism obviously, Jalna as my cousin stayed there, onwards to Pune where my brother Sujay was based those days and that was where my parents were to get off. A road trip in the peak of summers is undertaken only by desperados or lunatics, with mercury  touching 44/45 deg Celsius you can guess as to which category did we belong to.

 Pune to Belgaum was a wonderful drive and en route to Mysore we took a detour to visit the famous Shravanbelgola Jain shrine, although not part of the original route and itinerary. The Gommateshwara or Lord Bahubali (not the fictitious Mahishmati one!!)  statue is a gigantic 57-foot high monolithic statue on Vindhyagiri Hill. Carved of a single block of granite, it is the tallest monolithic statue in India and is visible from miles away. 

Legend has it that Lord Bahubali was the son of first Jain Tirthankar Rishabhnath, who belonged to Ishwaku dynasty, the same as that of Lord Ram himself. 

Once you are bitten by the travel bug, you are hooked for life, during the mid term break, while the rest of the course drove down to Trivendrum, Kochi for the "babes and beaches" break, we took off on a temple trail with two sets of  parents, Ramesh Balan's and mine. We hired one single Van with twelve of us including the toddlers Ananya and Padmini. We covered Meenakshi Temple Madurai, enjoyed the hospitality of Meenakshi Balan's parents there and onwards to Trichendur on the West coast of the state.Rameshwaram, Kanyakumari , Trivendrum Padmanabha Swami temple, Alleppy, Quilon,  finally Trichur Guruvayur temple and back. We enjoyed South Indian cuisine at roadside restaurants, stayed in budget tourist hotels, went to the beaches in Kovalam, the back water cruise, all these in just about ten days. Since Ramesh's family are fluent in Tamil, we did not have to face any language issues nor for the food.  In all of 10 days it was quite a journey with lifetime of memories. 

The other interesting trip from Wellington was to Bangalore, as it was called those days. That was during one of the tutorial breaks. Kamal Chand was keen to go down to Puttapurthy as he is a devotee of Satya Sai Baba, we were planning to go down to visit Preeti's aunt. We thought it would be fun to go together and so off we went on a Saturday afternoon, four adults three kids in good old Maruti 800. I was at the wheel and it was a lovely drive down upto Mudumalai forest sanctuary. While crossing one of the villages we saw some commotion by the roadside and a Car with DSSC sticker on the windscreen parked by the side. It was obvious that one of our colleagues was in some trouble. On enquiry we got to know that the officer had accidentally hit one of the young kids, who had received minor bruises. But the whole village had gathered and were getting rough with the officer, while his family stood helpless. Language barrier only aggravated the situation. The lady was at pains to explain that we were from the Indian Army, trying to mime a weapon in hand, which the villagers presumed as being aggressive and were in no mood to listen. We somehow managed to convince the elders that it was more important to get the boy to a hospital to ascertain the exact nature of injuries. Guess what ? It appeared that that the whole village got in the rear seat of the Maruti 800, there were at least seven visible in the RearView mirror. The scene reminded us of the Hera Pheri sequence where Om Puri with his friends comes to Mumbai and they all get into one Taxi, with people falling off from the other side, as the car door is closed. We had to leave the ladies, kids and elderly parents of the officer there with the villagers. Finally when the doctor in the nearest town confirmed that the injuries were minor in nature and with some fruits and Rs500/-, a compromise was arrived at. 

We resumed our journey with a delay of about two hours. Our plan was to hit Bangalore by early evening, here we were yet to cross Mudumalai. But bravado of the youth propelled us and we moved through the thick forest although it was already pitch dark, reaching Mysore by around dinner time 8.30 pm. Rationality dictated that with the ladies and kids in tow, we should have stopped for the night in Mysore itself, but we were told the road to Bangalore was good and so we pressed on, hoping to reach by around midnight. Chand decided to take the wheel now and all was well, till the road was reduced to just craters instead of the occasional potholes. Somewhere about 60 odd kms from Bangalore when it was already midnight, the front wheel of the car went in one of these craters and stayed there.... just refused to venture out, obviously it had had enough not just for the day but for its lifetime! So we were stuck, couldn't move ahead nor could we stay there with ladies and kids there. Those were the days when there were no mobiles so leaving Chand with the Car, I decided to walk down and look for any sign of habitation anywhere, after a couple of kms, I spotted a factory, approached the guard managed to convince him into allowing me to make a phone call. Subbu Uncle is a retired fauji, who obviously found the whole episode amusing and rescued us with car being recovered the next day.

Another memorable journey was when we drove down from Karu to Srinagar and back in our pilgrimage to Amarnath. I was posted in Karu in Ladakh those days and decided to add to my good karma by taking my parents and in laws together to this 'yatra'. Firstly taking two sets of parents together is by itself a daredevil act and I am sure Lord Shiva was mighty pleased by this rationality defying act of mine; as the citation normally goes "with utter disregard for my personal safety, displaying conspicuous gallantry in the face of enemies I bashed on regardless!!" In a single Toyota Qualis we six adults and two kids were huddled together for the experience of our life. The LC was very active those days post Kargil and Op Parakaram and shelling on both sides was common phenomena. While we were on our way to Dras, shelling began and the convoy was halted. I was my usual self moving around trying to figure out things, sending shivers down the spines of the mothers, we moved after a while . Parents were astonished to notice that tea was being brewed by the drivers on the side while shelling was on, getting a glimpse of life of a soldier. In Dras Transit Camp where we stayed, there were notices as to where should the guests move in case of shelling and the Officer Commanding Transit Camp personally came and briefed all the transients. All in all the journey itself was worth a lifetime of experiences for parents. Amarnath trek up and down even on horse backs is quite an ordeal especially with the group that I was leading. The most pertinent question was posed on our way back by my daughter, all of six years, who was very enthused on the way up, as to why exactly did we come here in the first place. The magnificent Ice Shivling obviously did not interest her much.

Road travels continued unabated, the mileage accrued included number of trips from Patiala to Simla, Kasauli, Nahan, Badrinath and back in our Wagon R. The passengers changed from parents to siblings to in laws, each journey had its own tales. Kids were older and enjoyed these forays to the fullest. Thereafter there was a lull for a couple of years, till we ventured on to Gangtok Darjeeling from Ranchi and the next year to Puri Bhubneshwar again fro Ranchi. These tested our perseverance and patience as the drive at times was almost 16 hours.

Dogs normally freak out on road trips, but  Buddy, our lab was mortally scared , although he enjoyed the breeze but his major worry was that he would be taken to the Vet and would end up with some injections. It was quite an exercise taking him to the vet for this yearly ritual. But Covid times were special times and during the lock down I was ordered to move on posting to Delhi and so he had to travel with us in the good old Wagon R. Udhampur to Delhi with a night halt at Patiala, the poor dog hardly sat down, was so fidgety and Preeti had a difficult time holding onto him.  

With superannuation beckoning, it is time to hit the road again, looking forward to some interesting trips ahead.....

Pilgrimages

We homo sapiens are conditioned to believe and act in a particular manner by the society, community, religion, peers or any other extraneous forces. J Krishnamurthy, the philosopher described it as the single biggest culprit for the ills in the society. This 'conditioning' while laying down the rules for a society also ties us down and takes away our most precious freedom. Be that as it may, we are ordinary mortals and would rather be in chains of conditioning than be free in an anarchy.  One of the major conditioning pertains to religion, while spiritualism goes well beyond religion and is not bound by religion but the right tenets of religions  guide you on the path of spiritual pursuits.  Pilgrimages are essential aspects of all religions, so a Moslem must undertake the Haj  to Holy Mecca and Medina, a Jew to Jerusalem, Catholic to the Vatican, Sikh to the Golden Temple, Hindus have many such holy places the Char Dham, Badrinath, Kedarnath, Gangotri, Yamunotri, Benares, Prayag, Ujjain, Somnath, Amarnath other Jyotirlingas and so on...These pilgrimages were normally undertaken in the twilight of your life after having fulfilled your duties in the Grihasth Ashram (the phase of life as per Hindu philosophy when after the education at Gurukul one pursued a normal life as  a householder) . But today with improved communication systems, religious tourism forms a major chunk of our ballooning service sector.  People of my generation have been fortunate to have undertaken many of these rather young either with our parents or being in the Army, in our professional assignments having been posted in close vicinity availed of this opportunity.

Initially it was more of curiosity as most of the religious shrines are located at distant exotic places in the hills or close to river or sea shores, but travel itself was exciting so highly enjoyable and a break from the routine. Then gradually  we discovered some places were different, more peaceful, the whole ambience in the Temple or Gurudwara or Math or Mazar filled us up with a different kind of peace and tranquility. One could sit quietly by oneself and meditate for hours and absorb all that was there in our hearts and minds and carry it with us, to revel in it at leisure, try and unravel the mystery behind it all. This peace and tranquility was not just at the famous pligrim centres, it was also there in the Unit Mandir or just a wayside religious shrine away from the hustle and bustle. So Pir Baba Mazar in Kaiyan Bowl was soul nurturing and so was the Shankaracharya temple in Srinagar. Places which are more commercial somehow lose that sanctity and it is difficult for someone like me to be able to focus on the deity, the rituals or the people around make the whole routine very mechanical; sometimes once the obeisance drill is done and one gets some time to ponder over the mysteries sitting by oneself, it is more peaceful. 

We also have preconceived notions about places and Tirupati Balaji was one such temple, I always had this misgiving that He was the rich man's deity being the richest religious shrine and all the bigwigs making a beeline for the special VIP darshan. Despite my reservations I did go there along with my son, which itself is a story as Preeti, my better half was keen on the visit and hence the trip was conceived but she was not destined to go then as my daughter, Ananya went down with Dengue at the last minute and she had to opt out. I had some official commitment tied up and went ahead. Since my darshan was already tied up I asked my son, Abhijat if he was free, being based at Bengaluru he took the night bus and joined me. So is it He who decides when He wants you to come, are we are pawns? May be.. I am sure most of us would have had such experiences. The brahmn muhoortam (Early morning) darshan left me in a trance. The pandit had to shake me up from my meditative reverie.  Another such experience was at the Belur Math in Kolkata. The Almighty has been kind and one has got the opportunity to visit religious places of all hues and colour without any prejudices, so while it was Puri, Rameshwaram, Badrinath or Jyotirlingas at  Kashi Vishwanath, Mahakaal, Omkareshwar, Bhimashankar, Shirdi, Amarnath shrine, Vaishno Mata temple, GoldenTemple, Nizamuddin Aulia's Mazar or Vatican and many many others I think apart from religious tourism they have also helped us grow and evolve as people.

Are pilgrimages only religious in nature? How about Jalianwala Bagh, National War Memorial or some place which is quite remote, The Cellular Jail (Kala Pani) in Port Blair Andamans. I think these places are equally if not more worthy of being referred to as places of worship. We all must bow our heads in reverence to the brave and courageous freedom fighters who laid down their lives for an independent India where we can proudly be ourselves and not slaves of any foreign powers. The recent visit to Andamans and to Cellular Jail, Veer Savarkar's corner cell and the gory details of torturous routine suffered by the inmates was too vivid for any eyes to be dry. The abhorrence felt for the British there is indescribable. A visit to the Cellular Jail I think is a must do for all Indians,  and why just Indians actually even international tourists need to be a given a glimpse of the horrors of Kala Pani, comparable to the Holocaust. My salute to the known and the many unsung heroes who led a remarkable revolutionary's life, each man an institution by himself!

Dial M for Mbappe

 Dial “M” for Messi, Maradona or Mbappe, either ways “M” finally was crowned the King of Soccer on 17th Dec at Doha. Frankly I am not one of those diehard fans of Soccer leagues, don’t follow them, but yes occasionally do enjoy watching the wizards in action, as kids are almost addicted to European Leagues and are devoted to their Man U, Chelsea or AC Milan etc. Football as  we called it back then till the Yanks came with their American Football and the simple football became Soccer. It was amongst the cheapest game with just one football and couple of friends, space was also not an issue, a park, street, alley just about any place was good. Two teams would be divided, numbers could vary from two-three in each team to even ten - twelve. Even a classic football was not mandatory, cloth balls would do the trick. Somehow despite my best efforts my legs refused to obey my commands and my only consolation was of an “also ran” as I just ran around without even getting to get my foot on the ball. Let me clarify, I was a decent Squash and Tennis player as also Cricket and Hockey. Cricket and Hockey was ok as there we could use our hands also and I could sprint, but with football  I was simply a “push over” the shoulder push being the killer as I was literally pushed out of the field being a super light weight skinny fellow. 

In NDA Wing, being a Rimcollian and not opting to play football was considered shamming by Flt Lt Grewal, our Directing Staff. So here I was appointed the Captain of the “seventh” string Football team of Mike Squadron. I don’t recall if there was an eighth string, so obviously seventh was the bottom of the pile and all of us were novices when it came to football. It was a rainy day, the field was all slushy, most of us were slipping and falling and in the melee my attempt to take a swing at the ball, I was airborne for a few seconds and then fell on my left hand with my wrist dangling as though it had decided to part ways from the rest of the body. But the show must go on so I was escorted out of the field and the game continued. After the whistle, the PT instructor who was supervising the game came over, took a look at the wrist and asked for the ambulance. That fracture put an end to any further forays on the Football field while at NDA. In the Army,  however, we have little choice when it comes to troop games and so each one of us becomes a Footballer, Basket baller or even Volleyballer and naturally  I  too did venture on the field on many an occasions. 

Anyway, this is not the time to discuss  my forays in Football but to talk about mesmerising Messi,  Maradona and Mbappe. In 1986 FIFA World Cup which most of us would recall as Maradona’s world cup and the last time that Argentina took the cup home. That was the first Soccer World Cup we got to watch live on TV and I distinctly recall Maradona’s “Hand of God” goal in Semi finals against England.  It was the second  goal where he dodged three defenders and ran from the midfield, beat the goalkeeper  to score the goal which was a dream like sequence still live in my memory.That he was brilliant is beyond doubt but that "Hand of God" was a blemish in his otherwise outstanding career as a footballer. As an individual he had other run ins with drugs etc, but when it comes to Lionel Messi, there is no messing around, he is just too good, and deservedly was rewarded by this Trophy at the zenith of his professional sporting career. Although he did score three goals in the finals but age is catching up, purely on stamina and speed the French were miles ahead but skill in the field the Argentinians held sway as was evident to anyone in the first about 60 minutes of the game. Just when it seemed that the French were outclassed, the cool composed Mbappe turned the tide almost single handedly in precisely 97 seconds with his back to back goals. This was followed by the equaliser when everyone thought Messi had sent in the winning goal in the extra time. 

This guy Mbappe is destined for further greatness in days ahead, he is not just good, he is too good and just 24 years old so we will have the privilege of watching his histrionics in the next decade as well. What about us Indians, do we continue to be the “Begani shadi main Abdulla”, last heard there were violent clashes in Kerela over rival factions supporting France and Argentina. Someone quipped the closest that an Indian came to the FIFA  Trophy was Deepika Padukone while unveiling the trophy. Guess what was she doing there, obviously FIFA recognises the moolah which Indians can bring into the game as evident from the superlative success of IPL Cricket, so don’t be surprised if Indians make their debut within the next decade. That should be good news to Soccer aficionados for obvious reason…..so here is hoping for the best!!!!

The Seventieth Special LXX

" Agar firdaus bar roo-e-zameen, hameen ast, o hameen ast,  o hameen ast!" Most of us are familiar with this famous Persian couplet where Jahangir is supposed to have described Kashmir  as the heaven on Earth, with this quote. Well taking nothing away from Kashmir, but for two days the heaven had actually shifted its base to the precincts of NDA Khadakwasla, for the 70th NDA course and their families who attended the reunion on 3rd and 4th Dec.  No I am not referring to the "seventh heaven" that we all saw quite regularly back then. I mean heaven as we imagine it to be. Seventh heaven for the uninitiated was the seventh strand in the wire meshed grill in the cabins by which we would hang for our dear lives with our fingers bearing the brunt. We the lucky bunch of  the seventieth revelled in the revellings for two days as though in a trance. Who would have imagined four decades back, when we lived from one session to other, just managing to keep our heads above the torrent of activities 'survival of the fittest' was imbibed in us back then. The 0300 knock on the cabin and being escorted to the bathrooms for the sessions for a "supposed" misdemeanour by any of our 25 odd brethren is still alive in our memories and so are the countless others which followed only the time and place changed the characters and their dialogues remained the same. 

Someone was extolling the virtues of training and the camaraderie which was visible to any outsider and was also was wondering what specific aspect was it that inculcated this spirit in an ex NDA. I was hard pressed to explain it, was it just the "ragda" or was there something else...I don't think there was any one thing which made us into what we are, it was the collective three years  which probably was responsible for it. Looking back now, I dare say, for good or worse we turned out to be quite ok.

Every reunion rejuvenates us, but this one was special, after all we got to stay in the squadrons, the smell of mansioned floors in cabins brought back memories of all the "cabin cupboards", that we were subjected to. For the ignoramuses, this was the means to get the Cadets to clean up their act literally, spruce up the cabins, find places to hide our dirty, filthy socks and undergarments and be presentable. For a 16 year old busy with all the thousand other activities, laundry was the last thing on his mind and was invariably postponed. One innovative method resulted in a near fire incident, when all the stinking socks were shoved into the kitbag which was neatly covered by a clean white handkerchief and an incense stick was lit strategically on top of the kitbag to suppress the foul smells. Murphy's law had to strike and sure enough, the lit incense stick decided to fall into the kit bag resulting in a fire incident which was controlled without any losses, other than the socks which any case had outlived their useful lives.

There were a few firsts in this reunion, it was the first time we managed to touch base with almost all the families of our dear friends who have moved on to the heavens above. Seven brave ladies of these decided to grace the occasion and rekindled the memories of our departed friends. The Seventieth was a unique course, each course believes theirs is one, but we are sure ours is something special, not in terms of just brass which almost all courses can justifiably boast about, we have amongst us guys who have charted their own course in their lives in service or out of service. Those who joined for merely a term or two have also remained connected as the bonds forged even in the initial days have been extraordinarily strong. We have Tarun Bhagoliwal who had joined NDA after having quit  IIT, but he realised that he is not cut out for a life in uniform and so went back to civilian ways and has done phenomenally well, with umpteen numbers of patents under his belt. So have Asim Mahapatra or Ranjit Nambiar, who have made a mark in the world of business and advertising respectively. Then there were those like Yash Saxena and Inder Dagar who had to quit NDA due to medical reasons but their 'never say die' spirit  saw them making a comeback in uniform through IMA and OTA respectively and making us proud of their achievements. Some others like Rajinder Chauhan had to call it quits after having survived full quota of six terms albeit with different courses, who did not let this setback pull them down but propelled them to bigger league. Even post retirement, the Seventieth guys have been following their passion, so we have Arvinder the COO of Gujarat Titans, Satish Mallick a wizard behind the lens, Jagan having started his own Cargo airline and delving into Film making as well. KPS Rana and Sanjay Bose have taken on the mantle to train the SSB aspirants, Yogesh Virlley is busy off roading with his  Red Thar, Ashutosh Tewari is pursuing spirituality in his unique cycling and photography trails, Patanjali Puri and his famous Tree House, Raghu the story teller whose two novels are best sellers Vikramaditya and Saumen De literally carving a niche in the wood art, NK Sharma, Joginder Chandna, Krupakar Reddy have been crisscrossing the globe running to glory…. just to name a few.

So with this pedigree, it was obvious that we are not the regular old fogies who will fade away, we have it in us to still contribute to the greater cause of nation building. The Seventieth Foundation came into being with this very premise and we have started to take some baby steps in this direction. It was also the first time that our course unveiled a Coffee Table Book for the reunion, I am sure others will follow in the years to come. I can take some credit for it, my third Coffee Table book in the last two years besides my maiden book, "Musings of a Military Mind". It was also the first time that our ladies got the real feel of NDA squadrons and our cabins. They loved the experience vowing to do it again in 2036, when we have our next do. 

The wreath laying ceremony at the Hut of Remembrance was a solemn occasion our comrades who had fallen in the line of duty, PK Pande, Madan Ghatge, Rohit Datta, Pankaj Batra, Sanjay Mishra, Vijay Kumar Rangi, their sacrifice etched forever. Group photograph saw us beaming as for once it was the turn of the ladies to turn into paparazzi clicking us in our ceremonial regalia. Lunch at Peacock Bay was fun with beer flowing and stories being shared, more squadron, school groups being sought out for photography in the picturesque setting. The finale was the Musical Evening which has been the forte of our very own Michael James, who weaved this amazing   extravaganza purely online and the amazingly talented officers and ladies regaled us all, with Mike himself leading the charge, Shilpa, Preeti, Sumita and Vikram Aditya mesmerising us with their soulful music. Meenakshi kept the audience in splits with her witchcraft. Thanks to Dear Bob Bakshi and Sanjeev Dogra, this reunion turned out to be a truly memorable experience. 

It may sound cliched but all good things must come to an end, although each one of us had turned into the child in the vintage Esselworld ad, “NDA  main rahoonga main; ghar nahi jaoonga main!”(I will stay on in NDA and will not go back home!)