During my final 3 yrs in uniform at Air HQ, my job was to daily
write file noting and briefs, technical things, without any scope for humour.
After all, what humour can you add in E=MC2. None of my
superiors ever read my briefs, they already knew all about E=MC2.
If I had to write briefs that had to be sent to MoD, sycophancy was made to
drip like honey from E=MC2 . But the lowly amoeba ‘Desk
Officer’ Mr Yashpal, his job in MoD was to act like a postal employee, franking
with self-inking rubber stamp ‘Bugger Off’, right on top of my dripping honey.
So it was a complete waste of my time. Nevertheless, that was my job, and
hence I persevered. In retrospect, it was very stupid of me to be
conscientious, when none wanted me to be so !!.
Once in a while I had to write briefs for the CAS too, routed
through DASR, ACAS (Plans), DCAS to the Chief, all of whom took great pains to
proofread and correct Queen’s ‘E’. The illustrious and most affable CAS
was very fond of me, but not my W-front armour piercing contact fused briefs
!!. Due to his macho Alpha male perception, the CAS would not wear specs or
contacts. He was blind as a bat (short sight, myopia). Also, as is common with
all those who pip past Maj Gen (& equivalents), while they are still
in uniform, the CAS perhaps had mild ‘dyslexia’ (difficulty in reading and comprehending anything, other than his own
perception). Double trouble for me, especially when I had to write
highly complex technical briefs, E=MC2 type with no sense of humour.
Once I was briefed by my equally conscientious venerable boss,
for two hours, and asked to write a brief for CAS on who he should meet, what
he must do, and technology that he must look out for during his forthcoming
visit to Farnborough air show. Dutifully I sent around a note to all
directorates in Air HQ, including the ‘Camp Cmdt’ my course mate Dayalu, asking
for their views, especially latest technology in office chairs. I didn’t have a
chair and used to sit on piled up 4” thick volumes of MTNL telephone directory.
When I compiled every one’s views, it became a 1000
pages encyclopaedia, which I knew the chief will not read. So I did precis
writing, again and again to cut it short, even taking out articles,
prepositions, verbs, pronouns and everything else in ‘Wren & Martin’ that
gives Queen of England an orgasm. Finally, I even tried writing it like it is
done in Army HQ to help morons to write English without spelling mistakes (like
‘rece’ for reconnaissance, ‘laz’ for liaison, ‘manv’ for manoeuvre,
‘rend’ for rendezvous etc). After much strenuous constipation, I produced a
masterpiece, condensing 1000 to about 50 pages without missing any points
from Tom, Dick or Dayalu, especially my neighbour in Prince’s Park, Dayalu and
his charming wife Rita.
All of this ‘Shakespearian’ effort took time and the Chief was
to leave the same night. Reason why I decided to use the NH bypass circular
road around my bosses, the DASR, ACAS (Plans) and DCAS, short cut through the
Staff Officer’s room, sneak in through the CAS’s toilet. Very proudly I
went directly to the Chief, like the ‘Roman Centurion Fuckusall’ going to meet
Caesar. I was hoping that the Chief on his return from Farnborough would at
least sanction a R&D technology demonstrator office chair, that looked like
an ejection seat, strongly recommended by the Camp Cmdt as long term
replacement scheme for MTNL telephone directory to sit on in Air HQ.
‘What is it ?’, the Chief asked me with annoyance,
because I had caught him early morning, as soon as he sat down in his
chair that did resemble an ejection seat.
‘A brief for you Sire’, I said humbly and respectfully. ‘It is
about who you should meet, what you must do, and technology that you must look
out for during your forthcoming visit to Farnborough air show’, I said
witlessly, with no sign of tact. I have foot in the mouth decease.
The illustrious CAS hiccupped and very justly threw the report
at me.
‘Go away, and don’t come back’, he commanded like King Solomon.
‘What happened ?’, my boss asked when I returned to my
throne of MTNL telephone directories, looking sad and forlorn.
‘Chief didn’t like the brief’, I said tactfully, rather unusual
for me.
‘Do it again’, my boss ordered. ‘Do it the way chief likes
it, we have to have a note in the file that we have briefed the Chief’, he said
and vanished. My boss was a stickler for propriety and file noting, recorded
for the benefit of C&AG as well as postirity.
So I sat down and typed, ‘Bon Voyage’ on a single A4 size
paper, Ariel 72 font and took it back to the Chief, once again sneaking
in through the toilet, lest the AA waylay me, as was his job. By then the Chief
had drunk his tea, ate biscuits and gone for a pee. So he was not suffering
from hypoglycaemia. He was in a good mood.
‘ What is it now ?’ he growled.
I put the single sheet of brief in front of him without saying
tactless things.
He picked it up, held it at arm’s length and squinted at it.
He then got up from his ejection seat, grabbed my hand and shook
it.
‘This is how a brief must be made for the Chief’, he gave me a
compliment. ‘Do you want to come with me to Farnborough ?’, he asked very
graciously.
‘No Sir’ I replied with a smile. It was a pleasure to please the
fine chief, I was very proud to be his minion.
‘Why not ?’, he asked with a frown.
‘Sire, the British Mi-6 & SAS have shoot at sight orders to
kill me, because I screw their Queen’s ‘E’ every time I write a brief’, I said,
and ran off from the Chief’s office without looking back, this time through
AA’s office. He didn’t waylay outbound traffic.
Finally when British-ers got fed up, their venerable
High-Commissioner issued me a ‘De Marche, Tout
De Suite’.
Before they laid claim for me under ‘Indo-UK extradition treaty, in return for
Mallaya’, I voluntarily marched out of the IAF for the last time.
Singlehanded I then went to war with the British, to teach ‘British-ers’
to learn to ‘ish-crew’ Queens ‘E’ without ‘Running Martins’,
especially on the ‘Speak In Hinglish days’ in their House of Commons. It then
became their acceptable parliamentary language, even to use Punjabi MC & BC
once in a while. The latest ‘E’ dictionary defines the people of Britain as
‘British-ers’, as we say in India. I confess that I copied psy war tactics of
Dr Goebbels. It took me two decades. But ‘British-ers’ and ‘English-ers’
are now ‘jusht loving it’, like the fraud Chicken Tikka Masala. They are
now ‘sa-tanding and ish-crewing their Q’s E, ish-slowly, ish-slowly’.
I think that is why they voted ‘Brexit’, all of them want to exit Britain
and migrate, come right back to India to rule !!
‘What a good’ it will be, to have a ‘Wise-Roy’ back on
Raisina hill, instead of the ‘Han Jee’s with ‘Vices’.
Cyclic
