This is dedicated to all those Non Commissioned Officers (NCOs) and Junior Commissioned Officers (JCOs) who helped me condition myself to be prepared for any eventuality and for disciplining me; and to all my comrade cadets in NCC for the fun and values we all shared together.
One morning, I was
furiously shining my shoes in my hotel room when the room attendants, clearly
shocked to find me bring out my shoe-shining kit, volunteered to do it for me. But,
as is wont of me for over 40 years now, I refused to accept their assistance and
went on about my work. For, the ‘shining’ story started, sometime in July, 1973
in my college.
On that fateful day in
July 1973, I saw a small group of
students crowding at the notice board of my college and I also ventured into
the crowd to see what was attracting them. Being a runt that I was at that
time, I could squeeze from down under the guys and could read in more
comfortably than the others who were trying to crane in from all different
angles. It was to read a notice, calling upon cadet volunteers for NCC. That
was the first opportunity I had, to volunteer for the NCC, as a cadet.
While at school, I
could not get into NCC as that school was not attached with the NCC and had
only the Boy Scouts, which in our school was a lack-lustre affair and did not
take in much imagination of the student volunteers.
The National Cadet Corps (NCC) is the Indian
military cadet corps, open to school (as junior
division) and college students (as senior division) on voluntary basis. NCC is
a Tri-Services Organization, comprising the Army, Navy and Air Force, engaged
in grooming the youth of the country into disciplined and patriotic citizens.
The Cadets are given basic military training in map reading, small arms and
parades. The officers and cadets have no liability for active military service
once they complete their course but are given preference over normal candidates
during selections based on the achievements in the corps (Courtesy Wikipedia).
It is estimated that, at any point of time, there are about a
million voluntary cadets being trained by NCC, across the country. And most of
the times you can recognise them even without their uniforms by their attention
to the National anthem.
So, elated at the finding, I rushed in to the college quadrangle
where there were already quite a good number of volunteers gathered and I too joined
them. The selection was vague. Our college was offering only three regiments - Artillery,
Armoured and Infantry. Without even knowing how, I found myself being selected
as a cadet for the 1 Tamil Nadu Armoured Regiment, Senior Division.
Our names were taken in and we were asked to report at the
Armoured Regiment’s ‘Office’ for taking in our kits. The kit consisted of 1) a
pair of khakhi trousers 2) a grey shirt 3) a pair of solid thick and heavy
boots with khakhi socks 4) a web belt 5) a beret 6) a panache of feathers 7) an emblem of the regiment
to be pinned on to the beret and 8) a pair of cloth regimental insignia loops
to be inserted through the epaulets. As a cadet we did not need a whistle or a
lanyard, yet. That would be required only when one becomes at least a Lance
Corporal.
The kit issuance is a matter of great interest, as all the
material, excepting the pair of socks, was old, used and re-cycled. Year after
year, there have been hilarious moments, at the time of kit issuance; fat boys
used to draw very thin trousers, tall boys got short trousers and shirts, thin
boys used to get tent like shirts which virtually could drown them. Web belts,
even after adjusting to the full level were sometimes either still loose or
very tight depending on the girth of the cadet concerned. Long trousers were
much in demand but short trousers were normally dime a dozen.
While issuing the clothes, not much time was allotted but
with shoes it is a different matter. By and large the boots were issued based
on the size mentioned by the cadets. However in one or two rare cases some
boots used to be a size or two larger and I know cadets who used to stuff
either cardboard or wads of cloth to fit. But one can only imagine the trouble
they have to undergo, using those boots, and especially while marching. And
instead of silk thread laces, one was issued good leather thongs for lacing the
boots.
I was lucky to get a reasonably well fitting uniform. We were
instructed that the real parades (classes) will start from the next Saturday
and that we should present ourselves in prim and perfect appearance using the
kits that were issued to us.
Till such time, I had never worn dresses or clothes used by
others. I was half thinking to ask my father to get me a new set of uniform but
a few of my co-cadets talked me out of it. So I lugged the kit home and during the
next two days, I soaked the dresses in a bucket full of hot water mixed
generously with liquid Dettol. After a couple of days of such soaking and
washing, I had to learn the art of washing them with ‘Starch’ to ensure
stiffness for the uniform. And then the minor alterations and sewing of broken
buttons etc. Once done, I had to find a person to iron them with knife edge
creases. With the ‘toy’ Iron box that we had at home, I was not confident of
doing justice to my uniform. That confidence came in eventually though.
I had polished my boots so much that I could see my
reflection well on the toes (a benchmark). I never spit and polished though. Adjusting
the web belt was not a problem but applying ‘Brasso’ on to the buckles of the
web belt required deftness. If you apply brasso and shined the buckles, they
were smudged with shoe polish later when you polished the rest of the belt. If
you polished the belt first with shoe polish and applied the brasso to the
buckles, the brasso left white telltale smudges on the belt later. So shining
the shoes was half the challenge of shining the web belt.
By the time I was done with and prepared for the next week’s
appearance, I found to my chagrin that my pair of trousers was quite loose and
I was looking a bit pregnant, so to say! So I quickly went in for a little
alteration, but the pregnancy look was retained till next year when I was
issued with a different kit.
Even for senior division, there would normally be 2 classes /
parades of 2 hours each, every week; but our college people talked the NCC unit
office into collapsing both the classes into one four hour class to be held on
Saturday afternoons as Saturdays were half day working for the college’s
regular classes.
After the first two hours, we had a break for about half hour
when we were treated to refreshments which included a special tea that was not
made available during the regular canteen hours.
Steadily we progressed and all the cadets could now be formed
into files and ranks and do decent parades. Came in December 1973, when we had
to attend ‘my first’ NCC camp. The camp was designed to be located in
Kancheepuram some 75 kms away from Madras (now Chennai) and which I was visiting for the
first time. We camped in the Men’s Pachaiyappa’s college (Little did I realise then, that once, in future, one of my
offices would be located bang opposite to this college and that I would be
instrumental in negotiating the price for buying a parcel of land there for our office).
We had some 12 days of camp (the entire Christmas vacation
was spent here). I had the fun of my life here when some days we were in
concrete barracks and some days in tents, pitched for the purpose. One night I
was on the sentry duty for four hours, for the quarter-guard providing security to a make
believe-cash chest which was supposed to be ‘robbed’ by ‘adversaries’. As the
college was surrounded by rice paddy fields, it was utterly cold in the
December winter and by the time I dismounted from the guard duty at 6-00 am, my
right hand, holding the .303 rifle (9 lbs or 4.09 kgs with fully loaded magazine of 5 bullets), was frozen.
I was allowed only a 2 hour rest and was supposed to join the
breakfast queue by 8-00 am. Breakfast normally would be ‘Khichidi’ (rice
semolina cooked with salt and seasoning) accompanied by a Kadi. The khichidi
used to be so gooey that even when we fully turn over the plate, upside down, the khichidi
never used to fall down. Tea was hot, but watery, and the common joke was that
it should be issued to us early in the morning to be used for brushing our
teeth with instead of using the ice cold water.
We used to have theory classes on map reading, small arms,
tanks and Armoured Cars and driving and maintenance. In which, I could gain
significant amount of proficiency. It was here that under the guidance of NCOs
that I had first attempted to drive a 6 tonner truck.
Once, while the stripping and assembling of a .50 Browning
Machine Gun (BMG) class was progressing, I was caught discussing with another
cadet on the guns (my knowledge came from reading any number of war and western
comics). So I was punished by drawing an extra guard duty to guard the BMG. I
took the special permission of practicing the stripping and assembling while on
this punishment duty and yes, as you guessed it; I could strip and assemble the
entire BMG in matter of seconds and that year I stood the topper in that
subject.
Camp life really taught me the discipline that I did not have
so much earlier. I needed to wake up early morning before 5-00 am and be ready
for the roll call at the sound of the bugle. I had to share bath room showers with other cadets, as there were only a few available. I ate such food which I would never have
touched in my life; boiled rice to be mixed with watery garlic ‘Rasam’ (soup like liquid) with just two or three pieces of raw banana curry. Curd and
buttermilk were literally unknown.
We had to make our beds and every morning when we woke up we
needed to redo and arrange the bed rolls with our plate and mug resting neatly
on top of them. This is one practice I follow till date.
As mentioned earlier, I was very short and also a bit
effeminate and for this ‘glamour’ I was chosen to stand in one of the Armoured
cars and salute on the last ceremonial parade. Though I went through all the
training and rehearsals, while also basking in the glory for the special recognition, when the final ceremony day approached I was replaced
by somebody else. That was the beginning of many opportunities in my life that
came very near to me and which I had lost, that steadily steeled me in not
getting disappointed while facing failures.
On returning from the camp I had graduated to become a Lance
Corporal from being a cadet and now I could proudly put up one stripe / chevron
on my sleeve. The hierarchy was Cadet -> Lance Corporal -> Corporal ->
Sergeant -> Sergeant Major -> Under-Officer – the under officer can wear
a cross belt too and his position is exclusive and very visible giving a status
symbol in the college.
During 1974, just after the second camp (we had this time in Madras itself), I was
short-listed for the most coveted Paratrooping and I was indeed looking forward
to jumping from a plane with a parachute and to have a couple of wings that I
can proudly pin on to my chest. In the summer holidays the ‘D’ day for the selection came and I found that I was one among the eight who have been
selected from all over Tamil Nadu, Pondicherry and the Andamans. I really put up my
best appearance and presentation.
The officer, who was interviewing, was a giant
of a man and he made us all stand in a single file and being the shortest (I
think I was something like 135 cms or so at that time - I really grew up in a
hurry the next year) I was on one end of the flank and the tallest at the other
end. Some question was posed and even before I could open my mouth and answer,
the officer interviewing us moved on to be with the fifth or sixth person. And that’s
it. I lost my opportunity. I was crestfallen and on the verge of tears. My
imaginary wings were clipped even before I could earn them and wear them.
Later I tried to get into Mountaineering at Pachmarhi
Cantonment or to get a course of being attached to the Army Camp at Ahmed Nagar.
But as I was short-listed for the Paratrooping selection, the opportunity for
the other two had to be given to some other deserving candidates. So I lost
them too. Finally when I was in the third year of my college, I was called to
join the contingent preparing for that year’s Republic Day Parade at Delhi, which
in itself was an honour, as I was invited without my applying for it or being
recommended for, and only because I could be short-listed for the paratrooping.
But as we needed to spend 2-3 months practicing at Wellington (India), my parents
were worried that I would lose my study time. Not that this really helped my
studies in anyway though. How I envy my dear friend Basheer Ahmed Moosa, from
New College, who did all that I had missed, don’t know how. Though he too was
short, he was a little more bulkier than I am, with a thick handle-bar
moustache and his chest swelled with ribbons and medals and most importantly
the magic wings that eluded me (soft spoken Basheer Ahmed
Moosa later went on to providing sound systems, single handedly, in many cinema
theatres of Hyderabad and mostly in Rayalaseema and Telangana areas of the then undivided Andhra
Pradesh, India).
It was in the second year that I graduated to being a
Corporal and I did my ‘C’ Certificate which gives a bit of a privilege if I
wished to get into uniformed services, later.
I was all set to become the under-officer in the third year
when I started realising the realities of life, a bit more practically. The
Lieutenant in-charge, of our flock in the college, preferred to promote a
couple of guys - one who was a neighbour to his house and another who spoke his
language. And I languished to be a corporal for the next two years. I am one of
the very few NCC cadets, in the country, who passed the ‘C’ Certificate as a corporal, for
normally a ‘C’ certificate holder was at least a Sergeant or once he got hold
of the ‘C’ certificate he automatically was promoted to be a Sergeant if he was not one already; neither happened in my
case.
And ever since, I started having deep ‘love affairs’ with my bosses. Finally I realised that I just did / could not master the art of pleasing my boss; any boss so far.
Though I used to be
afraid of the uniformed Police, my love for a military related uniform had
always existed. After I completed college, I did make some attempts to get into
military as a second lieutenant but my father refused to sign a discharge
letter (I, being the first son of the family, apparently needed to provide one such letter
in those days, if I wanted to get into the Defence), thus putting a stop to any
such aspirations for me.
Yet, the enchantment for the Khakhi that entered
into my life at a very young age - at about 10 years of my age, as part of my
school uniform, stuck to me - and now almost 50 years hence, I still have a
couple of Khakhi trousers, which I proudly wear quite regularly. When they
become old, I keep buying new Khakhis.
Even today, the moment I wake up from my bed, I need to roll
away my blankets and neatly arrange them on the pillow. Shining the boots was
another thing that stuck to me, not to mention of the knife-edged crease on my
trousers and shirts. And the driving and maintenance lessons still echo in my
ears that I meticulously follow.
And as a beard man I
don’t need my shaving tackle to be packed while travelling, but as a weird man
I certainly need my shoe shining tackle.
NCC might have ‘clipped
my wings’ but it certainly did leave me with some great habits and a pair of ‘shining
hands’. Hasn’t it?
You tell me!
Till
then,
Krutagjnatalu
(Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam),
Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Thanks (English), Dhonyabaad (Bangla), Gracias (Spanish),
Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado
(Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic), Shukriya (Urdu), Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai
Lhai Lhai (Laotian), Kob Kun Krab (Thai) and Asante (Kiswahili).
Hemantha Kumar
Pamarthy
Chennai, India
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