tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89157519891371895832024-03-29T14:42:40.696+05:30CYCLICSentimental stories of yesteryears.
Perceptions of an aging social misfit, in a world that now lives on the fast track, without commas and full stops.
I thank all those who left comments. Makes my day CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-7510075329763563922020-05-26T15:39:00.002+05:302020-05-26T15:39:47.521+05:30BHAG-DOGRA-BHAG<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Early or
mid-1978, while Cyclic was doing this and that as an Adjutant, going about
minding his own business in Chabua, 105 HU got a signal that three new recruits
‘Hud, Chim & King’ were posted in, arriving shortly. The CO immediately
called Cyclic and briefed him to take special care of the ‘three monkeys’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Yes Boss’,
Cyclic said with great glee. ‘It will be my pleasure’. Cyclic guessed that one
of the monkeys would have his mouth covered, the other his ears, but Cyclic was
very curious to know who would be covering his crotch. He was the one to focus
on, to teach him the dirty tricks !<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">105 had a
strange situation those days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">In the
pecking order, ‘French Leather’ (Flt Lt) Cyclic, a champ with around three
thousand hours on Dak and another two thousand on Mi-4 under the seat of his
pants, was 1/8th way down on the nominal roll. But in reality, the rest of
the lower 7/8th , all of them ‘Fook Offs’ (Fg Offrs), were actually senior
to Cyclic and each of them had more than a million hours in their log books.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It was a
quirk of fate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The 7/8ths,
all of them very illustrious decorated ‘Gladiators’ of 71 war, some of
whom should have been commanding HUs, had been demoted for not having passed
their promotion exams and therefore, pickled in rum into 105 jar, with a clarion
call, ‘bottle to throttle, morning, noon or night’. So 105 in Chabua was a very
inspiring place to be. The only trouble was that Cyclic was technically the
junior most and hence in reality, just an errand boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It was
therefore with great pleasure that Cyclic read the posting signal, again and
again, just to make sure that Cyclic was to be henceforth not the junior most
ass, he now had three monkeys ‘Hud-Chim-King’ to lord over. He made special
arrangements for their reception, including a crate of Hercules rum, courtesy
the famed BM 81 Mtn Bde (Rajan Anne) in Chakabama, another Rimcolian rouge like
Cyclic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">As soon as
they arrived, Cyclic took charge of Hud-Chim-King. By the time they finished
the crate of rum, which they gulped down at alarming rate, they were totally
battle inoculated to the vagrancies of Air Force life in Chabua,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Chabua
was an appendage of IAF but had nothing in common with IAF. Because there was a
larger than life presence of Anglo Indians, everyone in 105 was expected to
speak in English. Sardar ‘Buster’, an incredible pilot and sportsman with a
Blazer from NDA, a 71 war veteran who fought an F-86 in a Hunter, but did
his schooling from St Nanak Hoshiarpur before NDA, was our English Tutor. He
would give us dictations with words like rendezvous, reconnaissance, manoeuvre,
Répondez S’il Vouez Plait. If anyone misspelled, which was 100% including the
English speaking Anglos, we were fined a bottle of beer for every spelling
mistake. On every Saturday afternoon, Buster would invite everyone to the bar,
‘<i>Chal Ohy, Daru Pike Kukkad Khawange, Hor Angrezi Mien Gal Karange</i>’.
The beer we drank was called ‘Black Beer’, resources of 105 pooled from
Buster’s black listing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">While all
this was going on, unknown to Cyclic, Hud-Chim-King, or any of the other ‘Daddy
Cools’, Delhi was bounced by a large military delegation headed by Lt Gen
Hassan <strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal;">Toufanian, </span></strong><span style="background: white;">Iranian Minister of War and Armaments. It is
possible that the awesome Mrs IG had something under her petticoat to offer to
the Iranians, perhaps 303s, captured Paki tanks from Longewala, or even Gnats
without the Orpheus aero engines.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It was Cyclic’s Boss who put him wise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘<i>I say, Kartoos, Command shays Shah want mountain guns. So Shah
shay he is going to Gangtok you know, to take a look. You will fly Shah
tomorrow evening from Bhag-Dogra to Gangtok. You sleep overnight at Bhag,
do the taxi service yagain in the marning you know, bring them back. I
shay, they will go back to Delhi in the TU, you know TU ? Go to Bhag I shay,
take your briefing from the Oh-She Flying in Bhag</i>’, my most venerable and
awesome CO commanded. Before I could ask, ‘Who is Shah ?’, he disappeared like
a dream sequence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cyclic went back to his office and rang the bell for Non Combatant
Enrolled (NCE) Pappa Rao (Shaurya Chakra).</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Ever since Pappa got a Gallantry Medal, he perceived himself a combatant
and always came to attack Cyclic if he rang the bell, hoping he would get Param
Vir Chakra. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cyclic took shelter behind his desk and requested Pappa to call
Hud-Chim-King.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Pappa did not like to take orders, he liked Cyclic to make requisitions.
So every sentence spoken to him had to start with ‘I have the honour to request
you Sir Pappa Rao……………..’. </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">After a while Hud-Chim-King came running from where they were hiding,
perhaps in an AOG Mi-4 parked in the jungle behind the dispersal. Air Force
Chabua was Jungle Command, the entire place was covered with 16 feet high
Sarkanda grass with panthers and leopards roaming freely. Married officers
lived in Bashas while unmarried ones were pickled into Tent Replacement
Buildings, rooms like Cellular jail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Who is Shah ?’, Cyclic asked Hud, Chim & King. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">One was not allowed to ask anything to any of them individually; one had
to ask all of them simultaneously, because they behaved like triplets from the
same mother.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Sudhir Shah ?, they answered in unison.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Sudhir Sir is a Foxie, way senior to Cyclic, was recently posted to 105.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Go to the mess library and find the encyclopaedia. It is the only book
in the library. Ask Britanica what she knows about Shah and Iran and tell me
when I come to the bar tonight’. Cyclic demanded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Hud-Chim-King vanished like Cyclic’s CO, in the dream sequence, like the
movie ‘Bees Sal Bad”.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">But that night, over Rum & Pani, ‘Hud-Chim-King Pvt Ltd’
briefed Cyclic that Iran was a country, old Persia, the place of intrigue
between east and west for over two and a half millennium. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘By</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> 1900 it was floundering. Bandits dominated the land;
literacy was one percent; and women, under archaic Islamic dictates, had no
rights’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Hud
told Cyclic with a serious face. His jokes had quadratic equations in them.
Cyclic did not believe a word of it, neither did Hud. Hud said things like
that only to impress Cyclic. </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">King took up the recitation.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The Shah changed all this. Primarily by using oil-generated
wealth, he modernized the nation. He built rural roads, postal services,
libraries, and electrical installations. He constructed dams to irrigate Iran's
arid land, making the country 90-percent self-sufficient in food production. He
established colleges and universities, and at his own expense, set up an
educational foundation to train students for Iran's future. </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">He married three prettiest women in the world’, King said and looked at
Cyclic to see his reaction.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Chim covered his crotch.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cyclic was
sloshed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cyclic was
wham-oozed by the thought of escorting three of the prettiest women of the
world into his Mi-4, holding them by the hand while flying them to Gangtok and
back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Sir Can I
come with you ?’, Chim slid up to Cyclic with a smile that said, ‘I want to
share your pleasure’. All alcohol in the Rum disappeared and only the molasses
were left in Cyclic’s tummy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Bugger off’,
Cyclic told Chim. ‘I want the pleasure of the company of the Shah’s three wives
all to myself’. Cyclic revelled in his dream sequences. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Sir, my
brother is an Army Officer in Gangtok, I have not seen him for ages’, Chim told
Cyclic with a sad face, still covering his crotch. It broke Cyclic’s heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">So it was
that Chim was hiding in the dickey while Cyclic took off ‘yearly marning’ with
‘Father’ Thomas as the ‘Co-Jo’. Father was a pious man because of Nancy and his
holy ghost Pushpa. Pushpa would have Father’s balls for breakfast if Father
ever even imagined putting a finger on the wives of the Shah of Iran, even in
his dream sequence, <span style="background: white;">like ‘Bees Sal Bad”.</span>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">On landing at
Bhag-Dogra, Cyclic was summoned to the ops room at the base of ATC by venerable
Wg Cdr Virdi, the Oh-She Flying. When Cyclic reached Base Ops, Oh-She Flying
had already finished briefing eighteen Alouette crew in the presence of a smart
looking Bde Cdr from the Arty, who was in-charge of the whole ‘Op Iranian’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Seven
Alouettes with one standby will carry the passengers to Gangtok’. Virdi Saheb
told me quickly. ‘You will carry the baggage. You will be the last man into
Gangtok before sunset, and the first man in there at sunrise, to collect the
baggage. You will land at Gangtok, not switch off, load the luggage within five
minutes and clear out immediately. The Alouttes will bring the passengers
back after the ‘Mules Display’. I don’t want any fock-ups, is that clear ?’,
Oh-She quizzed Cyclic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Sir, I was
sent from Chabua to escort the wives of the Shah of Iran’, Cyclic moaned. ‘Sir,
I am over qualified to carry baggage’, Cyclic lamented. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Virdi Saheb
became angry and told Cyclic, ‘What Shah ? Just Gen <strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal;">Toufanian</span></strong> and his entourage, ladies or lady-boys.
You will do what I tell you to do’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">So Cyclic
went back to the Mi-4 and conferred with Chim. ‘I will drop you at Gangtok,
this evening. Tomorrow morning at sun rise, I want you standing on the centre
of the helipad when I come into land to pick up the baggage’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">TU turned out
to be a lovely aircraft. Out came a large number of Burkha clad ‘entourage’,
each with a mountain of suit cases. Cyclic had to remove the internal fuel tank
from the Mi-4 to make space. Even then many suitcases were abandoned because
the Mi-4 was over loaded. The Iranians and ladies in Burkha travelled by
Alouettes. Cyclic and his Mi-4 did not have such good fortune to go near
them, or smell French perfume.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cyclic did a
running take off from the dispersal, chased the seven Alouettes, which landed
one after the others at Gangtok and immediately cleared the helipad after
offloading their passengers, even those in Burkha. Cyclic could not make
out whether they were ladies or lady boys. On landing at Gangtok, Chim took off
downhill like a bat out of Bhag-Dogra-Bhag to go and find his long lost
brother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">’Be here on
the helipad when I come back tomorrow morning’, Cyclic called after
Chim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Next morning,
at sun rise, Cyclic took off from Bhag-Dogra-Bhag, and was soon overhead
Gangtok, exact Time On Target (TOT). Just to let Chim know that he had arrived,
Cyclic decided to beat up the place. He roared over the helipad at ten feet and
did two steep turns. Father started praying, a very irritating thing for a
Co-Jo to do when one is trying to do a beat up. Not finding Chim on the
helipad, Cyclic repeated the manoeuvres over Gangtok, landed and switched off
to give Chim time to come back from where ever he had disappeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The Ary Bde
Cdr with Oh-She Flying in tow arrived in a shining jeep and screeched to a halt
about three inches from Cyclic. Cyclic stamped his flying boots the way Sub
Limbu had taught him in Fook Squadron in NDA, to shake the earth, and threw a
smart salute even though he was not wearing a cap. Sub Maj Kanshi Ram would
have been happy to award Cyclic two lanyards right then and there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Oh-She’s
‘Pagri’ was askew, his Khaki uniform was muddy. Even worse was the Cdr Arty
Bde. He was frothing in the mouth, had his medals askew and it seemed that he
had fell into a muddy puddle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘What the
fook where you trying to do, try and kill me ?’, the Cdr shouted at Cyclic.
‘The rotor missed me by couple of inches, Virdhi and I had to dive into a
ditch’, he lamented. ‘My mules with the guns have run off downhill, what am I
going to show Gen <strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal;">Toufanian ?’, he was nearly sobbing.</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Sir I was trying to do a victory roll, a tradition
of the Air Force to welcome VIPs’, I informed the Bde Cdr.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">It made him madder.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Luggage loaded’, Father interjected loudly at the
most inopportune moment. There was no sign of Chim.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘I will deal with you in Bhag-Dogra’, Oh-She Saheb
told Cyclic. ‘Wait for me, now get the hell out of here’.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">There was no sign of Chim.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Cyclic started to walk around the Mi-4, as slowly as
he could, fingering each rivet on the Mi-4.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘What are you doing ?’, the Bde Cdr asked with
incredulity. </span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Sir, I am doing external checks before take-off’,
Cyclic spoke with a stiff upper lip.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Sir, let us go and wait in the reception Shamina’,
Oh-She ‘sa-poke’ in Jabi soothingly, putting his hand around the Bde Cdr’s
shoulder.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘What Shamiana ? It was blown off when this foocker
did his victory rolls’, the Bde Cdr lamented.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">There was still no sign of Chim.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Cyclic began to have moral qualms. In the best
traditions of NDA, one was not expected to abandon his comrade in war or peace.
One was supposed to sacrifice one’s life for camaraderie.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Father, open the panels and check for oil leaks’,
Cyclic ordered Father with a wink and Dev Anand style nod. Father climbed up on
the mast and started opening the panels. </span></strong><strong><span style="background: white; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">There was no sign of Chim.</span></strong><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘What are you doing ?’, Oh-She Saheb asked Cyclic.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Checking for oil leak Sir’.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Yes, if the ruddy Mi-4 has no oil leaks then there
is no oil in the tank’, the wise Oh-She remarked unwittingly.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Father check oil levels’, Cyclic commanded
immediately, while looking repeatedly downhill to check for signs of Chim.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Father pulled out the dip stick and started peering
at it as if it had Syphilis.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The VIPs started arriving on the helipad in new
shining army Jongas. There was a commotion downhill, whistles, waving coloured
flags and shouting, where the Arty Bde was trying to collect the Mules with
broken-down howitzers and ammo on their backs. Jawans were in line once again
and doing double mark time with their hands on their chest. The Arty Bde Cdr
rushed to escort the VIPs to the Demo area. Still no sign of Chim. Cyclic began
to get worried.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Start up and push off’, Oh-She pleaded.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Father close the panels and start the helicopter’,
Cyclic ordered, still peering down hill.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Are you expecting someone ?, Oh-She asked perplexed
by Cyclic’s repeated scanning downhill.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘No Sir, just looking to see if there are birds on
take-off path’, Cyclic said in a most placating manner.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Then Cyclic saw the strangest sight he hoped to see.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">There was Chim sprinting up hill, in his brother’s
white pyjama suit, bare foot, flying boots hung around his neck, one hand
holding his turban and the other his flying overalls. He seemed to have over
slept and forgot TOT.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Father started the Mi-4.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The Mules ran off once again due to the clamour of
the Mi-4 when the mighty piston engine started.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The Bde Cdr ran up the hill panting.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘You are under close arrest’, he told Cyclic.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Chim was still a thousand meters away.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Cyclic walked calmly to the front of the Mi-4 and
pantomimed ‘Hara Kiri’, slitting the throat. Father switched off the engine.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Chim was still 800 mtrs, running uphill panting like
a railway engine.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘What are you doing ?’, Oh-She enquired, totally
confused.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The Alouttes started arriving overhead. The Mi-4 was
parked in the centre of the helipad, there was no place for them to land.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Sir’, Cyclic said calmly. ‘If am under close
arrest, I cannot fly’.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘OK, then you are not under arrest’, the Bde Cdr told
Cyclic.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Chim was struggling, panting and crawling uphill,
still 300 mtrs away. ‘Bhag Sardar, Bhag’, Cyclic impeached Chim silently.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Sir’, Cyclic told the Bde Cdr loudly, ‘As per Air
Force Act 1950, if a Brigadier puts me under arrest, only a Maj Gen can rescind
that order’.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Please, go away. Get lost’, Oh-She pleaded. ‘I will
sort you out in Bhag –Dogra.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Bhag Sardar Bhag’, Cyclic whimpered.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Chim was now 200 mtrs away.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Start the engine’, Cyclic commanded Father.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The Bde Cdr ran away downhill in the opposite
direction. He couldn’t stand it anymore.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Oh-She turned around and saw Chim running up hill.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Who is he ?’, Oh-She barked at Cyclic.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘Don’t know Sir, perhaps a mad Sardar’.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The MPs blew their whistle. Chim broke into the final
100 mtr sprint.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Oh-She tried to block the way, doing a football type
tack.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Chim was just 21, absolutely fit, he side stepped
Oh-She and ran into the Mi-4 and locked himself in.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Cyclic scaled the ladder from the side of the Mi-4 as
if there was a ‘Bhoot’ on his tail. Oh-She looked like a Bhoot with his Pagri
half undone.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Father did the right thing, he raised full collective
before Cyclic could strap himself in. The Mi-4 reared itself into a hover.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The severe downdraft lifted the Burkhas and Cyclic
saw pretty hairless legs. It was the wrong time to notice that Toufanian did
not hide boys under the Burkha, they were all genuine women, more than one man
could handle. Cyclic wondered what one could do with so many legs under
the Burkha.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Father took off, with Chim in the dickey, still in
his brother’s pyjamas.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">At Bhag-Dogra, Cyclic did not switch off, threw out
the baggage right in the dispersal, and instructed Father to take off right
from the dispersal itself, leaving his dickey tank behind. ‘Bhag Bhosidike
Bhag’, he told Father. Bhag-Dogra was not a place to linger, even for a brave
Dogra, Malyalees or Sardar. The tactic that was apt at Bhag-Dogra was ‘Andhi
Avam, Bhagam Bhagam’.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The ATC kept asking Cyclic to return on orders of
Oh-She. Father switched off the radio, right thing to do when one is trying to
do Bhagam Bhagam, Bhag-Dogra Bhag. Father flew for range and went back to
Chabua without the dickey tank, a long haul trip.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Two days later, Cyclic’s CO got a call from Command
to arrest Cyclic for treason. Cyclic was instead sent to Chakabama with Father
on punishment, like sending them to Kalapani.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Nancy, the holy-ghost and Pushpa came by train to
Dhimapur and BM 81 Bde sent the Cdr’s armed escort with my cm GSO 3 Capt
Ravi Nair (Sikh Li) to bring them to Chakabama. They were the first ladies in
Nagaland, then a prohibited area for service officer’s wives, or two year old
Nancy.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Cyclic, Father, Nancy and the holy ghost Pushpa lived
ever happily afterwards. Chim went into hiding in the AOG MI-4 behind elephant
grass.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The Shah of Iran abdicated and went off to Paris a
month later. In the revolution led by Ayotolla Khomeni, Gen Toufanian was
hung with telephone wire in the centre square of Tehran and left there for
long. Ayotolla asked everyone to wear a Burkha, even boys, so don’t know what
happened to the beautiful legs that Cyclic saw in Gangtok.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Hud-Chim-King flew with Cyclic in Nagaland afterwards
and never let him touch the controls. Hud went on to become a famed Mi-35 pilot
and CO of 104, a successor of Cyclic. Chim was last seen in Air HQ as Director
Helicopter Operations as an Air Commodore.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">King ?</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Well, King is King, he owns helicopters now. He was
kind to take Cyclic to lunch at AF Club thirty years later.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">We did cheers.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Bhagam Bhagam, from Andhi Avam as well as
Bahag-Dogra, Bhag on behalf of Chim !! </span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Those were the day my friends …………….. like the song
!!</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Cyclic</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-62906303127396975212019-12-30T17:39:00.000+05:302020-01-20T13:39:32.358+05:30KOLLIGAL STORY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">When IPKF war started, I was floating
around in ASTE, doing this and that, nothing of any serious consequence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">At the height of the IPKF war, out of
the blue, Maj Gen Atma Singh came to call on me unannounced, just like that. He
was then DG Army Aviation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I fell down. I never had such senior
officers call on me before. Usually I was marched up to them and the bugle was
blown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">'Our convoys and road opening parties
get ambushed if they don't have air cover', he told me without preamble. 'If
the Mi-25s are overhead, no convoy is ever ambushed', he paused for a deep
breath. 'There are only few Mi-25s, just two or three of them left, and so they
refuse to do convoy escort'. He looked at me, one of those looks that
penetrates the heart and soul. I shook my head like a Japanese doll and kept
shaking it. It was neither the time nor occasion to discuss potential or
limitations of air power with him.<o:p></o:p> And in any case, I didn't have anything new
to tell him, he knew it all, more than I.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">'We approached HAL (Hel Div, B'lore).
They have built two swivelling trusses on our Cheetah, to take on two of our MMGs,
but the ruddy thing doesn't fire and we are we are in a fix'. He told me. 'I
want you fix them immediately and send them into combat'. All this was said in
half Punjabi, with profusion of the nuances of that colourful language.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">General Atma Singh Sir said
'immediate'.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">So I immediately took him to
see my boss Philip Sir, then CTP, who had few days earlier marched me into his
office to reminded me that the E in ASTE stood for Establishment and not
Experimental. He had blown the bugle and stopped me from my daily
endeavour to do stupid experimental things. That was to appease the then
STE who had complained against me for fooling around on my own experimenting
with thermal imaging systems. The kill joy STE was not around and Atma
Singh was at his convincing best. And if you mentioned war, Philip Sir was the
kind who would jump up from his ejection seat like chair, to stamp the sky with
glory. In short, he gave a tacit nod to me to go solve Atma Singh's problem,
even if the E in ASTE wasn't anything Experimental. At that time I had neither
herd of my predecessor venerable KL Narayanan in 65 war, nor exploits of Kilo
Flight in 71 war, who armed helicopters. I was just a clue less idiot with a
silly undeserved ETP tag, trying to be socially useful and productive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I put Gen Atma Singh behind my Bajaj
scooter, cut across the runway like a bat out of hell, and we went to take a look
at what was bothering the Indian Army. Immediately I was pounced on by
venerable Col PVK Choudhary, my venerable 'Dorm Com'<o:p></o:p>
from 'Ranjit' Section in Rimc, two and half decades earlier. Atma Singh
vanished like a bad dream. PVKC in Rimc had punched me in the tummy to
inculcate soldierly behaviour. Now he was the mighty CO of 31 Air Op Flt,
itching to go to war, like all Rimcolians / ex NDAs. I was quite sure that if I
didn't measure up to him, he would punch me again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">'Bugger, I want you to sort out the
problem immediately', he told me in the same Dorm Com fashion even before I
could cock an eye at what ailed them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Everyone in the army said
'immediate', and that was not an order to be disobeyed. There was a war going
on, though not in Bangalore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">There were about 40 odd
personnel from HAL (HC Div) milling about an armed Cheetah without its side
doors. It had sideward firing MMGs, one on either side, on swivelling truss
(standard MMG tripod swivelling truss modified a bit) and mounted on the floor
board of the Cheetah. The HAL crowd were scratching several body parts
including their heads, with no idea what to do. It didn't need experimental
design engineers to have done what they did; and in any case HAL too
didn't have an E in their charter which said experimental.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">PVKC explained their moral dilemma in
clipped military parlance. Firstly the ammo belt had to be fed manually
into the MMG in the air, by the same man who was also supposed to aim, trigger
and control the fire, a task usually done by an assistant when this gun is
fired by infantry on ground.<o:p></o:p>
Secondly, when butt tested (fired into sand bags) on ground, the
super-heated spent shells and links were being ejected and falling all over the
place due to slip stream; some on the pilot, some on the man who was
firing, and the rest headed straight for the tail rotor, all of which was
giving PVKC and his team heebies and the jeebies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">'Start up the a/c, let us take it to
ASTE' I suggested. HAL didn't march up or measure up ; reason why the Army came to me. 'Daud Ke Chal', I comanded myself, like the Roman 'Centurian Pontius Phokusall' in Asterix comic. It was obvious to me that </span><span style="font-family: "calibri light", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">some
modifications were required, which I was sure that the very energetic CRPO in ASTE would
approve faster than design engineers of HAL, even if HAL or ASTE didn't have an
E that said Experimental !!</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">So PVKC and I hover taxied across the
runway and brought the Cheetah, minus side doors, but with two burley infantry
soldiers manning the MMGs from both sides, sitting on the rear seats. After
we landed in the safe sanctuary of my domain in ASTE, I went and tried to
swing the guns to and fro, and upwards/downwards. There was excessive and
dangerous freedom of swivel that would permit inadvertent firing through the
rotors if the helicopter was in a turn and more silly freedom backwards than
firing forwards. So I got the guns and trusses dismantled, sketched three basic
modifications. One to the truss to limit its freedom to fire upwards in turns
but fire down wards (- 120 / + 90 deg along longitudinal axis), give more
freedom to fire forward and restrict freedom too much backwards (+ 15 /-
45 deg along lateral axis) by simple mechanically welded butting on the swivel.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The second was to modify truss with two simple slides to take a standard
ammo belt metal box, that would be mounted on the gun truss itself, which would then feed the gun belt automatically. A slip on, slip off, arrangement which could
be done by the gunner in the air, if he carried spare belted ammo boxes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The third was a canvass (actually thick double layered car seat) chute like a windsock, attached to the guns, that would collect the
spent shells and links, send them down wards instead of all over the
place. The CRPO approved my design modifications 'immediately'<o:p></o:p>
because the mods were on the army MMG and not on the helicopter. I told you
that he was a zestful maverick, unlike the STE with non-combatant DNA, who
didn't like an extra E in ASTE.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The simple mods on the truss and railing for ammo
boxes were done overnight at the local EME workshop, the canvass chutes were made
by a 'Mochi' in Dumlur, the one who usually repaired my wife's shoes in war and
peace. Next day we tried it out, with PVKC flying and I pretending to be the
infantry operating the MMG. It seemed fine, the CRPO too said it was fine. I went
back to Philip Sir to get his permission lest he blew the bugle and asked what that E
in ASTE meant. As everyone knows, he is a through professional, not a 'jugad'
man like me.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-InwRUEa63oM/XiVdPyHkTLI/AAAAAAAAFho/6Yz2xVPkFwwwe9RHTCJbeL01DM02qrkZgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Gun%2BMod%2BOn%2BCheetah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="799" height="250" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-InwRUEa63oM/XiVdPyHkTLI/AAAAAAAAFho/6Yz2xVPkFwwwe9RHTCJbeL01DM02qrkZgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/Gun%2BMod%2BOn%2BCheetah.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Air OP was asked to deploy to
Kolligal jungles south of B'lore, for simulated jungle warfare, for
airborne assault on simulated LTTE . 31 Air OP was a nuisance, the entire lot
with their CO turned up at my home in Dumlur on two successive nights to show
their Rimcolian camaraderie and closed my bar book and ate up all my grub. We
watched Vietnam war on my VCR and that helped formulate tact and tactics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Early next morning PVKC Sir and I we
flew to Kolligal. Air OP was already practising jungle warfare adjacent
to a river, by grilling a wild boar in an open pit with a tomato in
its mouth and a rod up you know where. We landed with the tail sticking out
into the river, ate barbeque, loaded the guns and took off again. We chose two
side by side black rocks, in the middle of the jungle, that looked like LTTE
supremo Prabhakaran's gonads. I didn't notice that there was a pair
of elephants mating in the jungle behind the rock. I devised air to
ground firing doctrines, 'Teri Pen Di' for opening fire, and 'Todde Ma Di' to
stop firing, language easily understood by Sikh Li infantry, Arty and Air OP. I think Armoured
Kaurs likes similar operational orders, but in English.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">To cut a long story short, when the
guns were fired at the rocks for the first time, at max rounds per minute
(about 1000 rpm), there was resonance, the engine governor
malfunctioned, and I had to autorotate and force land on a small patch of jungle next to the
black rock behind which the elephants were mating. The bull elephant charged at
the helicopter with his manhood pointing like the Pitot tube on the Mig 21 and
tail held very high indicating his anger at coitus interruptus. I had to take
out the red coloured engine exhaust blanking and do a 'Dhawa, Halla Bol'
bayonet charge NDA style, back at the elephant. Luckily it decided that
discretion is better part of valour and ran away. There was nothing I could do
with the engine governor, without any tools and E of ASTE. So I attacked the
guns and reduced the rate of fire to about 650 - 700 rounds per minute, by
twirling the fire control knob. After that there wasn't any glitch, except that
the Cheetah shook like Bond's martini when the guns were fired. Shaken but not
stirred, though the sex life of elephants in Kolligal was ruined. They stopped
mating, while all the shaking and rattling improved our zest and night fighting
skill !!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">31 Air OP 'shooted and scooted' next
day to Vavunia without saying good bye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Rest of their Cheetas I think they
armed them in Vavunia themselves, based on a certificate which they made me
sign, after they made me drink a few extra from my own bottle. As per Bharat
Sir in his IPKF book I am told that they did a fantastic job, shooting at
the black rocks of Prabhakaran and his mates, even females wielding RPGs. The
animal rights NGOs didn't complain either in India or Sri Lanka and Philip Sir
didn't blow the bugle. All is well that begins and ends well. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CofyKBSKS6Y/XiVekquAIqI/AAAAAAAAFh0/t6SDG7b-N_Y_awH0Bp_ZD1CIkuM9eiYyACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Ranjit%2Bin%2BSL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="799" height="286" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CofyKBSKS6Y/XiVekquAIqI/AAAAAAAAFh0/t6SDG7b-N_Y_awH0Bp_ZD1CIkuM9eiYyACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Ranjit%2Bin%2BSL.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The irony of the this story is why
the armed Cheetah was named 'Ranjit'. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Both Col PVKC Sir and I are from
Ranjit Section in Rimc. As PVKC says, the zestful arming, operational clearance
of the Cheetah, and its deployment in war in less than 72 hrs was a complete
Ranjit Section in-house affair, a show of Rimcoliian camaraderie. So it was
befitting to name the armed Chetak 'Ranjit' !! <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "calibri light", sans-serif; font-size: 18.6667px;">This is my personal belief.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I meet illustrious PVKC often now a
days at Hyd, very retired old friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">He doesn't talk about war, I think he
got a bellyful in S' Lanka. He pours the drink, but refuses to even write
a 'good show' autograph for me on toilet paper. His NGO like grouse is that I
ruined the sex life of elephants in Kolligal !!!.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
Cheers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">cycclic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">PS:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">On page 175 of Bharat Sir's book on
IPKF, there is photograph of a Cheetah with a massive gondola leading a
formation of Ranjits. That is another modification done by me at Palam on
the quiet, Rimcolian influence by Lt Gen Chatterjee (who was my bench mate as a
Capt when I was a cadet at Bidar).</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7UspnnR1Ke0/XiVfhv6R4vI/AAAAAAAAFiA/totxSVx4VEwGMypARzY905qbpQsWd8HCACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Gondola%2BMod%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="1600" height="298" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7UspnnR1Ke0/XiVfhv6R4vI/AAAAAAAAFiA/totxSVx4VEwGMypARzY905qbpQsWd8HCACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/Gondola%2BMod%2B2.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
The gondola housed a gimbal mounted gyro stabilized long rage telescoping TV camera that could be
pointed to look deep inside enemy territory, live digital recordings,
that could also be telecast live real time to command and control centres. Applying rudder is a major issue
with all h/c pilots, except when flying with the gondola. The cheetah flew better with
the gondola, no matter what I did with it, I didn't have to apply rudder !!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Since I am at it, let me also narrate
another untold story of a/c modification, about my ops / technical SoC with
engineering details, to arm the Mi-25/35 with SA-9 Igla for self-protection.
The file went to then ACAS Ops in which
he wrote that I had a 'cavalier attitude' to shoot at fighter a/c in TBA, and
so I should be interred permanently in the islands of Elba or St Helena. I
still can't figure out what objection he had, if I wanted to shoot at
Paki a/c - I thought that was the raison d'etre of IAF !!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-13311664013982004242018-12-27T10:52:00.001+05:302023-05-15T06:40:35.324+05:30WHAT IS UP, WHAT IS UP ?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">(Art Of Writing Letters in Rimc)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">My father
was a compulsive letter writer and seeker of news, ‘What is Up, What is Up ?’,
like the present day fingering decease of ‘What’s App’ on mobile phone. Dad
couldn’t, and wouldn’t, leave anyone alone for more than a week, without
imperious gazetted court of inquiries, ‘What is Up, What is Up ?’. If I didn’t
write home for more than ten days, he would berate venerable SP, the Principal, with
gazette notifications, ‘What is Up, What is Up ?’ SP didn’t like show cause
notices and writing explanations, especially tell anyone what was daily
happening in Rajwada camp, called ‘Are You MC ?’ by Punjabi Doscos like Amrinder Singh. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>SP the Princy loved whacking our bottoms with
a four feet long Malacca Cane. During one of those whacking, I accidentally lost
my one ‘L’, and hence became a wounded Rimcolian, while everyone else are proud
Rimcollians, with two ‘Ls’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN;">Dad was
past his prime at 52, a suave Asst Commissioner of Travancore Devaswam
Board when I joined Rimc in 1962. He was MA (Hon) in mathematics too, from
Oxford, mind you. Therefore, Dad was more English than the British. He had the same
bad habits. He always wrote letters in ‘Inland Letter’, which by Govt decree got
rid of the necessity for self-attested writing paper / letter pads, as well as
envelopes and the tedium of ‘licky-lick’ postage stamps. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He always wrote in </span><span lang="EN-IN">Bradley
Hand (ITC)</span><span lang="EN-IN"> </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light";">script, size 8 font, which required a magnifying<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>glass to
read. In Rimc and NDA, we were taught precis writing and the religiosity of
brevity. But before Rimc, my father had taught me the art of writing the entire
1000 page Ramayana in an inland letter using ‘Bradley Hand ITC script, size 8
font’ assuming that<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>everyone had a
microscope at home. Reason why I failed in Staff College in later life because
the DS didn’t have a microscope at home and was myopic about my suggestion to apply
air power like SP’s Malacca Cane.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light";"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Dad’s letters always gave a comprehensive coverage of
news from home, to make sure that I didn’t get ‘home sick’ and run away from
Rimc. His letters were like a newspaper, starting with headlines and ending in
sports. It gave me a complete picture of what is happening at home. ‘EMS
Namboothiri-pad was behaving like Rasputin’, Dad’s headline read, then went on
to discuss local politics. Then came routine stuff, laments that Mom fed him
good food daily despite PL 480 and severe rationing. ‘Economics’ of supply vs
demand, creating fluctuation of price of go-go nuts, which paid my tuition fee
in Rimc. Which tree went nutty or fruity, gossip about how many ltrs of milk
‘Sita’, our cow, produced daily,…..things like that. He asked for advice too,
whether he should plant ‘Palmolive Tree’ instead of going nutty. Then came
‘what is up’, with family news. About two nephews, one a future Rimcolian
(Balaji), and the other a stalwart of SS Kazhakootam (Gopi). That they had
jumped out of their cribs and had begun to totter about, run away; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>qualities that would stand them in good stead 8
or 9 years later, when they grew to be 12 yrs old and followed the footsteps of
their wayward ‘Ankle’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light";"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Dad believed that his share of parenting
responsibility was only 51%. So he used only 51% of the Inland to write
letters, which also covered the flap, and external reverse space meant to write
address of sender. He didn’t want the postal department to return any of his
laboriously written letters, and hence secretively wrote 15% of news and views
in this space too, to convey the last part, how to mathematically prove ‘zero
is not equal to zero’, and how to avoid venerable RCS adjudging me as Zero
instead of Hero. He would then hand over the inland to Mom, to do her share of
49% parenting and letter writing. I suspected that Dad cheated and copied; the
letters to my brother (Balaji’s father), sister (Gopi’s mother) and an elder
unmarried sister then in college hostel, were identical, because my mother
sometimes mixed up the letters and wrote complaints about Peter to Peter and Pan
to Pan, instead of Peter to Pan !!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light";"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">In her 49% of the Inland, Mom didn’t know what to
write, and usually didn’t have time to write because of her routine of running
a small farm single handed and feeding dozens of people who came to meet Dad.
So she cleverly invented a Malayalam ‘Font 72’, like headlines of the local
‘Mathru Bhoomi’ newspaper that was so large that even a blind man could read it
from 100 feet. It was unusually gibberish, waffling without conveying anything,
a trick I learnt to make excuses to dorm coms who ‘shoe racked’ us for some misdemeanor. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light";"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Like everyone else, I loved the letters from home, a
solitary Inland that came every week to ten days during my days at Rimc and NDA.
No one else, in all my life, including my wife and son, or friends, ever wrote
any letter to me. Once in a while my Commanding Officer would write show cause
notice to me and I became adept at writing fictional stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But back in 62 in Rimc, precis writing and
brevity was the order of the day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light";"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Just to irritate him, I always ignored Dad when I sat
down to write the compulsory weekly reply, in the same ‘Inland’ device which
made P&T bankrupt. Because of the compulsion for brevity, and precis writing,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only wrote, ‘Hi Mom, your loving son, Unni’, that was it. Made my father crazy, but as
a force of habit, he never changed his style of reportage, about go-go nut
trees that went nutty or fruity, and when the cow stopped lactating and butted
Mom when she went to pull Sita’s titties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fed up<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with my weekly one line
sit-reps, Mom instructed, ‘tell<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>me
everything that is happening to you’. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light";"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Letter writing, usually in the evening self-study
period, was a bane of my life. We had to submit a letter addressed to someone
on Fridays (I think). If we didn’t submit a letter, we would be punished, shoe
racked, ‘legs up hands down’, a military manoeuvre taught and practiced in Rimc
to biologically migrate the brain to the butt and fill the occiput with
previous days dinner. It was the general belief after 62 war that the Chinese cannot torture or interrogate anyone who sits on his brain. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light";"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">The famous letter writers in my class were Tota, Soli,
Suhas and Jasbir. Tota and Soli did simultaneous equations, wrote letters to
their anytime money (ATM) dad, mom, siblings, ankles, aunts, knees, ……..
individually, the same thing. I suspect that the main theme of the letters
would have been ‘send money order c/o Paltu, the waiter’. Hence, they had thick
wads of inlands inside their desk. Rascal Jabir never had any inlands, he stole
them from Tota or Soli to write same message to his dad ‘send money order c/o
Thople, the butler’. That was the beginning, we invented 'Hawala'. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light";">I soon learnt the trick of stealing inlands from
Tota’s desk, like Jasbir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soli used to
hide the inlands in Maths text book to keep an account;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>now who would ever do a thing like that,
except 'Bawaji' ? Suhas the 'Tant' only bought one inland at a time, clever chap.
Since I didn’t have any ideas of my own to write, I used to lean over to take a
look, cheat, copy what others were writing. 'Tinda' Arvind was the worst </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">letter writer. He broke nibs of dip dip pen, scratched
the inlands and used Egyptian</span><span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"> hieroglyphic
script to convey </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light";">‘send money order c/o Paltu, the waiter’. Once I</span><span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"> got a brilliant idea, to write letters with
nothing in it, addressed to myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
father issued ‘What’s App’ to SP and I got caned again. So I had to find other
ways to write letters and for the life of me, didn’t know what to write. Dad was
a 'Kanjoos'. He gave me only Rs 5 as traveling allowance for five days journey
from Kerala to Dun. It was no use trying the 'Hawala' route. So I invented ways
to sign for OP shoes in Mochi Shop, but eat Samosa and drink Vimto in the
canteen, a barter system, since the same fellow owned the Mochi shop and
Canteen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I grew older,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>had to write letters, a little more expressive with superior education
in Rimc.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">‘Dear Mom, it rained here, hope
it rained there too’, I once wrote. ‘I have a hole in my socks, I hope you have
a hole in your socks too’. Dad loved my superior English education and
chutzpah. But it drove Mom crazy. Frustrated after ‘Kakkad Qen’ (Mr Malhotra)
gave me a Zero in Maths class test, I wrote to Mom that I love Scotch Eggs and
was awarded an ‘Anda’, in Maths. It fooled Mom. Dad immediately scribbled the
entire formula of proving zero not equal to zero, theory of Ramanujam. I
appealed to ‘Kakkad Qen’, attaching letter from Dad, to treat me a decimal man
0.007. But ‘Kakkad Qen’ was not impressed and re-valuated my test result to
minus 0.001. Neither Ramanujam nor Dad ever said that zero can be minus too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Then one day, I was elevated from
cricket score keeper to fielding in the boundary, while Manu bowled and Swapan
scored a century. I just stood there on the boundary, did nothing and so helped
Swapan to score the century. I became Swapan’s favourite and was further
promoted to fielding in the slip, ‘silly midon’, a position designed for morons
like me. Soon I became 11<sup>th</sup> man to bat. We had leg pads, but no
guards for the gonads. Manu was a super bowler, an expert; he could bowl at a target
and hit it with 3 Sigma 100% spherical accuracy, and break gonads. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">So that is how I landed up in
sick quarter c/o the Matron with a mustache. She would come around 3 times
daily to ask ‘how are you ?’, and to inspect my tiny gonads, that had swollen
like go-go nuts.<span style="color: black;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">A standard cyclostyled message
was sent by Rimc to Dad; ‘your son / ward, ………………………. (enter name), hospitalized, / wounded / killed<span style="color: black;"> </span>(delete
what is not applicable).<span style="color: black;"> </span>…………….(name
and signature)………………(date). <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">For inexplicable reason, someone
had forgotten to fill in the blanks, or scratch out the options. When the blank
form arrived at Ambala-Puzha at the southern tip of India fifteen days later, Mom
went ballistic. Dad ran to the post office to send a telegram to SP.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t get caned, but was told to write a
detailed letter home, describing nature of injury. How does one explain nature
of such injury to one’s Mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I
emulated Tinda sketching the incident in </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">Egyptian</span><span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"> hieroglyphic
and wrote to Dad, ‘personal & confidential’ and left it to him to explain
to Mom as best as he could without hieroglyphics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go go nuts had by then become oranges and
matron had stopped inspecting them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">One day when I crossed 16, I
found a curly hair between my legs.<span style="color: black;"> </span>It
was a proud moment of my life, great achievement. That week I wrote to Mom,
‘I<span style="color: black;"> </span>have grown a mustache’.<span style="color: black;"> </span>She promptly wrote back, ‘shave it off, you
are too young to grow a mustache’. <span style="color: black;"> </span>Tragedy of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">In all my stay in Rimc 62-66, I
never wrote to anyone except Mom and the hieroglyphics to Dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I confess that once, before leaving Rimc,
Jas dictated and I wrote, a stupid, mushy, maudlin love letter to Sita
Ramaswami of Welhams. Though she did not reciprocate, I dubiously claim my fame
‘# me too’ !!.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Calibri Light"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">In retrospect I wish I had
written to Sita in explicit hieroglyphics !!! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-33667734443205249802018-10-31T14:55:00.000+05:302018-10-31T14:55:25.613+05:30A Strange Travelogue<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">STROLL THROUGH THE KILLING FIELDS IN SRI
LANKA<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Since time
immemorial, the island of erstwhile Ceylon, because of its diverse flora,
fauna, rainforest landscapes, scenic highlands and sandy beaches, and above all
the overtly friendly peoples, used to be called the ‘island of serendipity’. It
was the place that Europeans flocked for rest, recuperate and suntan, and to
find their ‘kama or karma’. Then came their independence from the British in
1948 with ethnic ratio of 75% Sinhalese, 20.5% Tamils (plantation labour
imported by the British 300 yrs earlier), and rest minority groups. In 1972,
the politically shrewd Bandaranayke changed Ceylon to Sri Lanka (SL) and made a
new constitution for ‘Democratic Socialist Republic of the Sinhalese’, which
turned 25% of the nation into stateless, hope-less refugee class with no citizenship
or civil rights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was to eventually
lead to three and half decades of the bloodiest civil war fought anywhere on
earth, displacing over one and half million people, killing more than two <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>hundred thousand, and maiming more than a
million Tamils as well as Sinhalese, ruining the tiny island’s economy to
penury and creating indelible racial<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>hatred within is diaspora. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vPxt1jan2z8/W9lKy4nvSTI/AAAAAAAAE4U/M-J-T95pF5UKZT-w5teKSjtZmSlJiXhtQCLcBGAs/s1600/GROUP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="465" height="165" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vPxt1jan2z8/W9lKy4nvSTI/AAAAAAAAE4U/M-J-T95pF5UKZT-w5teKSjtZmSlJiXhtQCLcBGAs/s200/GROUP.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">We (see box), Dec 1969
batch mates from the National Defence Academy, middle ranking officers in our
late thirties n 1987 commissioned in 1970-71, all except me are part of the scarred
and mauled veterans of the misadventure of GoI which sent a ‘peace keeping
force’ to SL during 1987-90, which soon turned to ‘peace enforcement force’ and
finally wound up taking the Tamil guerrillas head on, in the bloodiest war ever
fought by Indian Army, Navy and AF. We buried or cremated many of our dear dead
friends and comrades in the battle fields in SL, about 1500 of them, and
brought back around 12,000 maimed and wounded, in a war which had nothing to do
with us At that time we did not know, or reason why, we were ordered to go and
die in SL. We believed that someone in GoI in Delhi would know why, or care. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Three decades
later, on 10 Feb 18, now approaching our 70s, we once again went to SL, not to
imbibe suntan, kama or karma as tourists, but as aged veterans, to uphold our
dharma and bounden duty, to take a walk through the old killing fields in Northern
SL,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to pay respect to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>those whom we left behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lyjKxuci1RM/W9lLZGIPYNI/AAAAAAAAE4c/oppWNLfpbhQq263pcjvwly1EgUXwVDjdgCLcBGAs/s1600/Team%2BSL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="968" data-original-width="1296" height="239" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lyjKxuci1RM/W9lLZGIPYNI/AAAAAAAAE4c/oppWNLfpbhQq263pcjvwly1EgUXwVDjdgCLcBGAs/s320/Team%2BSL.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">We flew SL Air and
entered through Colombo like all tourists. A 15 seater, very comfortable mini
bus with driver, attendant and an English speaking guide (very resourceful and
dynamic Mr Lal), collected us at the airport and stayed with us till we
returned to India on 19 Feb.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">On 10<sup>th</sup>
Feb we stayed overnight in the excellent Carolina Beach Resort at Chilaw, one hour
drive north of Colombo, and drank JWBL on the beach to reminisce our military
career, with our wives yodelling like sopranos, because we were behaving like
teens !! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Next morning on 11
Feb, the mini bus took us North to Jaffna, a long 7 hrs drive (with lunch stop
at Anuradhapura), on the excellent Chinese built double lane Route 28, through
Vavunia, Kilinochchi and Elephant Pass to Jaffna, all</span> <span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Liberation Tigers for Tamil Eleam </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">(LTTE)’s strongholds of the past, every inch reminding us of old times
in a formidable war that we too fought with LTTE with all out might, and did
not win. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2H1ERRY_AAY/W9lMzCuHt-I/AAAAAAAAE40/1S-hgHDuT1MjLBDTrEN2nlIr7_N6-xxPgCLcBGAs/s1600/WATER%2BTANKI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="481" height="238" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2H1ERRY_AAY/W9lMzCuHt-I/AAAAAAAAE40/1S-hgHDuT1MjLBDTrEN2nlIr7_N6-xxPgCLcBGAs/s320/WATER%2BTANKI.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">The photo alongside is that of a water tank used by LTTE in their stronghold at Kilinochchi, as a strategic observation post and sand bagged machine gun nest at its top. It was toppled by SL army commandos using plastic explosives placed at the base in their last round battle, LTTE vs SL Army after IPKF was kicked out unceremoniously by newly elected SL President Premadasa. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Next door, besides the highway, is another strange war memorial, a larger than life armour piercing artillery shell embedded in a concrete block. They are symbolic and remain as sentinel of the violence of the bitter, long and hard fought war between LTTE and SL army after IPKF left.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QOQNyY6Fhfw/W9lL1szQlCI/AAAAAAAAE4k/CGtc6QBZv68QPI4GOyyegs3Mpc1tyjvGACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180225-WA0111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QOQNyY6Fhfw/W9lL1szQlCI/AAAAAAAAE4k/CGtc6QBZv68QPI4GOyyegs3Mpc1tyjvGACLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20180225-WA0111.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">In Jaffna, we
stayed three nights at the reasonable ‘Tilco’ hotel situated next to the fort
and lagoon within sight of the twinkling lights on the modern Allaippidi and
Karaitivu causeways built by the Chinese. Seeing the string of lights across
the lagoon, I was reminded of Atanu Guru of 125 Sqn, in a Mi-25 on 27 Oct 87,
interdicting five LTTE heavy transports carrying massive quantities of
ammunition and explosives on old Karaitivu causeway, creating explosions that
killed more than 150 LTTE and could be heard 30 km away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">On 12<sup>th</sup>
at sunrise, we went for a walk like good old
soldiers around Jaffna fort and incredibly bumped into a most friendly, well
informed cheerful and energetic Lankan on a cycle, the SL Income Tax Commissioner
of Jaffna!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jv9Aeq6dUFI/W9lNXL9HMJI/AAAAAAAAE48/GmF_hlRyyfsHX4m4WEeM0Oc60aMLWZnYQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180212-WA0026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jv9Aeq6dUFI/W9lNXL9HMJI/AAAAAAAAE48/GmF_hlRyyfsHX4m4WEeM0Oc60aMLWZnYQCLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20180212-WA0026.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">For next one and half hours,
on our persistent urging over 'decoction' coffee in a Tamil tea shop, blaring
Tamil devotional songs, he gave us the current socio-economic-polico-demographic
brief of Jaffna and SL, and efforts to change the demography, encourage farming
and fishing, creation of import substitutions. We couldn’t have asked for a
more educated insightful briefing on the past, present and future of SL,
especially because </span><span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14pt;">Rajapaksa (ex-President) had
given a drubbing to Sirisena and Wickremesinghe (current President & PM of
SL) in the election on previous day, in which the 21% SL Tamil population, still
denied citizenship, had abstained from voting.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">We
started our adventure from the Jaffna </span><span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">fort
(</span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">built by the Portuguese in 1618) </span><span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">, where </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Jose was
the BM and Mohan the DAAG & DQ of 41 Brigade under Bde Cdr Manjit Singh during
<span style="color: #26282a;">1987-89. Other than the moat and <st1:metricconverter productid="25 feet" w:st="on">25 feet</st1:metricconverter> thick
indestructible outer walls of the fort made of coral and lime, everything
inside has been reduced to rubble by repeated shelling and aerial bombing by SL
forces after IPKF left. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #26282a;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E4XCD3_yb7g/W9lN8lu_c2I/AAAAAAAAE5I/GGMVVh9TxcAWDDwlLk1_Z7j-A5yj1io6QCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180212-WA0051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="774" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E4XCD3_yb7g/W9lN8lu_c2I/AAAAAAAAE5I/GGMVVh9TxcAWDDwlLk1_Z7j-A5yj1io6QCLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20180212-WA0051.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #26282a;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14pt;">Jose
took us around and explained how it used to be in 1987, buzzing with
hyperactivity as his headquarters, and even managed to locate the old operations
room amongst the rubble!! Jaffna fort is now open to public, a well maintained
archaeological edifice, with no sign of the terrible war that was fought by SL
armed forces to dislodge LTTE from within its strategic confines after IPKF
left.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--TtIaGYlCvw/W9lOVJz1ySI/AAAAAAAAE5Q/klqsX5npOrAJUCxzicndhedek_HjoujHQCLcBGAs/s1600/20180212_151702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--TtIaGYlCvw/W9lOVJz1ySI/AAAAAAAAE5Q/klqsX5npOrAJUCxzicndhedek_HjoujHQCLcBGAs/s320/20180212_151702.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PQAM5LsEDfc/W9lO24UdFBI/AAAAAAAAE5c/5FrnP_htoP8V6TEXSAar3duimjGk7PcQwCLcBGAs/s1600/Jaffna%2BFort.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="810" height="180" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PQAM5LsEDfc/W9lO24UdFBI/AAAAAAAAE5c/5FrnP_htoP8V6TEXSAar3duimjGk7PcQwCLcBGAs/s320/Jaffna%2BFort.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Our
next stop was the burnt out ‘Jaffna Library’, the saddest edifice and sentinel
of the civil war. This charred and burnt out complex once housed some of the
most ancient written history, art, culture, philosophy, theosophy, perceptions
of intellectuals of the entire south Asian region.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now lost for ever during the military
jostling between LTTE and SL army for control of Jaffna. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TpnZD9Z2KCU/W9lPE5stnCI/AAAAAAAAE5g/d44iOhdWoZkO2KerlXIihcIlFyOkbzjowCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_0070%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="538" data-original-width="717" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TpnZD9Z2KCU/W9lPE5stnCI/AAAAAAAAE5g/d44iOhdWoZkO2KerlXIihcIlFyOkbzjowCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_0070%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Afterwards we went
looking for the Jaffna University stadium, where the biggest tragedy of Indian special
heli-borne clandestine operations in war had taken place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">On
the night of 11/12<sup>th</sup> Oct 87, 120 troop of 10 Para Commando (Special
Forces) and 360 from 13 Sikh Li Delta Company (who had just arrived by air at Palali from Gwalior), were tasked to storm Jaffna University, then a strong
hold of LTTE, where all the leaders of LTTE including Prabhakaran and his
deputy Mahattaya were expected to be present for a meeting. The purpose of the
operation was to snatch the top leadership and incapacitate LTTE.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14pt;">Like all audacious quickly made war
plans, nothing went right in this one too, because the LTTE had received prior
warning of the attack and were well prepared, creating complete blackout of the
area surrounding the university, machine gun nests on top of all surrounding
buildings and well sited, well-armed, reception parties around the stadium.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Jaffna
University operation was launched at 0100 hrs on 12<sup>th</sup> Oct 87, with
half-moon condition, but low clouds that drifted in obscuring the moon. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For one reason or the other, mainly severe battle
damage to the four Mi-8s, instead of 120 Commandos from 10 Para and 360
troopers from 13 Sikh Li (total 480), the heli-lift managed to insert only a
total of about 148-150 men. Many of them from Sikh Li were butchered by LTTE.
There was a huge extrication exercise using tanks and BMPs which followed the un-mined
railway line. 10 Para (SF), adept at such clandestine warfare on man-pack basis,
went to ground and managed to survive with fewer causalities. Only one or two out
of the 60 odd simpler Sikh Li infantry troopers lived to tell his tale. The
mission was an ill-conceived disaster by all counts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">After
the prolonged battles between the LTTE and SL army after IPKF left, there is now
very little left of the old Jaffna University. It is all destroyed and new
complex is being rebuilt in fits and starts with foreign aid. The stadium
looked the same. An informal cricket match amongst boys was in progress. Life
goes on despite cataclysmic predations of man, in his quest for a home land. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m9JTamLIoUI/W9lPliAs12I/AAAAAAAAE5w/PUTQc7KzensIrwp8JdD--Vo4TYEG8lVlwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG-20180225-WA0109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="774" data-original-width="1032" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m9JTamLIoUI/W9lPliAs12I/AAAAAAAAE5w/PUTQc7KzensIrwp8JdD--Vo4TYEG8lVlwCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG-20180225-WA0109.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">We
then drove to Palali airfield to checkout; after all, that is where the IPKF
story began in 1987. Palali then was simply an 1800 mtrs runway with rudiments
of a habitat. It is now a full-fledged highly developed fortified cantonment
with an impressive barricaded gate, most modern buildings and manicured lawns.
Strangely we didn’t see any Air Force, or airplanes in Palali. It is now the
headquarters of the SL Army, Northern Command, with three Divisions of Special
Operations Commandos, and the </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">naval base SLNS Uttara at Kankasanturai next door. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-axCQ0rKFlME/W9lSM22GiNI/AAAAAAAAE54/ZoqCgHLBBn052RB9Pdq6xXf0qw0HMA2QgCLcBGAs/s1600/PALALI.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="455" data-original-width="704" height="206" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-axCQ0rKFlME/W9lSM22GiNI/AAAAAAAAE54/ZoqCgHLBBn052RB9Pdq6xXf0qw0HMA2QgCLcBGAs/s320/PALALI.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Within 20 minutes, we were
invited to the officer’s mess for high tea, and even a wooden elephant as a parting
memento by the General commanding the Northern Command. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f7_tiwCVFZk/W9lShiYzxFI/AAAAAAAAE6A/4K-SY7qp1UMMDVUtdEy4N_Sc2HFmED0agCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180212-WA0039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="880" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f7_tiwCVFZk/W9lShiYzxFI/AAAAAAAAE6A/4K-SY7qp1UMMDVUtdEy4N_Sc2HFmED0agCLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20180212-WA0039.jpg" width="259" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">An escort was provided
for us to pay our respect at the impressive memorial for the martyrs of 10 Para
(SF), built by 10 Para ten years later using their regimental funds, but immaculately
maintained by SL army within Palali airbase complex. Strangely intriguing, we
also found six unmarked graves of Indian soldiers adjacent to the 10 Para
memorial. Perhaps these were graves made by Indian Army during Op Pawan, without
names or head stones. The SL General told us that they were not graves of SL
personnel and were made by IPKF. We paid </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">obedience at the memorial as well as the unknown graves.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8U8pjOcmzSc/W9lTDSW5VwI/AAAAAAAAE6M/memBaNcoLsAdJfSIjQQSqEQrXNocvUHYwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180212-WA0042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="774" data-original-width="1032" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8U8pjOcmzSc/W9lTDSW5VwI/AAAAAAAAE6M/memBaNcoLsAdJfSIjQQSqEQrXNocvUHYwCLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20180212-WA0042.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nj7RWwc8xKg/W9lTHux0d2I/AAAAAAAAE6Q/pJggDd0IFqAmxFzJ65LAC0xhqeoYabVvACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180212-WA0046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nj7RWwc8xKg/W9lTHux0d2I/AAAAAAAAE6Q/pJggDd0IFqAmxFzJ65LAC0xhqeoYabVvACLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20180212-WA0046.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_hU342q-Mv4/W9lTdyO1T4I/AAAAAAAAE6c/Aj8uaMEVuIsmgj8xazd0W5fNIOxdQvsegCLcBGAs/s1600/Unknown%2BGrave%2BPalali.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="701" height="239" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_hU342q-Mv4/W9lTdyO1T4I/AAAAAAAAE6c/Aj8uaMEVuIsmgj8xazd0W5fNIOxdQvsegCLcBGAs/s320/Unknown%2BGrave%2BPalali.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We also went to take a look
at Jaffna hospital, which had seen some fierce fighting between LTTE and Indian
Army in 1987, that unfortunately earned us much negative publicity from 'human
rights activists’ world-wide. The hospital too has a new look, the depredations
of war has been effaced physically, but remains as scars in the minds of the Tamil
populace of Jaffna. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wvbdN6fZhqI/W9lU3MbpdmI/AAAAAAAAE6o/s_WE4Ju9naELJvpTA2L-ISb-T8dYqoPnACLcBGAs/s1600/Jaff%2BHosp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="243" data-original-width="454" height="171" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wvbdN6fZhqI/W9lU3MbpdmI/AAAAAAAAE6o/s_WE4Ju9naELJvpTA2L-ISb-T8dYqoPnACLcBGAs/s320/Jaff%2BHosp.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The only thing standing
untouched in Jaffna by the civil war in Northern SL, is the famous Nallur
Kandaswami Temple for the Tamil deity Murugan. We visited the temple, with all
sincerity, to pay our humble obeisance, to the Lord and to pray for our dead brothers, adhering to the local customs and traditions.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W3a7gH4Fd4M/W9lVbCOk1fI/AAAAAAAAE6w/xFpzV6Ar7nQgtfyugsWthMkoQ0WNz5FqQCLcBGAs/s1600/Temple%2BJaffna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="323" data-original-width="484" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W3a7gH4Fd4M/W9lVbCOk1fI/AAAAAAAAE6w/xFpzV6Ar7nQgtfyugsWthMkoQ0WNz5FqQCLcBGAs/s320/Temple%2BJaffna.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">On 13 Feb, early morning, we
set out to visit Point Pedro, Valvedditturai and Kankasanturai, the
northernmost parts of SL, where the naval wing of LTTE had</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">once held fort and which IPKF had to wrestle
from them, effectively using tanks, APCs, artillery, Mi-25s and the armed
‘Ranjit’ helicopters of 31 Air OP. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Once
IPKF left, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">LTTE once again occupied
these positions and were their main supply bases for war material and other
logistics smuggled from abroad.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The SL
army had to do a repeat, a series of prolonged bloody battles to drive the LTTE
out.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">At Point Pedro, which once
was a busy fishing port, there was nothing left standing except a pole installed
by LTTE on which there were markers pointing the direction and distance of
every littoral nation in the Indian ocean, all except India just 50 km away, in
the direction that I am pointing at in the photo !!! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N2whwqc_D4A/W9lacI21MWI/AAAAAAAAE68/3UV4UTMCOOA2HyqEU-L9ailoZyc3pWfVwCLcBGAs/s1600/K%2527Turai.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="439" data-original-width="305" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N2whwqc_D4A/W9lacI21MWI/AAAAAAAAE68/3UV4UTMCOOA2HyqEU-L9ailoZyc3pWfVwCLcBGAs/s320/K%2527Turai.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">At Kankasanturai, there
was a war memorial proclaiming ‘Unity in diversity, is the strength of SL’, at
the site where Tamil ‘Sea Tigers’ were finally decimated by SL army around 2008, much after IPKF was withdrawn.
The beaches were empty of all activity, except a few soldiers dismantling a ‘large
pandal’, lights, PA system, and stacking plastic chairs used for some VIP visit
during the political electioneering few days earlier.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K2KYOasLLQY/W9la3HzaEXI/AAAAAAAAE7E/2xmDKWPLHv0_GFg2WMsInn1pgsCvKIFvACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180213-WA0048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K2KYOasLLQY/W9la3HzaEXI/AAAAAAAAE7E/2xmDKWPLHv0_GFg2WMsInn1pgsCvKIFvACLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20180213-WA0048.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">We then </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">travelled</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> East, to
the infamous ‘Elephant Pass’, a narrow flat flood plain, a choke point
surrounded by the vast Jaffna lagoon, connecting the road and railway line between
Jaffna peninsula and rest of SL, which had repeatedly seen some of the
bloodiest battles between LTTE vs SL army (1</span><sup style="font-size: 14pt;">st</sup><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> round), with IPKF (2</span><sup style="font-size: 14pt;">nd</sup><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
round) and finally back with SL army (3</span><sup style="font-size: 14pt;">rd</sup><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> and last round).</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> During the three and half decades of
continuous civil war, military control of this narrow stretch of land was of
utmost strategic importance for the survival of the populous Jaffna peninsula
inhabited by Tamils. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In a fierce push between LTTE
and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>SL army on 13 Jul 91, LTTE<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>used four ingeniously modified bulldozers,
with one inch armour plating, fitted with heavy machine guns and filled with
explosives to overrun the SL army garrison and road blocks. The last of these
monstrous contraptions reached Jaffna garrison around the railway station. Had
it been detonated, it may have wiped out half the SL army. There arose an
extraordinary 26 years old soldier of SL army, Cpl Gamini Kularatna, from 6<sup>th</sup>
Bn of Sinha Rgt, who managed to climb up the monstrous contraption from the
back and lob a grenade, killing all the four man LTTE crew inside, as well as Gamini.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In recognition of his extraordinary bravery,
and supreme sacrifice, Gamini was awarded ‘Param Weera Vibhushana’ (posthumous)
like Indian Param Vir Chakra, the highest military award. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A memorial next to Jaffna railway station
stands testimony. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a hut nearby, on
the press of a button, a large video screen comes alive to show live footages
of the war and the action involving the monstrous armour plated bulldozer and
how it was neutralised. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oyc6RcJ81ts/W9lmsf3u3PI/AAAAAAAAE7Q/U9tUU0jMrrU0rXAoEUOggnZoPTMP68PLQCLcBGAs/s1600/E%2BPass%2B%2B-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="708" height="192" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oyc6RcJ81ts/W9lmsf3u3PI/AAAAAAAAE7Q/U9tUU0jMrrU0rXAoEUOggnZoPTMP68PLQCLcBGAs/s320/E%2BPass%2B%2B-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-54DqoE7J6u4/W9lnmV3GgRI/AAAAAAAAE7c/-06YdA3kwqkDMoUhXDLiFxJ6ijFz5fa-QCLcBGAs/s1600/E%2BPass-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="649" height="208" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-54DqoE7J6u4/W9lnmV3GgRI/AAAAAAAAE7c/-06YdA3kwqkDMoUhXDLiFxJ6ijFz5fa-QCLcBGAs/s320/E%2BPass-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Further down the road, is a massive,
strange looking war memorial, encapsulating the final victory of SL army over
LTTE at Elephant Pass, a bronze tear drop bubble representing SL, encased and
protected within two military hands, symbolises territorial integrity of SL. a rather morbid symbol of Tamil oppression. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oBY6wNOFJws/W9ln_lQDyoI/AAAAAAAAE7k/Pq12td3fgJ09ktugDURDw-Jfe4yQ4dDfgCLcBGAs/s1600/E%2BPass-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="509" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oBY6wNOFJws/W9ln_lQDyoI/AAAAAAAAE7k/Pq12td3fgJ09ktugDURDw-Jfe4yQ4dDfgCLcBGAs/s640/E%2BPass-3.jpg" width="492" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">We then went further east to
Mullaittivu, where Special Forces of the SL army cornered and decimated LTTE. In the middle of a
pond, with white lotus and strange water lilies, stood a huge grotesque memorial
that leaves an ever lasting impression on all. The memorial emboldens all, with a huge bronze stature of a SL
soldier with an AK-57 in one hand and the SL flag in the other, promising that
ethnic strife and civil war will not ever happen in SL, as long as SL Army is in
charge. The army plays a significant role in SL politics now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gCTqT2i6x-Q/W9lof_0eIcI/AAAAAAAAE7w/d6WnkurKVcwor1IlAdAap6Ng0nz4RwiIQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180225-WA0095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="774" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gCTqT2i6x-Q/W9lof_0eIcI/AAAAAAAAE7w/d6WnkurKVcwor1IlAdAap6Ng0nz4RwiIQCLcBGAs/s640/IMG-20180225-WA0095.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">There were no sign of policemen in Northern SL,
just the army. Silent, unarmed, but watchful, at every memorial, every street
corner, even on the highways. The discipline amongst the Tamil populace in Northern
SL is visibly discernable. No honking of horns, very orderly traffic that stops
automatically if there are pedestrians crossing, no jay walking, no cattle on
the roads, no argumentative people now. We saw a silent Tamil funeral
procession, on the sidewalk and not in the middle of the road. Once in a while,
they let off fire crackers, perhaps to help liberate the soul and accelerate
its progress to eternity. Perhaps the fire crackers were to simulate the gun
fire of three decades of civil war, to imply martyrdom in war. It was symbolic
of a demoralised society, reeling from the aftermath of prolonged civil war,
which failed to improve their stateless destitution.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Velupillai Prabhakaran, the leader of the revolutionary LTTE,
his wife and three children, were hunted down and killed on 18 May 2009, at or
around </span><span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Nandikadal lagoon, near Vellamullivaikkal in Puthumatalan
(near Mullaittivu), by a select group led by Sgt Wijesinghe from
Commando (Special Forces) unit 4VIR, then under the command of Lt Col
Aluvihare. That ended the civil war in SL. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">There was nothing on ground to indicate the end of that terrible
saga. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">However, we got to meet ‘Anbu’ and his wife ‘Laxmi’, two LTTE cadre who
surrendered to SLA, few of the survivors of that war. LTTE were so motivated for
Eelam that they fought till the last man was killed. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">Anbu was an exception. He was a weapon instructor and expert in making improvised explosives. His wife was from the infamous suicide bomb
squad when they met and fell in love. Fearing retribution from LTTE supremo, they ran
away and lived under the protection of SL army till the end of the war. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">Anbu and his wife now eke a living</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">fishing, living in part of a building, a Tamil resettlement project by Govt of</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">SL. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">He
offered us a glass of ‘Toddy’, a peace offering, which we gladly accepted. Like
all soldiers, we had no personal quarrel with Anbu, his wife or toddler who were enemies of IPKF and had killed or maimed Indian soldiers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vFzW8vmFSwc/W9lsGxvM81I/AAAAAAAAE78/5QDMhlWvLj4b5JiUqG4YjB_BhmSgg0ffgCLcBGAs/s1600/Anbu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="530" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vFzW8vmFSwc/W9lsGxvM81I/AAAAAAAAE78/5QDMhlWvLj4b5JiUqG4YjB_BhmSgg0ffgCLcBGAs/s320/Anbu.jpg" width="293" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">A surprising find, mainly because of our resourceful guide
Pal, was a secluded spot off the highway, covered from all sides by
impregnable thickly grown palm forest, about a km from the beachfront at
Mullaittivu. It was the deserted naval R&D centre of LTTE where an
incredible array of ingenious engineering of military hardware was crudely exhibited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0buf7vhwIJE/W9ltyB3Bq_I/AAAAAAAAE8I/_rvqZw6APxwFOKU7UbXAdfDRCe3a_jhwQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180225-WA0092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="774" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0buf7vhwIJE/W9ltyB3Bq_I/AAAAAAAAE8I/_rvqZw6APxwFOKU7UbXAdfDRCe3a_jhwQCLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20180225-WA0092.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C3KvIZjfAOI/W9luxHy491I/AAAAAAAAE8Y/Nw3TQ-dFhaIkjmq8ignnJKVUvyrVXASTACLcBGAs/s1600/R%2526D%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="461" data-original-width="495" height="298" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C3KvIZjfAOI/W9luxHy491I/AAAAAAAAE8Y/Nw3TQ-dFhaIkjmq8ignnJKVUvyrVXASTACLcBGAs/s320/R%2526D%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LAcCxyBuMwE/W9luw-0YtPI/AAAAAAAAE8U/mqqD8iHgfKkGD20aR7JJRlOs_LQJ9vg4wCLcBGAs/s1600/R%2526D-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="439" data-original-width="560" height="250" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LAcCxyBuMwE/W9luw-0YtPI/AAAAAAAAE8U/mqqD8iHgfKkGD20aR7JJRlOs_LQJ9vg4wCLcBGAs/s320/R%2526D-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fwmeSGkl208/W9lv557vdvI/AAAAAAAAE8o/nyS7DMMDRzoPkisqIv1HMyMn_s8dkks6gCLcBGAs/s1600/R%2526D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="601" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fwmeSGkl208/W9lv557vdvI/AAAAAAAAE8o/nyS7DMMDRzoPkisqIv1HMyMn_s8dkks6gCLcBGAs/s320/R%2526D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">To begin with, was a dry dock / water tank which could be
flooded through a sluice leading to backwaters of the Nanthi Kadal lagoon. A
huge wave generator (inclined circular plates on a huge shaft)</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">was lying aside. This tank was used to test
the stability and control of extremely agile, highly hydrodynamic low
silhouette fibre glass high speed motor torpedo boats and midget submarines (photos above).
Also on display were torpedo tubes, rocket launcher on articulated hinge,
powerful marine engines, rockets, bombs, aircraft engines and props etc
indicators of LTTE’s incredible indigenous engineering ability to do research
and development to produce their own home grown weapon systems and continue the
war indefinitely.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">On 14</span><sup style="color: #222222;">th</sup><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">, we relocated to Rajarata Hotel in
Anuradhapura. We stopped at Vanunia air base, Since the base commander was not
available, we could not gain entry into the airfield complex to relive
incredible memories of our experiences during IPKF days when Vavunia was a most
active base for air and ground operations.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB6Nd3WrOuY/W9lwkSMLanI/AAAAAAAAE8w/2Wq8DrSwLn4sKA1pScNI0cynW54IaLm6ACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180214-WA0064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="774" data-original-width="1032" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB6Nd3WrOuY/W9lwkSMLanI/AAAAAAAAE8w/2Wq8DrSwLn4sKA1pScNI0cynW54IaLm6ACLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20180214-WA0064.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">During the closing phase of IPKF in SL, when a
newly elected President Premadasa found it expedient to make truce with LTTE,
and to provide it arms to fight IPKF, then Lt Col Ramkumar, a missile man, was
suddenly mobilised from India to go and set up a training camp in </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Paranthan</span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"> to arm and train </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">Eelam Revolutionary Organisation of Students</span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"> (EROS)</span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">, a similar bunch as LTTE, to fight LTTE when IPKF withdrew. Ram does not know whose idea it was. Ram
armed and trained 3 batches, with 250-275 EROS cadre in each batch, at a large
hastily put together camp at </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Paranthan</span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">, constantly sniped at and harassed by LTTE. He lost his 2<sup>nd</sup>
in command and many trainees in fire fights with LTTE, but did what he was
asked to do, till he withdrew from SL with IPKF in 1990. We went looking for
his training camp in </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Paranthan</span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">, a few km east of the highway. All makeshift buildings were destroyed in
war and the jungles had obliterated all traces of his large old training camp.
Ram believes that many EROS trainees of his, who were not killed by LTTE,
joined up with them after he left, to fight the SL Army!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PPo1l7eJkPk/W9lxpeP77KI/AAAAAAAAE9I/sG8s0llJY70grt0QdSGvImkfa0EEXePUwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180225-WA0125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="774" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PPo1l7eJkPk/W9lxpeP77KI/AAAAAAAAE9I/sG8s0llJY70grt0QdSGvImkfa0EEXePUwCLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20180225-WA0125.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Puliyankulam, north of Vavunia astride the road and railway
line, was a strategic defensive point, a line of control between North and South;
controlled by LTTE, IPKF and SL army, turn by turn. Baljit as a Lt Col was in
command of 12 Jat of Indian Army at Puliyankulam in 89-90. He was under
constant attack by LTTE, since his job was to keep the strategic south to north
road / rail lines open. Ambushes of road opening parties by LTTE had claimed
many lives of his men, including his favourite subordinate, Maj Michael Lewis. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Baljit couldn’t rest content till we went to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Puliyankulam. Like a man possessed, he got
off the bus and ran into the jungles, in what once used to be his camp,
surrounded by barbed wire and anti-personnel mines. We followed him. Baljit
took us unerringly through shrub and jungles, old barbed wire fencings, barking
dogs, mine field, to a spot where he had buried Michael and cremated large
number of his men. I could feel their presence, lined up in a squad with Michael
leading. And when Baljit saluted them, I could hear the silent whispers of the
dead Jats, ‘CO Sahib did not abandon us, he has come to bid us farewell’. It
was indeed the most emotional and poignant moment of our life as old soldiers,
raison d’etre of our visit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8Kwz0jgmEX4/W9lxNY24fAI/AAAAAAAAE84/q6aKKcOXK4YFr1ppZhqq25SiviKvH-76gCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180218-WA0063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="837" data-original-width="364" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8Kwz0jgmEX4/W9lxNY24fAI/AAAAAAAAE84/q6aKKcOXK4YFr1ppZhqq25SiviKvH-76gCLcBGAs/s640/IMG-20180218-WA0063.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5WM50c9ANJE/W9lxQpGEBSI/AAAAAAAAE88/ml0fmmeTukopP4-3SxuSi4FQvqa_gEf4ACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20180218-WA0057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5WM50c9ANJE/W9lxQpGEBSI/AAAAAAAAE88/ml0fmmeTukopP4-3SxuSi4FQvqa_gEf4ACLcBGAs/s640/IMG-20180218-WA0057.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">Afterwards we went to central Colombo, to visit the well
maintained IPKF war memorial alongside a similar memorial for Lankans, to lay
wreaths for 1500 odd old colleagues from Army & Navy in whose memory this
monument was built by GoI, and pay for its upkeep. Despite the herculean air
support for IPKF, the IAF fortunately had no causalities in SL (perhaps it was because LTTE had not yet acquired shoulder fired missiles). Many of the helicopters were shot at, suffered mechanical damages and forced landings, but all air crew survived)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lfFNpUqKrMA/W9lzQieSL0I/AAAAAAAAE9U/lz7YrCCkKY4zsk4bkBLiJ3Gj87BHzA8JQCLcBGAs/s1600/Colombo%2BMemorial%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="493" data-original-width="657" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lfFNpUqKrMA/W9lzQieSL0I/AAAAAAAAE9U/lz7YrCCkKY4zsk4bkBLiJ3Gj87BHzA8JQCLcBGAs/s320/Colombo%2BMemorial%2B1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pjm0QZmRJkw/W9lzTChXReI/AAAAAAAAE9Y/lM54GLPTTHg9bNho0LtsX4UGZsmdwBPFgCLcBGAs/s1600/Colombo%2BMemorial%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="654" height="239" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pjm0QZmRJkw/W9lzTChXReI/AAAAAAAAE9Y/lM54GLPTTHg9bNho0LtsX4UGZsmdwBPFgCLcBGAs/s320/Colombo%2BMemorial%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">We then travelled, like all tourists</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">southwards, </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">to Hikkaduwa, to the Lavanga resort near
Galle, to imbibe a bit of the sun, sand and limitless eternity of the Indian Ocean,
to forget war and be like all ordinary senior citizens seeking global peace and
prosperity for mankind.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">Perhaps the trip
helped exorcise the ghosts of comrades and enemy from our minds. In the end, we
were, and still are, pawns of political ambitions of individuals everywhere.
Ours is not to reason why, but to do and die.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">To our slain comrades in SL, we raised a toast, ‘Cheers, we may not come back, but will meet
you soon in Valhalla’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">CYCLIC<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-3766199386201731802018-10-19T11:02:00.000+05:302018-10-19T11:02:02.094+05:30THIS DAY, THAT YEAR (PART - 1)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">'MUD MUD KE DEKH'</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Friday 15 Oct 62, fifty six
years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">While on his way to
Colombo, Nehru made an off the cuff highly irresponsible statement to the
journalists hounding him at Palam airport. ‘I have told the army to evict
Chinese from Indian soil’. In reality he had done no such thing, had neither
met, spoken or written to the Chief of Army Staff (CoAS) Gen PN Thaper. He was
in fact procrastinating over an offer made by his </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">friend
<em><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-style: normal;">Chou En-lai,</span></em> ‘</span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">Premier’ of the ‘People's Republic of China’. Chow had
conveyed to him, ‘Give us Aksai Chin and take NEFA’, a seemingly fair offer.
Nehru was procrastinating because of a no confidence motion that was being
precipitated against him led by Firoz </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">Gandhi, husband of
Indira Gandhi. Agreeing to Chow’s goodwill offer would have been a
political suicide for Nehru.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D_X9BW8KUn0/W8lpeTwhAjI/AAAAAAAAE2E/k-L9-Ey2ZRMTfZkpwhdd6n1L9p8JacmtQCLcBGAs/s1600/81JawaharlalNehru%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="399" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D_X9BW8KUn0/W8lpeTwhAjI/AAAAAAAAE2E/k-L9-Ey2ZRMTfZkpwhdd6n1L9p8JacmtQCLcBGAs/s320/81JawaharlalNehru%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">‘It is a declaration of Sino
Indian war’, trumpeted an equally irresponsible and ignorant press. Spooked by
the headlines, and vitriolic opinions espoused by Delhi left right backwards
march think-tank paladins, the Chinese envoy in Chanakyapuri immediately
conveyed the declaration of war to Peking. Mao was back in
power and PLA HQ was quick to react. They pushed forward their amassed army
into Ladhak (Galwan / Chushul) and into NEFA (Thagla ridge and Rima in Walong
valley). An eye ball to eye ball confrontation ensued. Troops from both sides
began sniping at each other. A humiliating defeat of the Indian army
would begin within five days, lasting till the benevolent declaration of ceased
fire by Peking on 21 Nov 62. India would lose 210,000 sq km of territory, 6000
odd soldiers killed, and a similar number severely injured and maimed, besides
the indelible political and military humiliation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 16.0pt;">This day that
year, the army chief (CoAS Gen Thaper) had no clue of the herculean tragedy
that faced India. He had neither been to the battle front at Ladhak nor to
NEFA, comprehended the terrain, fighting ability and morale of the army
deployed there, or received any direct written order from GoI to go to war with
China. He was abroad, sipping wine on ‘<span style="background: white;">venue des
Champs-Élysées’ </span>in Paris with his family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 16.0pt;">Like many
preceding days, coded, ‘Top Secret’ messages from formations deployed along the
4056 km of Sino Indian border, began to pile up at the Signals Enclave in
Delhi, </span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">faster than they could decipher
the messages and bring it to the notice of those who had the power to stop the
war. Almost all messages were more or less identical in tone and tenor, they
were SoS of some kind. So they lay unattended either in Signals Enclave or in
South Block basement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">In Nehru’s absence, the next
king in waiting, defence minister VK Krishna Menon sat in a high back chair in
his spacious office in South block with large French windows, chain-smoking
Player’s Navy Cut cigarettes and sipping black tea. As Caesar, he held India by
the juggler. Outside his office, Delhi went about innocently observing ‘Nav
Ratra’ and preparing to annihilate evil during ‘Dussahera’. There were high
cirrus clouds, a precursor of the seasonal pitter-patter rain, while high up in
the Himalayas where the Indian soldiers sat huddled in cotton clothing and
canvass shoes, hugging outdated WW-II weapons, it was freezing cold and snow
fell on them mercilessly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Waiting in the corridor of
South Block on Raisiana hill, to meet and brief the Caesar, were four
intelligent, but conceited and ambitious men. BM Mullick (Dir IB), HC
Sarin (JS MoD), Maj Gen Palit (Dir Gen Military Operations) and Air Cmde HC
Dewan (Dir Operations Air HQ). Menon had a habit of pitting one against the
other and hence, as a routine, he rarely met them together, though the reason
for meeting them was common; execution of his foolhardy posturing, called
‘forward policy’; forward patrolling and establishing 48 army posts, at platoon
or weak company strength, all along the Johnson’s line (Ladhak) and Mc Mahon
line (rest of the border, including one at Bara Hoti in Char Dham area all the
way to NEFA). He usually had Sareen besides him, but no notes or minutes were
to be taken down by Sareen. Menon despised all such bureaucratic British
procedures of record keeping. All his orders were usually verbal, or
communicated to his ‘infamous four’ subalterns on telephone by Sareen, a system
designed to belittle the stature of military Hqs and inculcate subservience of
Chiefs of army, navy and air force, after the earlier CoAS Thimayya had
threatened to quit (thereby topple the Govt), on the same issue, differences in
politico-military appreciation and methodology of defending the Sino Indian
border, post war gaming in ex Lal Quila conducted at Lucknow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Due to steadfast opposition
of Menon’s forward policy by all military protagonists in the evolving
Sino-Indian drama, (Theatre Commanders Maj Gen Grewal, GoC 3 Div in Leh, in
control of Ladhak; Lt Gen LP Sen, Army Cdr East and his predecessor
Thorat, Area Commander Lt Gen Umrao Singh GoC 33 Corps, Maj Gen Niranjan Prasad
GoC 4 Div at Zementhang and Brig Dalvi Cdr 7 Brigade at Namkachu), Menon chose
to not only ignore military wisdom but also to belittle and usurp the chain of
command, by creating a new phantom 4 Corps, under Lt Gen BM Kaul at Tezpur,
reporting directly to him, to do as per his bidding. Kaul was asked to debouch
the PLA from the 16,000 feet high Thagla massif, presumed to be the Mc Mahon
line in an operation named ‘Leghorn’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MWeEvnpDMlc/W8lqM0RmlbI/AAAAAAAAE2M/zCLdoSMa-_ALOObRaBSgkPVS9XWBjikxQCLcBGAs/s1600/Lt%2BGen%2BKaul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="101" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MWeEvnpDMlc/W8lqM0RmlbI/AAAAAAAAE2M/zCLdoSMa-_ALOObRaBSgkPVS9XWBjikxQCLcBGAs/s1600/Lt%2BGen%2BKaul.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">For the first time, on 9 Oct,
50 year old Kaul hitched a ride with Sqn Ldr Williams in a Bell 47 helicopter
from Tezpur to Tsangdhar (14,500’), went charging 4500 feet downhill to the
verdant Namka Chu river basin, 7 Bde HQ, with all intent to ‘Summary
Courtmarshal’ Brig Dalvi on the spot. It took Kaul only a few minutes to do a
tactical </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">appreciation when he stood at Namka chu and looked up
the vertical face of the Thagla ridge 10,000 odd feet above him, and saw for
himself the Division strength PLA deployments on the slopes waiting to
come down. Now he realised the folly of it all, about which Dalvi and others
had been crying hoarse. Kaul was in a dilemma. He had no senior army officers
including army chief to appeal to, and would need to convince Menon in person.
Therefore, without much ado, he asked Dalvi and Niranjan Prasad to hold
position till he has a chance to appeal to Menon. If he were a stronger man
with courage of conviction, he had the power to permit Dalvi to withdraw 7 Bde
to the west to east Hathungla-Serkhim-Drokung Samba line, 10 km south of Namka
Chu, as Dalvi wanted to do. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p0uCyum0J8U/W8lqheSjB0I/AAAAAAAAE2U/X1DzUfYOyLYksnjnONSY6uQjvbWs96uAwCLcBGAs/s1600/Dalvi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="171" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p0uCyum0J8U/W8lqheSjB0I/AAAAAAAAE2U/X1DzUfYOyLYksnjnONSY6uQjvbWs96uAwCLcBGAs/s1600/Dalvi.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">While climbing back to
Tsangdhar helipad, Kaul was assailed by a mild heart attack and high altitude
sickness (pulmonary oedema, formation of water in the lungs) and had to be
carried up the slope by relay teams of young soldiers. On arrival back at
Tezpur by helicopter, he was immediately taken to field hospital. Kaul sent
word to Air Cmde Jaswant Singh in Guhati to requisition a Dakota and flew to
Delhi from Tezpur with two doctors attending to him during the long flight in
an unpressurised aircraft, without Oxygen pressure breathing, aggravating his
medical condition. On arrival in Delhi, he was rushed into the ICU of MH Delhi,
where surgeons inserted long needles into his lung to extract fluids. The bed
ridden, but restless and agitated Kaul asked for a field telephone in the ICU
to make contact with Menon, to seek his permission to allow orderly withdrawal
of 7 Bde from Namka Chu. Menon was fighting off the political assault by
opposition in parliament and could not be reached. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6VTsHKxuaFI/W8lqy7jN25I/AAAAAAAAE2c/W3YVJIbXnq015HqMPVUCV_Myic4gImjLgCLcBGAs/s1600/Map%2B-%2BNamka%2BChu%2B1962%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="1600" height="402" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6VTsHKxuaFI/W8lqy7jN25I/AAAAAAAAE2c/W3YVJIbXnq015HqMPVUCV_Myic4gImjLgCLcBGAs/s640/Map%2B-%2BNamka%2BChu%2B1962%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_2" o:spid="_x0000_s1027"
type="#_x0000_t75" style='position:absolute;left:0;text-align:left;
margin-left:0;margin-top:934.5pt;width:561pt;height:353.3pt;z-index:251658240;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square;mso-width-percent:0;
mso-height-percent:0;mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;mso-wrap-distance-top:0;
mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;
mso-position-horizontal:left;mso-position-horizontal-relative:text;
mso-position-vertical:absolute;mso-position-vertical-relative:text;
mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;mso-width-relative:page;
mso-height-relative:page' stroked="t">
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\UGKARTHA\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image005.jpg"
o:title=""/>
<w:wrap type="square"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Meanwhile a very frustrated Dalvi and his ill-fated 7
Bde stood eye ball to eye ball with the PLA division, awaiting someone to order
withdrawal. In retrospect, if Dalvi (or his immediate superior on site, Maj Gen
Niranjan Prasad, GoC 4 Div) had disobeyed Kaul’s orders to stay put and had
withdrawn as they wanted to, it may have avoided the Sino Indian conflict (not
deemed a war since no one actually declared a war other than Indian press !!).
Dalvi / Prasad may have at worse been removed from command, or court
marshalled. But the infamy of such a disciplinary action may have been far less
than the humiliation of defeat that they faced afterwards. It is doubtful
whether any disciplinary action would have ensued, because in the first place
there was no written order from any quarter to justify the deployment of 7 Bde
in Namka Chu. Dalvi was taken PoW during the war and Prasad removed from
command, to be later given another command, where his poor leadership qualities
were to create problems and near defeat in 65 war too.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Till a laboriously detailed
aerial survey was done around 1971 using Canberra
photo reconnaissance aircraft, in conjunction with AF Int and Survey of India,
none had noticed that the representative of Dalai Lama who signed the 1914
Indo-Tibetan trade and border treaty at Shimla had done a bit of mischief and
had deviated from the principle of watershed (Mc Mahon Line) at the India,
Bhutan, Tibet tri-junction and that the border was actually not Thagla ridge,
but near the Hathungla-Serkhim-Drokung Samba west to east line, that Dalvi
wanted to withdraw to. The man who made the blunder, and created the casus
belli for Sino Indian imbroglio was Maj Gen Palit, predecessor of Dalvi in 7
Bde, who made a wrong hand drawn sketch of the border as Thagla ridge. This
hand drawn sketch, enlarged and mass produced in Delhi in his own press,
using ammonia print technology, was freely distributed to all and sundry
including Menon, Kaul, Prasad and Dalvi, as also every man fighting the war in
NEFA. It became the instrument of war in Namka Chu. After 62 war, Palit got
away clean because he sat down to write history, to defame everyone else other
than the ‘infamous four’, which when repeated and quoted again and again </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">ad nauseam,</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> became reason
to make a Rufus out of the wrong men.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">In Ladhak too, unchartered
territory, with no border demarcation, the ground reality was no different.
Indian forces, J&K militia with quickly beefed up infantry units like 13
Kumaon were concentrated mostly in rear areas of DBO, Galwan and Chushul. The
rest of the area east was already in PLA control. 3 Div was to put up a stout
defence when attacked on 20 Oct 62. But the trigger for the 62 imbroglio
was the unwritten order to Kaul to run up the impossible Thagla ridge, since
Palit pointed that out to Menon as the border. The LAC as in Sep 62 and later
on 23 Nov 62 after cease fire are depicted by dotted line, viz the 1865 Johnson
Line, that was agreed as a trade boundary by a treaty between the British and
temporal head at Lhasa. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vLSr4jiDC74/W8lrM6p0VnI/AAAAAAAAE2o/BXOKtlvSG94wZGbSYlvex_9XILhFRN8PgCEwYBhgL/s1600/Map%2B-%2BLadakh%2B%25281962%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1131" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vLSr4jiDC74/W8lrM6p0VnI/AAAAAAAAE2o/BXOKtlvSG94wZGbSYlvex_9XILhFRN8PgCEwYBhgL/s640/Map%2B-%2BLadakh%2B%25281962%2529.jpg" width="452" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">(to be continued in parts, the events of next few days that year, till the war started on 20 Oct
62. After that it is a balls up story of defeat, one part with incredible
valour across the rank and file, and the other part of fear psychosis and
untold mess up by those who had no ability to command, or lead from the front).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-7727148614831659012018-09-12T10:29:00.000+05:302018-09-12T10:29:17.435+05:30LAMB CALLING CROW ……….OVER<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Here
is a silly helicopter story from my youth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I
was then a piddly ‘French Leather (F/L)’, name given to me by the venerable
Army Commander Gen Jacob, with whom I had a love hate relationship.
The French Ambassador took offence and retorted with zest, ‘Le Chapeau
Anglais’. I didn’t know what the fuss was all about and went around with an
attitude, happy to have a ‘Topi’ on my front gun. I was a bachelor about 27 yrs
old and in Chakabama in Nagaland, flying a ruddy Mi-4. I had nothing to do with
either the English or the French, I had to worry only about ‘Angu’ who usually
asked me in ‘Nagamese’ whether I was wearing an ‘Umbrella’!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">On
a rainy morning before sunrise in Chakabama, perhaps around 1977 or 78, the
field telephone rang incessantly, conveying a great sense of urgency. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Rrrrrrring,
(pause) Rrrrrring, ………….Ring Ring, it rang endlessly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I
pulled the horse hair blanket right over my head and tried to blot out the
highly offensive noise that was triggering tiny little men to chip away parts
of my brain using noisy air driven hammer drills, the kind of things that
happens when one has a bad hangover.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">The
green cranking type field telephone would not go away, or give up, it kept
ringing persistantly. So I picked it up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Yes’…………I
said into it, like the President of USA authorising a nuclear strike.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">There
was much static, my ear drums got singed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Seventeen
Serra Lamb Calling Hawk, Seventeen Serra Lamb Calling Hawk, Report Over’, the
horrible field telephone whispered into my ears. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Yeh,
I am Hawk, but at the moment I am a ‘Grounded Crow’……..over’, I said rather
witlessly. The ruddy little men were now once again using a hammer drill in my
brain. Rum doesn’t go away with just sleep, one needs two Aspirins and
Oxygen pressure breathing to get rid of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Hawk,
request save my CO’, said the stupid field telephone, ordered to convey such
incorrigible things to me early morning, especially when I had a hangover. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Seventeen
Serra Lamb was my illustrious course mate, Capt PKSB, who had nothing
better to do, in a very stupid place called ‘Jessami’, deep down in a valley
inside the formidable hills of Nagaland. This tall, handsome, anglicised
and very civilised course mate was the ‘Power House Adjutant’ of the famed 17
Sikh. I forced my head out from under the blanket. One can’t ignore such
buggers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Lamb
Ke Bache, call me back after half an hour. I need to bomb the shitty Raj Rif
dinner out of my system’, I told my famed course mate from the famed Sikh Rgt,
whose history goes backwards by couple of centuries. If I had to go and save
the mighty CO of such an illustrious battalion of the Sikhs, I had to first
crap the Raj Rif dinner that was purposely kept inedible due to the sadistic
tendencies of their CO, Lt Col Raj Kadyan. Well, that was my silly youthful
perception. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">You
see, I had no sense of humour and no love lost for this host from Raj Rif
though everyone else from Raj Rif, as well as 81 Bde and 8 Mtn Div, they were
all my dearest blood brothers, comrades at arms. The only other person
that I disliked, more than my host, was the Army Cdr, the biggest sadist that I
had ever met. He usually pissed on the Raj Rif helipad protection platoon, with
utter disregard for their self-esteem, just because they usually dug holes in
the ground around the helipad and sat there immobile, camouflaged like a leafy
bush !! Jacob loved doing it on a bush, even when the ‘Bush’ stood up and gave
a ‘General Salute’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">When
the field telephone rang, I was suffering from the aftermath of copious
quantities of the delectable ‘XXX Hercules Rum’ that the Raj Rif barman had
served surreptitiously the previous night, with utter disregard to Kadyan, who
disapproved of such things. He was a funny fellow even then. At dinner, at the
head of the table, he would eat his two ‘chapatis’ quickly and close his plate,
even before young 2<sup>nd</sup> Lt Dhar or I, the youngest at the foot of the
table, were served our first chapatti. So 2<sup>nd</sup> Lt Dhar and I usually
survived in Chakabama by eating ‘Sadde Ma Ki Dal, Todde Ma Ki Sabzi, and Teri
Ma Ki Pickle’, with healthy quantities of Rum camouflaged with Coke, which was
more expensive than Rum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">After
a laborious failed attempt to bomb the pigs with ‘Every One’s Ma Ki’, in the
dry sanitation toilet, I realised that there is no water. It was after all ‘Dry
Sanitation’ those days. So I went out and stuck my ass in the rain. That is how
I discovered that I was in Chakabama and it was raining cats and dogs and that
even the crows were grounded by the bad weather. I could see all that even
though I was still suffering from previous night’s indulgence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Lamb
Calling Hawk, Lamb Calling Hawk, Report…… Over’. The field telephone and my
course mate from 17 Sikh continued to be persistent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I
was briefed that the illustrious CO of 17 Sikh had gone and climbed a silly
peak near ‘Jessami’ the previous day, pretending to be Edmond Hillary. But
unlike Edmond, the famed CO of 17 Sikh went and twisted his ankle and couldn’t
come down like Humpty Dumpty. Entire 17 Sikh, with my course mate in the lead,
had then charged up the hill to rescue their illustrious CO. But because of the
rain, and slush, steep gradient, for every three steps they took going uphill,
they came down four. It was peak season for Naga insurgency and therefor
CO 17 Sikh was a mouth-watering target to take as a trophy, especially because
Nagas liked head hunting those with long hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Situation
Bahut Kharab Hai’, my course mate whispered in my ears through the field
telephone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Ratbar
Koshish Kiya, G***d Phat Gaya’. It was irrefutable tactical (and not tactful)
argument to convince me to fly when crows had grounded themselves under the
pretext of ‘Flight Safety’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘There
is no helipad there’, I lamented. ‘Just a bloody mountain peak covered with
rocks, trees and your ruddy OP hill’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘It
is beyond the authorised service ceiling of my helicopter, the MI-4 cannot go
up there’, I said sadly, belittling my favourite steed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘The
weather is bad, it is raining cats and dogs, even the crows are grounded’, I
beseeched my course-mate pretending to be the imperious ‘O-She Flying’, who
normally took such decisions. In Chakabama, I was ‘She Oh’, ‘O-She’ and
Detachment commander, all rolled into a three in one, cooker, fu**er and
a sucker. A lonely man, I had to take all decisions on my own, and
afterwards face the consequences in the air and on ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘You
want this done quietly, without telling anyone, the honour of 17 Sikh at
stake’, I observed dryly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘When
I kill myself, the AF would tell my mother that I was a rascal’, I
pleaded. ‘So, you see, how do I go and get your CO out of that wrenched OP Hill
?, I asked without Raj Rif shit, Rimcolian wit, or the AF wisdom, all of which
the pigs had imbibed few minutes earlier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">My
arguments sounded silly, even to me, and myself. Rimc and NDA seemed a waste of
time if I couldn’t display some overtly zealous joint-man-ship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘That
is your bloody problems Crow, you go do it, Meri Kasam’. My course-mate
whispered dramatically on the field telephone, like that stupid actor Raj Kumar
in ‘Hindustan Ki Kasam’. ‘Over and Out’. He said it with the finality of a
Supreme Court judge, pronouncing my death sentence. The field telephone went
dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I
did not have a choice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">So
the first thing I did was to go and put the two airmen from the ‘AF Liaison
Cell’ at Chakabama under close arrest in Raj Rif Quarter Guard. They were put
there by HQ EAC with an HF radio set to spy on me, to count the number of girls
I smuggled in the dicky of the Mi-4 from as faraway places as ‘Chura Chand
Pur’. Cultural cross pollination was not allowed those days. C-in-C EAC’s main
concern perhaps was genuine. Crossing Naga, Mizo or Kuki, with a Madrasi like
me, was bound to produce ‘Gadhas’ striped like Zebras, a terrible
anthropological catastrophe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I
took away the HF Radio, the one that the AF Liaison Cell used, for sneaking
nasty things about me to the C-in-C EAC. Instead I gave them two bottles of
Rum. ‘Drink it’ I told them. ‘Early this morning, what the eye doesn’t see, the
heart doesn’t grieve’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Strip
the MI-4’, I told my loyal ground crew, my own troops. ‘Take out everything
that is not necessary to fly’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">They
promptly took out the pilot’s seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘No,
not my saddle’, I pleaded. It was impossible to ride the MI-4 bare back without
a saddle. I then got the ground crew to take out all other things that could be
taken out, including the rear clamshell door. I defueled the helicopter to
minimum fuel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Piss
Off’, I told the Co Pilot, ‘Father’ Thomas Babu my senior (direct entry
parallel ex 36<sup>th</sup> ). Babu had been decreed a Deacon <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>by Vatican, when he was a bachelor with me in
Jorhat. His promotion to Bishop was because he very imaginatively and with
valour stuffed Hema Malini’s calendar art with cotton behind her breasts, to
make it look 3D.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘The
Lord has ordained in the Bible that I follow you to the heaven and earth’,
‘Father’ said under the impression that I was Moses who was going to part the
sea to find Jerusalem. I told him that I was only going next door to Jessami. I
did require his help to plead with God to part the clouds. He stuck quick fix
on his ass and sat down in his co-pilot’s seat like a good soldier and refused
to go away. We then went looking for the famed CO 17 Sikh with a twisted ankle
on the ruddy OP hill east of Jessami, with the Mi-4 acting like a cocktail
shaker and making Martini out of us, shaken but not stirred. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">The
CO 17 Sikh and the mountains in Nagaland were all hiding behind clouds on that
stupid rainy morning. I flew about aimlessly around 10 or 15 feet above the
trees, gorges, rocks, and villages. We landed at quite a few places to ask the
villagers, ‘Where are we ?’. The navigational aids in Nagaland were the
villagers. There were no sign boards or mile stones to look for, and my compass
had never been swung. Deviation & Variation were a thing of joy with the
girls from ‘Chura Chand Pur’. The compass usually went round and round,
eternally seeking North, or pretty girls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">To
cut a long story short, Father Babu kept praying to God and cursing me loudly,
alternating with alarming frequency. I did not hear Father Babu. But God heard
him. God then parted the clouds like the Red Sea and I found the CO 17 Sikh on
a rocky ledge, on a makeshift stretcher with about fourteen burly Sikh soldiers
in FSMO, battle order with their INSAS rifles and ammo pouches. Now who would
ever think of doing mountaineering, or rescue, in battle order other than my OG
course mate, the famed Adjutant of 17 Sikh ? Good Adjutants usually get
excited when their CO becomes ‘Humpty Dumpty’, don’t you agree? Lest you get
the wrong impression, PKSB is a very fine soldier, one of the finest. He is
like a safe deposit Davy Jones’ locker, you can hand over your heart and soul
to him and he will keep it very safe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I
am not like that. Being a Rimcolian, I was thoroughbred to do it and die. The
MI-4 was gasping and wheezing, it was way beyond its service ceiling. I could
at best carry a feather. Two feathers at that altitude would make the Mi-4 very
angry. I pleaded with the Mi-4, cajoled, tucked one wheel on a rock and hung
there over a precipice in thin air, frantically signalling the soldiers to put
their CO in quickly. I expected that the famed 17 Sikh would insert the CO
through the ass of my MI-4 and then go downhill on their own like good infantry
soldiers. But they were from the famed 17 Sikh protection party, they follow
their CO wherever he went, even if he went around the corner for a pee. Before
I could say ‘Jack Robinson’, they shoved their CO in and to the last man, all
fourteen of them in their battle order jumped into the MI-4 like the way you
board a ‘Punjab Roadways’ bus. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">The
MI-4 protested, swung violently, went out of control. Involuntarily I saw the
tail rotor swinging past a tree stump, missing couple of rocks. I had lost
rudder control.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Dive,
Dive, Dive’, I commanded the MI-4 like Captain Nemo of </span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></span><b><i><span style="background: white; color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Nautilus, </span></i></b><span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">the
famed submarine, pushing the Cyclic fully forward. The Collective was already
in my armpit and couldn’t be raised any further. The throttle was wide open but
the RPM was decaying. Father started yodelling like Kishore Kumar, calling out
to Jesus like the Bishop of Canterbury. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Fortunately
we fell like Raj Kadyan’s crap for about 400 feet before the MI-4 started to
fly again, all on its own. I swear I didn’t do anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Father
helped, by cursing me as well as God at the same time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I
was not flying. I was busy bombing the left over Raj Rif dinner, the things
that I could not discharge on the Pigs few hours earlier, because I had
scrambled on the orders of Lamb . So, while the Mi-4 went out of control, I did
it right there into my overalls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">We
landed at Jessami. That was easy. The Mi-4 always knew how to land on its own,
sometimes upside down. Besides Jessami was in the pits, at the bottom of the
valley. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">The
17 Sikh took their CO and ran away without a backward glance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I
returned to Chakabama, without wear or tear, only crap in my overalls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Father
Babu was not cursing. Instead, he was holding his nose and breathing though his
mouth, a tactic taught to us to survive NBC warfare. Even I couldn’t stand my
own smell. I couldn’t hold my nose, I was holding the Collective & Cyclic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">This
story doesn’t end here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">CO
17 Sikh complained to my CO afterwards, perhaps like a citation. ‘With utter
disregard to the gravity of the situation, this bugger shat in his flying
overall, ……….shitty fellow’. So I was told to stay put in Chakabama
permanently, like an ‘under trial’ in Tihar Jail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">After
few months, the illustrious BM of 81 Mtn Bde, Rimcolian Maj Rajan Anne and I
smuggled our newly wed wives into strictly ‘Men Only’ Nagaland, along with
Pushpa, the wife of Father Babu, and Nancy her little one. Right under the nose
of stern Gen Jacob, the Army Cdr who did not like women. It was supposed to be
a clandestine behind enemy line operation, planned and executed with great élan
and military precision by Capt Ravi Nair, the DQ’s understudy, another course
mate from Sikh Li, who insisted on speaking in Punjabi with an MC / BC inserted
between every word, except when the ladies were present. When ladies were
present he chewed his walrus moustache to keep his tongue in check, in his
cheek. Ravi was a tough burley gentleman extraordinaire, the same kind you
could hand over the heart and soul of Davy Jones, for safe keeping. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">But
the ruddy 17 Sikhs, and their famed Adjutant, soon afterwards hi-jacked the
three ladies in the Bde Cdr’s armed convoy (Rover Party) driven by Ravi, and
took them away to Jessami to participate in their raising day celebrations,
blowing our painstaking cover and concealment. I was not even invited to the
party. Father and I were told to go and fly Gen Jacob the other way, to
Tuensang and Mon, to keep him out of the way !! Jacob was only interested in
asking whether I used ‘French Leather’ or ‘Chapeau Anglais’ and hence we got
away scot free, with just authorised quota of ‘Rum and Sex’ with our own wives.
It was display of exceptional integrity in Nagaland. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">‘Lamb
calling Hawk’. Do you think this is what Chetwood the Englishman, who
didn’t wear the French Cap, meant by ‘Camaraderie’ and ‘Esprit De Corps ??<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Napoleon
may have perhaps called it, ‘L’Art De Kama-Sutra’ and worn an umbrella!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Just
one of those ordinary daily things, those days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">The
sky was way above the service ceiling of the Mi-4. Sadly I could never reach it
to stamp it with any glory. After my wife arrived in Chakabama, Chura Chand Pur
was put out of bounds. So I had to daily script interesting tales of other
indiscipline for the two Mallu ‘AF Liaison Cell’ chaps, to sneak to the C-In-C
on their HF set, and keep EAC amused. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">CYCLIC<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-55459785756146880092018-05-23T17:39:00.003+05:302018-05-23T17:46:57.333+05:30The ‘Phoenix Song’ Of Goony Bird<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SKB_BnJbbZI/WwVZfr9CI-I/AAAAAAAAEhI/Z0rFuwp1iqs1q2C6ZDxcsuCzur3KVvUsQCLcBGAs/s1600/DAK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="711" data-original-width="1024" height="222" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SKB_BnJbbZI/WwVZfr9CI-I/AAAAAAAAEhI/Z0rFuwp1iqs1q2C6ZDxcsuCzur3KVvUsQCLcBGAs/s320/DAK.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Thought I was dead in Nineteen Eighty Five,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">made into Prestige pressure cookers at Rs Thirty Five.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">But I am now reborn, back at Hindon,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It was a long journey, from grave yard
abandon,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My soul is now in a new virile body, all the
way from London.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It seems so long ago, that I crept along, in
peace and wars abound,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Through dismal rain and darkness, on ground,
all around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My ‘Spanners and Jocks’, some very young,
they were professionally sound,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">And that kept my body and soul in good state
of mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">At Srinagar, where the frozen winter nights
were long,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">They double drained the cocks, even heated
the cooler.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">When battery fumed, they manually turned my
props,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">All of it lovingly for me to jog along
apropos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">At dawn, beyond the clouds and mists of
clinging grey,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I would go, destination not well known,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">To the midst of the ‘White Mountains’, which
the world had not known.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">There daily awaited the pregnant loads, ready
to be air lifted,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Rations, live goats, ammo or rum, all to be
gifted,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">North, or North East, right into the hands of
the valiant guarding our land,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Which neither had yak, yeti, abominable
snowman, nor a dancing band.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Beyond the clouds, and mists of clinging
grey, the load had to go,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">And by jove, whether the engines quit, I did
go,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My ‘Spanners and Jockies’ of IAF, they were
the DCO type,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">They were freaking nuts, all ‘Go Go’ nuts,
with clarion call ‘Load Must Go’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">When my tapestry is unfurled,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Such memories hold my soul content.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">If now per chance I’m abruptly hurled,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Backwards in time, there shall be no lament.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Vintage ? Like hell, I am back as sound as a
bell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">By an unknown Bard<i> </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "calibri light" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p>CYCLIC </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-21573605461410222782018-04-09T21:30:00.000+05:302018-04-09T21:30:29.188+05:30ROSIE STORY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">This is a 43 Sqn story of 1973 or 74, don't remember, except that I was 23
or 24, a mighty godzila in Indian 'Far Eastern' Air Force.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Then Flt Lt Aroskar (Rozie) had to go to Mumbai on 30 days leave to get
married and bring his brand new bride back to Jorhat. He was very worried. ‘How
will a highly urban Mumbaikar girl adapt to Jorhat ? How will we get off at
Mariani Railway Station and reach Jorhat ?. Where will we stay ? Endless moral doubts
that made him want to cancel his arranged marriage and remain a bachelor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Timmy Mullapudy, the mighty gentleman Adjutant of 43, promptly
said, 'Rosie, don’t you worry, Main Hung Na ?'. So Rosie was put under
arrest and escorted to the Indian Air Lines Fokker, lest he run off and refused
to get married.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Timmy immediately delegated and empowered me to make sure that ' load
must go and fall on DZ'. I was the piddly ‘Asst Adj’, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>whose only interest was to see that I was on the
flying programme. I learnt to type when I was in NDA because only place to find
a GF in Kerala was in typing school. So no matter whom our esteemed boss Le-Le,
the Flt Cdr desired on the Talk Board, my name was always on the typed flying
programme. I was the man who typed and signed the flying programme, fudging everyone's signature.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">So Rosie went to Mumbai, got married, and even sent a telegram on rail
reservation and time of arrival at Mariani - 2100 hrs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I forced one of the married officers to go on 60 days leave, with 30
days authorised absence without leave (AWOL) to be regularised in unit routine
orders (URO), so that Rosie could have uninterrupted marital bliss for 90 days.
I even raised a 905, requisition for an Air Force transport to pick up Rosie
from Mariani like Ola/Uber, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>three weeks
in advance, and made sure that a bottle of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>rum was given to the Warrant Officer (Ola/Uber in charge) to prevent sabotage
of my war plan to pick up Rosie and his brand new wife from Mariani.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">All well laid military plans get laid. When the evening arrived, for
Rozie and his wife to arrive at Mariani, there was severe thunder showers,
which the Met office did not predict. Being worldly-wise, Timmy knew that CBs
& thunder showers also affect scheduled arrival of trains. So we went to
the bar and had a few. Filled two batlis with rum & pani and set course to Mariani
to receive Rosie and his wife, in a 5 ton world war vintage truck which would
start only when Timmy and I pushed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Mrs Rosie, the Mumbaya girl, had never seen or heard about the Far East,
definitely didn’t know where on earth was Mariani or Jorhat. I think she thought
that it was a jolly good place to begin a married life. These Mumbaikars, they
think the world begins at Colaba and ends at Thane. Mariani was 3400 km away,
and involved change of 6 trains including the bumpy Furkating to Lumding
section, where newly married are advised by railways to climb into the upper
birth and have a god time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Just as Timmy predicted the train was beset with CBs enroute and arrived
at 0200 the next day. By then Timmy and I were quite drunk. What else to do
waiting for trains that never arrived in Mariani. Like all newlywed Mumbaya
girls, Mrs Rosie jumped off the train in great enthusiasm to start a newly
married life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Mariani had power failure and no lights.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The only ones who got off were Rosies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">There were none else on the platform.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">There was a fog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Like the movie 'Bees Sal Bad', two drunk fellows, wet as Otters emerged.
By Bollywood standard both looked like rapists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Mrs Rosie ran back and locked herself in the toilet. Sadly we had
no IFF (identification friend or foe), even after the war. Luckily she was not carrying
pepper spray.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Somehow Rozie managed to activate search and rescue (SAR) and convinced
Mrs Rosie that Timmy and I were friendlies and not frontal assault types.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Timmy carried all the heavy boxes on his head, like a coolie. He was the
mighty Adjt of 43. Being Asst Adjt I got to carry only hand baggage. And Jesus
Christ, Rosie had got dowry, even a Dosa grinding stone which weighed about 250
kg </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Segoe UI Symbol",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Symbol";">😂</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Mrs Rosie set up house immediately like a good Tantia, there wasn't a
day when Timmy was not invited for dinner. I was the side kick, and had to
gate crash to claim my name and fame </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Segoe UI Symbol",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Symbol";">😂<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Segoe UI Symbol",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Symbol";">Rosie and Timmy marched
off to Valhalla some years ago. Where ever you are Mrs Rosie, you remain an unforgettable
mile stone in my life, the Mariani encounter !!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Segoe UI Symbol",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Symbol";">CYCLIC</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-65655140855576030732018-04-09T19:45:00.000+05:302018-04-09T19:45:39.695+05:30Of Ears & Years Gone By.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p><span style="background-color: white; color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">As
a mischievous kid, my dad used to box (pull) my ears three times daily. Some
times more often, like milking a cow when it is obstinate.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So
as I grew into a monstrous pre-teen, being the organ that was most exercised,
my ears grew disproportionately large, till they looked like that of an African
elephant. I could waggle it to and fro too, like the elephant. Instead of
shaking my head, I learnt to say Yes or No by waggling my ears, forward or backward.
And if I saw a pretty girl, the ears stood up !!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> Years
went by.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In
boarding at Rimc in Dun, as I grew into a Godzilla teen, my bums grew
disproportionately large, to cushion the impact, because of frequent back
rolling, a favoured punishment, to take me back into pre-teen years. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In
NDA, at the end of teen age, everything grew disproportionate, due to incessant
calisthenics and ‘ragda’ (ragging) of the worst kind, which taxed all parts of
the body and mind, except the brain. Maj Bhatia, the catering officer, gave us mounds
of delectable food to eat, but only to develop the brawn, to do and die. ‘My
sons, you bastards, eat, eat all you can’, he would say. If he had given us
food for the soul, we may have tried to reason why, during war that we ran to
fight at nineteen!! </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In
adult life afterwards, I was given grace marks, and thought to be intelligent
because of large ears. Like bald men are supposed to be sexy, those with large
ears were considered intelligent, especially with a large forehead too. My COs
also liked it when I waggled my ears once in a while, like the dog does with
its tail, display of ultimate subservience. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">During
my innings as an instructor in helicopter training school, I would fly three
instructional sorties without switching off. While the pupils strapped themselves
in, and made themselves comfortable, I would take off my bone dome (protective
helmet) and go out for a cigarette and to pee. On return, I would go around the
Alouette helicopter to check that everything was OK, especially
with the jet engine running at full speed at 33,500 rpm, a banshee scream. Day
in and day out, the years went by, and so did my ears. I lost 40% hearing !!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Years
went by again and again, at supersonic speed. After hearing my wife scream at
me for 40 years, high pitched ‘she-screams’, the ears have now retired and
quit. I can neither hear too well, nor show sycophancy, by waggling the
ears. I don’t miss the loss of hearing because of ‘ish-speaker phoone’ on
my 4 G phone, or inability to waggle wings to indicate radio failure, lack of
opportunity, because I have none to show sycophancy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘I
am loving it’, that I can choose to hear only what I want to hear. But what I
really feel sad about, lament, really pissed off, is that my ears don’t stand
when I see a pretty lady !! </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I
wish my dad was still around to milk my ears, just so that I can be a
gentleman, and a ladies man !!!!!!!!!!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">CYCLIC<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-90491621715472181872018-01-18T12:34:00.005+05:302018-01-18T12:34:59.871+05:30AF DOWN THE AGES<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;"> In 1989-90, while commanding 104 Sqn, there was great deal pressure on my
wife ‘T’ and I to organise an entertaining event for IAF day celebrations in
Bhatinda.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It
kicked off as a briefing, by then the Station Commander ‘Counta’ Sir, with
three months’ advance notice, to my cm Gahlot (then CO 17 Sqn), Gulati
then CO of an SU (3 courses senior), and Walia (then CO of the GCA Unit, who
was the indisputable darling of the Boss Counta), an appeal to his three
musketeers, to make the event memorable to a large audience / invitees from
the army, including GoC 10 Corps.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">At
that time my boys and I were extremely busy, 24 x 7, doing AST/OST including
air to ground firing at Halwara and Pokran, writing SoPs, war plan, employment
doctrine and incredible amount of paperwork including SoCs for KLP, WET, WWR,
minor and major works, ATG, and the usual things that happens in a new raising,
trying to get ourselves ‘fit for war’ quickly, very very
quickly. It seemed the war was coming, since CIA reported that Pakis were taking
out nuclear warheads out of the Kahoota tunnel.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So
I delegated the AF day entertainment by 104 to ‘T’. ‘You got controls’, I told
my wife, an executive order like the Roman Centurion, ‘Pontius Fuckusall’.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As
the days went by, Mrs Counta (lovingly referred to, behind her back, as
‘Counti’) observed that the ladies of 17 Sqn were seriously practising ‘Gidha’
(Punjabi Dance), Gulati’s group, a Gujerati Girbha / Dandia, Walia’s unit
practising this or that, but 104 ladies were doing nothing. Counti
complained to Counta, and I was admonished. That evening I gave a severe
reprimand to T.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> ‘Ayyao,
what can I do ?, T remonstrated. ‘Our ladies don’t have any new
ideas to do entertainment. I am MA in international affairs, not a bloody
nautanki’, she baulked, refused to kiss me or give me dinner. Though the ‘AF
Act’ gave me some control over the men I commanded, I had absolutely no control
over the ladies, or even my then 9 yr old son. The rascal frequently went to
race with his best friend Dhruv, son of my sweeper, on their cycles , on the
runway or taxi tracks, when Migs where lined up for take-off. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">All
of these didn’t do me any good.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As
the days went by, because everyone was doing their bit, and 104 was doing
nothing, Counta Sir rightly got the ‘heebies and the jeebies’, because all and
sundry VVIPs in 10 Corps had confirmed attendance, inter-service
camaraderie at its best. Walia had in addition taken on the catering and the
menu / bar was ready to roll. All except 104 who did nothing.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So
Counta Sir blew the bugle and marched me into his office two days before the
party, to send me to the firing squad, without an SCM.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Sir,
Shir, Shirjee’, I pleaded guilty, in the most sugary, syrupy sycophancy
that I could muster. I had to make it up to him, because a few days
earlier, during the dress rehearsal, my Sqn Doc had hijacked his flag from his
car and Counta Sir was convinced, because of my rascally reputation, that it
was I who had done it. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘The
AF day is falling on a full moon night’, I pleaded.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Can
we have the party on 31 dumbbell instead of the mess, which has no lawn and
gets everyone’s shoes dirty ?’, I requested.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Trust
me, leave everything else to me’, I pleaded (most sugary, syrupy,
sycophantic tone, like the mewing cat). I was good at pleading
like that, about 18 yrs experience of being in the dock daily !!</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Counta
Sir had no choice, so he marched me out without SCM and firing squad, but he
liked the idea of the party on the runway. After all, the runway and ORP are
the epicentre of all activity on an AF station, even nocturnal mischief.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
went back to my office in blast pen 19, a lonely agitated man.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
rang up the Col Q (late ACA Pundir, my nemesis in NDA but good friend afterwards)
in 10 Corps, with SoS for this or that.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
then called my best friend, my Flt Cdr (2 i/c) Bupi (Sablok). We
were slated to do night flying as usual that night. I asked him to invite
all ladies to visit us on top of the blast pen 19 while we did night flying.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
had 4 NCEs trained as exceptional cooks by Miss Harinder Singh, then Dir
F&B in Hyatt in Delhi. Out of air crew ration and Titar which got ingested
into the Ogives (air intake protection of the engines), they usually
produced the famous mouth-watering ‘250 kg keema bombs’, our Sqn speciality.
We had a lovely party.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Pat’,
I told Pathania, ‘Go contact the Punjab Police and see whether you can borrow a
set of police uniform, the khaki shorts, riding puttees, pagri and a 303 DP
rifle from the armoury. You are going to be a Hawaii Sepoy’.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘And
you, Rajbir, you are going to be Meher Singh, go find some loose fitting
old flying clothing, wrap a bed sheet around your head that looks similar to what he wore
during air lift to Srinagar in 1947’.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Ashu’,
I asked him to take my wife T to 17 Sqn and find her a G suit that fit her, as
also a bone dome and pressure breathing mask. I also told him that he was my
‘Subroto’, the day he took over as chief in 1954, and to dress like him.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I asked
my EO ‘Venky’ to go to the fire section and borrow the silver coloured fire
retardant protective suit with mask and be Rakesh Sharma, the space man.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Every
one of my 24 officers were asked to dress and behave like someone from AF
history, with Bhupi as master coordinator, to dress up like ACM Dilbagh.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Avnit,
Rajbir’s wife who was the smartest lady and who spoke very well, was made MC. I
wrote a brief script of IAF history for her and asked her to edit and adapt it
as she liked, and add humour. I asked for suggestions and offered to shave my
head, colour my face red, and be ACM Moolie, who was like an angry carrot all
the time when he was the chief. But unanimously my team told me to dress just
like CO 104, just as I was. I think they felt I fit the role of ‘Ravan’ like a
glove !!</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Alam
my STO was to coordinate positioning of spot lights, PA Syst, Mig-21s,
Mi-35s and SAM-IIIs, bombs, RPs, all the
arsnel in the bomb dump, right there on the dumbbell, touching distance from
the guests. He was given all the odd jobs along with the youngest, EO PO
Bhupender, who was to dress like a newly inducted airman in 65 war, chasing parachutists
at Ambala with a 'Danda'. The ladies were told to look through old albums and
dress like their grandmothers when they were young. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In
bright full moon night, about 80 offrs/wives of AF Stn Bhatinda and about 300
invitees including the Corps Cdr assembled on 31 dumbbell with sofa and chairs
laid out in a semicircle by Col Q Pundir, who also provided shamiyanas and
field toilet – food stalls, outdoor party kit including a tandoor, with
manpower, generator and subdued lighting, all under the supervision of Alam. NDA
camaraderie at its best. The party started with Gidda, Girbha, Dandia dance,
and unpalatable skits & PJs by Walia, while gentlemen hit the bar like a
frontal assault at Hajipir Pass. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My
NCEs provided the snack of the day, ‘250 kg bombs’, Titar Keema and its
equivalent of Potats for Vegetarians, tandoori stuff, mini samosas, iddali
fried, exotic snacks that Harindar had taught them in Hayatt, dressed in
spotless whites like Hyatt chefs. Liquor flowed like Ganga and Yamuna. There
was live army band, and dancing, mostly Punjabi Pop,’Tootak, Tootak,
Tootia’, favourite of Counta Sir.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And
when the clock struck nine, Avnit took over.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">104,
put up a ‘<span style="background: white;">Son et lumière’</span> of ‘AF
down the ages’, with absolutely no practice. Out of the dark came a ‘Hawai
Sepoy’ (Pat) doing a Dhawakar at Wazaristhan, followed one by one by the
venerable characters from AF history, wearing the many AF uniforms of the
past, with their wives dressed like their grandmothers, holding
hands, spot lights by Alam tracking them while they strolled about the
dumbbell, with Frank Sinatra belting out ‘Strangers in the night’, quite a
change from ’Tootak, Tootak, Tootia’.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Venky
outdid ever one else. From behind a Mi-35, which looked like a lunar vehicle in
the moon light, he came bunny hopping in slow motion, defying gravity,
like <span style="background: white;">Neil Armstrong during his moon walk,
to a thunderous ovation. </span>The show stopper was T. She marched into
the centre of the dumbbell wearing a G Suit, with the bone dome and oxygen
mask. T stopped in the centre of the circle with her hands on her hips. Avnit
announced that this is the fighter pilot of the future. T bent forward,
took off the bone dome in one swift motion, shook her long hair loose in one
flick of her head as she went back to the hands on the hip stance.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There
was thunderous applause and standing ovation from the army. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Afterwards,
Counta Sir gave me the ‘bamboo’ in his office, for stealing his flag. Though I
didn’t do it, it was my pleasure and duty to own up for crimes done by my
equally zestful rascals of 104. I was their team leader, wasn’t I ? Good thing
he didn’t order a firing squad. Otherwise I couldn’t have written this silly
story.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Counta
Brar & Counti Brar, both are jolly good fellows, so say all of us.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Cheers</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">CYCLIC</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-30499673875408253662018-01-15T13:43:00.000+05:302018-01-15T13:43:53.299+05:30THIS & THAT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Thank you, all those who wrote to me, or left comments.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">You make my day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The war story (Dragon Strikes Again), an expanded
version with much more content, is being published as a book, on the
persistent advice of many of you. So I took this story off the blog.
Shall advise when the book hits the stand hopefully within next 3 months.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The 2<sup>nd</sup> story on the blog (‘Hindustan’), about life
and times leading to the first Punjab war, 1844-1846, is also going to
the publisher to be converted into a book. That hopefully should hit the stand
by end of 2018. So that is also off the blog now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">There is a 3</span></span><sup style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">rd</sup><span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> one, about two protagonists with
completely opposite character and ideology, but with some romantic inclination
(a woman terrorist of sorts and an Army Officer, both </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">modeled</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> after real life
events and characters known to me) during the cataclysmic Marxist
revolution in Kerala in mid 50s, which brought EMS Namboothiripad and
Communist govt in Kerala. That was not put on the blog. I have yet to decide how
and when to launch that story into a book. Perhaps mid 2019. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The one I am currently working on, ‘Aapatsu Mitram’,
is a seminal work of historical research, the real life
exciting pioneering of military helicopter pilots & engineers during 1954-1965. Next
one on the agenda, is an untold interwoven real life story of five of my NDA course
mates, then of the rank of Major, in the bloodiest killing field in Sri Lanka
(early IPKF days).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The autobiography of the most inspirational Sub Maj Kanshiram,
half done, is on hold. I didn’t get an opportunity to travel to Hamirpur
/ Pune / Village Demi, to meet his widow, two sons, and a few old colleagues
from 3 Dogra, as also look into NDA archives. Besides, the story was to
have been co-authored with my best friend Brig Jasbir (in a wheel chair) who
hasn’t been keeping too well. I will try and complete that story too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">By the time I finish doing all the above, Cyclic would have </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">overshot</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> the dead line of 70, and become senile. You wouldn’t want to read Cyclic stories anymore !!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Keep smiling.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Fond regards<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cyclic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-12009100578400075382017-11-23T12:58:00.000+05:302017-11-23T12:58:10.340+05:30'Goodman Di Laltaen’ and ‘Tunde Laat Di Phauj’<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;">Since this is Punjabi folklore, fable, I should
perhaps write this in Punjabi, with seasoning, to get the flavour right.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However, Punjabi seasoning like ‘your pen’s ink’ (Teri
Pen-Di Ink) and ‘your mother’s dal’ (Todde Maa-Ki, Dal) are to be only
whispered under the breath, with stiff British upper lip, in the hallowed
portals where Gorillas congregate (the parliament). So, I shall try and tell
this ancient Indian story in civilized language. ‘Civilized’ is a very vague
word, in the ‘Crae-jee’ mumbo-jumbo of the Indian ‘Mantri-jees’, who are to be
found only in the jungles of Lutyens’ Delhi. I am told that they secretly
congregate as parliament, once in a while, usually at night, to bash each other
on the head with broken chair and microphones to govern India, all the time
muttering TPD, TMK, BC and MC in unadulterated Punjabi. Lest I be deemed less
civilised than our parliamentarians, I will try and tell it in Queen’s E, which
is India’s national language, reason why ‘April turned May’, or is it
June, asked the British to ‘Brexit’ and bugger off, to come and
re-conquer India. What a good, I am loving it like Sub-Way sandbitch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;">All inspirational Indian folklore has to have some
British and rest Punjabis in it, so does ‘</span>Goodman Di Laltaen’ and ‘Tunde Laat Di Fauj’ . <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The folklore
goes something like this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About 185 years ago, at the eastern and western ends of
India (‘Law-hore’, now in Pak Land, and the black hole of ‘Kol-Kota’, now in
Mamta Land), there lived two illustrious gentlemen, who had quite a few things
in common. Both were great warrior chiefs, who had left behind body parts in
the battle field. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;">The truth is that the eye of the former was lost due to
small pox in Gujranwala and the hand of the latter went into a wagon wheel
somewhere between </span><span style="background: white;">Crimea and Caucasus. Since I can’t tell it like it was in Punjabi, I
need to tell it like Shekhar Gupta, with man bite dog sound-bites, a few lies
here and there to make this interesting. Besides I don’t want to offend God Man
‘Baba Ram Rahim Insan’ and make him issue a fatwa from jail, because my story
lacks the sex appeal of his muse ‘Honey’, who made money. So I will start the
story again. <span style="letter-spacing: .75pt;">About 185 years ago,………….<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;">In the west, Punjab under the parliament of the
‘Punjabi Subha’ at ‘Law-hore’</span><span style="background: white;">,<span style="letter-spacing: .75pt;"> captained by Maharaja
Ranjit Singh, was a very prosperous and well governed country, because the Maha
Raja had a laissez faire Nelson’s view of governance. He didn’t promise good
governance like Modi, but flogged the tax men Gulabh Singh and his dubious
brother Dhyan for deviations in GST and De-Mon. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;">In the east, the East India Company (EIC) at Calcutta
was a very prosperous and well governed company, turned great country called
‘Yindia’, sorry India, governed by a ‘secret conclave’, captained by the
Governor General, Lord </span><span style="background: white;">Edward Law, 1st Earl of Ellenborough. He too flogged the tax
man, Lord Osborne, once in a while threatening to cut off his gonads
because EIC was bankrupt because none paid sat tax and CST, excise Duty,
countervailing duty, death tax, living tax, breathing tax and so on. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">Despite
their physical handicaps, both team captains could hit sixes at every IPL like
Gawaskar, though they never had any India-Pak matches, at least till the
super-shitter, sorry supper-hitter Maharaj Ranjit was still around. That was
because their bats were not Kashmiri Willow, but two armies made of iron men.
The Maharaj had a French deserter turned Englishman
Jean-Francois Allard as army chief, and Italian turned Teri Pen Di
Jean-Baptiste Ventura as army commander. In the east, <span style="letter-spacing: .75pt;">the pearl, sorry Earl, had a blind man turned </span></span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Field_marshal_(United_Kingdom)" title="Field marshal (United Kingdom)"><span style="background: white; color: black; text-decoration-line: none;">Field
Marshal</span></a>,<span style="background: white;"> Hugh George, 1st </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viscount_Gough" title="Viscount Gough"><span style="background: white; color: black; text-decoration-line: none;">Viscount of Gough</span></a><span style="background: white;">, as the Centurion Pontius Buggerusall, as
commander of the Indian army. This story is not about the clash of the Titans
at Mudki and Soberon in 1846, but about ‘</span>Goodman Di Laltaen. and Tunde Laat Di Phauj’. So let me
begin again. <span style="background: white; letter-spacing: .75pt;">About 185
years ago,………….<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Britain was
suffering from plague and the British, sorry ‘Britishers’, they were doing
Brexit, without Lords Peel, Macauly, or Mumbaikar Meri Lele, egging them on
like ‘ Jan to Dec’, sorry May, definitely May. Seeing the prosperity and
business opportunities offered in the region, amongst the many who did Brexit,
and ran to make a buck in India, was young teen aged entrepreneur David
Goodman. No, he was not the Guajarati who ran to Uganda at the same
time. When every British entrepreneur scurried into the rat holes in the
interiors of ‘Yindia’, sorry India, Goodman went east on an elephant till
Duliajan. There, his elephant got bogged down in slush and mud and he had
to hire several elephants to extricate his ‘Hathi Mere
Sathi’. The Hathi is a leading item number in his story with background
score by Beethoven of Madras.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Afterwards, in
the cesspool created by the trampling hip shaking elephants during item
number, Goodman noticed a crude black oily, very viscous substance, floating on
water. He syphoned out some, put it in his tea kettle and boiled it. Nothing
much happened till the kettle cooled. ‘Viola’, Teri Pen Di, the viscous
crude substance split into two parts. A less viscous waxy solid ‘oliphant’ (it
is a chemical name, not the poo of the poor elephant) and a base layer of
highly viscous tar ‘asphaltine’ (not related to Horlicks or Ovaltine). It
was an earth shaking discovery, but at that time Goodman had no idea what to do
with it. His ‘Chinese’ green tea and the ruddy kettle were ruined, but he
brought some of it back to Kol-Kota in Mamta Land in the tea kettle, and
set about wondering what to do with it, while he paid 10 Pounds as
licence fee to grow tea in 100 hectors at Duliajan, in Ahom land (erstwhile
‘Chutia’ kingdom – no this is not obscenity, but early historical name of
territory in upper Assam !!). Goodman took a while to clear the Chutia
jungles and plant Chutia tea instead of Chutia coffee. But being a
brilliant businessman, he discovered that he could make a buck making hitherto
unknown candles with the Chutia stuff in the kettle, if he threaded a wick
through its backside, without offending the puritan missionary Bishop Cotton. Immediately
he paid another 10 Pounds to East India company as licence fee to set up a
company called ‘Lamp Black’
in Duliajan and to exploit the mineral resources of the Chutia kingdom.
All this is documented history and I didn’t cook it up, I swear to God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DmXlebBUOXc/WhZ4SZMF9vI/AAAAAAAAEFE/1_9o_H2-UNQm9Yr1YMsEP3gijog5cDMaACLcBGAs/s1600/LANTERN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="351" data-original-width="351" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DmXlebBUOXc/WhZ4SZMF9vI/AAAAAAAAEFE/1_9o_H2-UNQm9Yr1YMsEP3gijog5cDMaACLcBGAs/s200/LANTERN.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Goodman’s
Candles’ from Lamp Black produced more smoke than light and got extinguished if
there was a wind. So he invented, designed and manufactured what he called
‘Goodman’s Lantern’, which sold like hot cakes on all continents on
earth, along with his ‘Goodman’s Candles’. It not only lit homes, but
also streets, ships, light houses, horse drawn carriages, and enabled cattle
class to go early morning to defecate in the fields with nary a care for
‘Swach Bharat’. ‘Goodman’s Lantern’ went where ever God said ‘let there be
light to show the heathen the way, drive the fear and darkness from their
hearts’, even in Punjab. Bishop Cotton, a shareholder of ‘Lamp Black’, preached
hell and brimstone to promote ‘Goodman’s Lantern’. Goodman became very
rich, like Ram Rahim Di Insan, almost godly, all over the Indian sub-continent.
In Punjab it was pidginised as ‘Goodman Di Laltaen’ (Goodman’s Lantern).
Lantern became the symbol of good, brave, illustrious deeds of a good man, like
the political symbol of Ra Ga Congress, ‘Sonia Ki Hath’.
Goodman Di Laltaen eventually became an adulatory adjective, an award
like Bharat Ratna, which carried rewards of jagirs, large tracts of land that
made recipients a Jagirdar, Jilladar or Tahasildar, depending on the area
of land that was bequeathed to him as ‘Goodman Di Laltaen’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That was in
Punjab. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Piche Mud, look
east now. <span style="background: white; letter-spacing: .75pt;">About 185 years
ago,………….<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a world of
sycophancy in ancient Hindustan, art of survival under a thousand years
of occupation, ‘Laat’ was a tribute paid to a great man (not to be
confused with ‘Lath’). ‘Laat’ was complimentary, but ‘Lath’ derogatory (as in
Lathon Ke Bhoot; bad people who deserved a kick). A Raja was
referred to as ‘Laat Saheb’ (big Lord), an emperor a ‘Jangi Laat’ (master of the
world). When British came to rule Hindustan, the Gov Gen was
nicknamed ‘Jangi Laat’. However, when poor <span style="background: white;">Edward Law, 1st Earl of Ellenborough, came to rule East India Company,
in Punjab he was derogatively deemed ‘</span>Tunde Laat’, the emperor with no
hands or legs, like a kebab with no NFU. If someone didn’t perform in Allard’s
army, he was ridiculed as a ‘Tunde Laat’, a handicapped soldier with no
allegiance, camaraderie or valour, a disgrace. Strangely <span style="background: white; letter-spacing: .75pt;">Ranjit Singh was also referred to
by peasants as ‘Kana Laat’ (one eyed emperor), but with great affection and
reverence. Funny people, these Punjabis, like </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222;">Paki CoAS,
Gen Qamar Javed Bajwa, who says </span><span style="background: white; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;"> ‘Balle Balle’ while
doing unspeakable things to Jangi Lath </span><em><span style="background: white; font-style: normal;">Nawaz Ki Aawaz, that he is Bilkul Sharif</span></em><span style="background: white; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;"> .
Ok back to the story. </span><span style="color: #0000cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After Ranjit
Singh died in Jun 1839, Punjabi Subha went berserk, in an internecine
political war, palace intrigues, loot of treasury and murder (like 8 Indian
non-functional PMs,<span style="background: white;"> ‘</span>Tunde Laths’
with erectile dysfunction, who came and went after Rajeev Gandhi was
assassinated). Ranjit’s last of 36 concubines, the daughter of a kennel
keeper, Jindan (Junda Kishore) and her lover Labh Singh (a Sikh
Tahasildar), rose to political power with the help of Dogra Gulabh Singh,
who coveted the biggest salt mine in the word at Khewra, as well
as, to be ‘Jangi Lath’ of Jammu & Kashmir. The Punjab army (not
Pakis mind you) stood in the way. And since they were not being paid
regularly, started an OROP like agitation. Soon they were banished to south of
Satluj as ‘Badmen Di Laltaen’, to Soberon facing the English garrison of
Firozpur, and a diversionary deep penetration strike further east at Mudki,
with the aim of blowing up the large British ammo and gun factories
at Philour. The Punjabi army was put under command of ‘Goodman Di
Laltaen’ Labh Singh, a Dogra. It precipitated the first Anglo-Sikh war in 1846.
Punjab’s mighty army that maintained peace and prosperity for 40 odd years, was
written off. Punjab surrendered and became a vassal state of the country called
Reliance, sorry East India Company. Sob, Sob.<span style="background: white; letter-spacing: .75pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;">Our </span>‘Goodman
Di Laltaen’, the modern Indian armed forces, were made ‘Tunde Laat Di Phauj’
after Pakis responded to exercise Brass-tacks, with ‘Zorbe-Moimim’, the
doctrinal ‘Act Of God’, nuclear d<span style="background: white;">étente</span>.
When Chinese come to proclaim ‘Dhoka Law’ in Chumbi Valley, all the Tunde
Laat Di Phauj could do was the ‘Lungi Up’ manoeuvre and offer Jappi,
Pappi and Chumbi. I feel very sorry, no not for the army, but our ‘Jangi
Laat’, sorry Tunde Laat, sorry Modi Laat, because of ‘Zorbe-Moimim’
which gives him finger trouble, to press N Button.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The ‘Goodman Di
Laltaen’ are quite happy doing socially useful and productive work (SUPW) holding
a broom instead of a rifle to do Swach Bharat, sweep everything under the
carpet. Or go save children in bore wells, act as National Disaster Relief
Force or build over-bridge in Mumbai. All that Tunde Laat needs to do, to
become Jangi Laat, is to teach his arthritic fore finger to do yoga, to push
the N-button, turn our N-doctrine from NFU (no first use) to ‘teri pen
di’ first use, like Kim Jong-Un. After that just watch how the Indian
armed forces turn colour to ‘Goodman Di Laltaen’ instantly from current
Tunde Laat Di Phauj . <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mr America, the
penultimate Jangi Laat, has given ‘Modi Laat’, our PM/She Em,
Jappi, Pappi and Chumbi, while he only shook hands with <span style="background: white;">Mamnoon Hussain</span> and <span style="background: white;">Xi Jinping. Their hands are dirty, while our </span>‘Modi Laat’ is a very
clean man, very huggable and kissable. <span style="background: white;">This is
the right time Modi Laat Ji, to get rid of arthritis on your fore finger.
What is the problem, let us collectively say ‘Booooooooo’, a new war cry,
and see if Pakis and </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222;">Gen Bajwa</span><span style="background: white;"> run off to Dubai with their </span>‘Zorbe-Moimim’ Ki -Pen-Di doctrine, saying
Balle Balle.<span style="background: white;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cheers to
‘Goodman Di Laltaen’ and ‘Tunde Laat Di Phauj’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">CYCLIC<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-24007780916883069402017-11-06T08:49:00.000+05:302017-11-06T08:49:12.985+05:30The Gorkha<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">This is a forward that tickled my cockles early this morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Don’t know whether it is fact or fiction, I don’t care.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">It is a heart-warming story, well told. You can hear bag pipes play while you read. Perhaps the tune is ‘</span><span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Jaya Mahakali, Ayo Gorkhali’.</span><span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Cheers to the Gorkhas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Unni Kartha<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
*The GURKHA*<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"This was sent by a cousin who was a planter all his life. First in the Darjeeling Hills and then later in the Annamalais.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
In this time of pain for all my Darjeeling family, a short story of what our forefathers have been through:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
CIRCA 1968: It would be cold for at least another hour. Then, when the Sun peered over the hill and warmed the frozen earth, the frost would thaw and begin rising off the ground like sepulchral mist. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“It will be nice to feel the sun on my back,” thought Harkadhoj Limbu, for the winter months on Sukvah Tea Estate were long and cold.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The thousand acre property, which the British sahibs used to call a Garden, looked directly across the valley at another Company property,the Pahar Tea Estate. Pahar was not as pretty or as productive as Sukvah, and it did not face the magnificent Kanchenjunga Snow Range. The disadvantage of this majestic view was the cold wind that continually came off the mighty Himalayan massif. It filtered through the flesh and chilled old arthritic bones; bones long since splintered and mangled. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Harkadhoj Limbu's body had faced more than its fair share of privation and hardship. The cold water he splashed on his face now forced him to inhale sharply. One of these days, he thought wryly, he might inhale so hard there might not be enough strength left in him to exhale. Yet, it was a routine he had followed all his life. There was a short interruption because of the war, which had kept him away from this little rivulet but that was many, many years ago. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
His wife Kanchi was alive then. So alive and so petite! His heart raced, as it always did, when he thought of her. He smiled a forlorn smile and pictured again that last time he saw her. She was radiant in the throes of early pregnancy, with little Birbhadur in her belly. A son for whom she gave her life for without medical attention in her village, she had died at childbirth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He had left the country resplendent in uniform and a salute that served as farewell. Removing his cap he had kissed Kanchi full on the lips before leaping into the military transport van filled with grinning Ghurkha soldiers bound for lands across the Kala Pani but before that they would be taken to the nearby temple first: a Priest’s blessings were essential before their Hindu beliefs allowed them to cross the Oceans and Seas that lay ahead.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
His thoughts turned to his son, Birbhadur, who grew to manhood without the benefit of a mother. What a mother Kanchi would have made! Apity she wasn’t there when Birbhadur suffered rejection at Sandhurst, for colour-blindness was unacceptable at England's prestigious Military College. But spoiled by the blinkered love of a devoted father, Birbhadur took for granted the many sacrifices Harkadhoj had made to put him through College and architectural training abroad. He finally settled down as a fully qualified architect in Nepal, never to visit or acknowledge his father again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Harkadhoj knew that his son was ashamed of him and that was fitting. He was, after all, a mere estate labourer while his son now mixed in exalted company, where Royalty and the Palace were not excluded. He still continued to enjoy his father's pension. It had been essential when he was a student but although he didn't need it anymore, it was there for the taking. After all, what wouldhis father do with all that money?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Thinking of Birbhadur made him smile again. Harkadhoj was proud of his son. It was a pity that he couldn’t have become a Ghurkha officer. How smart he would have looked in uniform, marching to a militaryband… he could still hear the strains of bagpipes, from a bygone era, playing ‘Cock Of The North’ and his thoughts strayed to distant battlefields before returning to the present.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Today the Chairman, Peter Ross, would be visiting Sukvah tea garden. Peter Ross, a retired Ghurkha officer was also the Managing Director of the company. He would have liked to meet him but that wouldn’t be possible. Old folk, past the retirement age and kept employed out of sympathy, would be tucked out of sight from any visiting dignitary. Instead they were to sickle weeds on a remote boundary bordering a tea field that had been hard pruned.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Pruning was an art. It was a job that Harkadhoj had been comfortable with in the old days. He had a natural ability with a knife. Most Ghurkha’s did but he could, with a flick of the wrist, slice through a two-inch diameter stem of tough tea wood leaving the cut clean and smooth. It was essential that it be smooth, without those visible marks made by less skilled pruners whose hacking would leave rough protrusions to serve as entry points for bacteria. Bacteria caused excessive die back on the pruned branches and sometimes even killed a hard pruned bush.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Now it hurt to even think of flicking his wrist, with or without a knife in his hand. Involuntarily flexing his arm, he remembered the shock on the face of a large German soldier when his kukri had severed the head of his bayonet charging comrade in the thick of battle. Hand to hand combat was the forte of the Ghurkhas and even now his heart raced to the cry of ‘ayo gurkhalli’ as they charged into pitched battle, their kukris held high… and then the blood, dripping down shiny steel blades.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The sun was beginning to paint the enormous mountain. Starting from the very peak, it began turning the ghostly ethereal snow into vibrantcrimson; an enormous backdrop of blood. Beautiful as it was, Harkadhoj had seen enough blood during the war years to last his lifetime. He turned away, a sickness of old gnawing at his stomach.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The Sun completed its masterpiece and then began the earnest business of warming the frozen earth. The first rays of sunshine took the chill out of Harkadhoj's body. He shivered as the clawing cold released him but each day it seemed to retain a little of his spirit. He knew that soon there would be nothing left to give.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
With the warmth, blood began circulating. Tongues loosened, and amidst the soft chatter of his companions, arms moved rhythmically wielding sickles in constantly changing arcs. Weeds cut down were left where they fell. It reminded him of the past. Everything reminded him of the past: then it was men who were mown down, to be left where they fell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The mid-afternoon sun silenced the earlier drone of bees and arrested the chirping of birds. Such was the silence that Harkadhoj could hear faint voices from a mile away. There was little doubt to whom they belonged – the put-on airs of the Manger, John Benson and the softer cultured accents of the Chairman. Something was wrong. He couldn't put a finger on it until he realised that the voices were coming closer. But the visiting dignitary should not be coming in this direction.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It was soon apparent that they were heading for this work spot. Perhaps the Chairman had insisted on following his instincts rather thanbeing guided by John Benson. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"Very sensible", thought Harkadhoj, "if that is the case."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
But this was not so. Benson, overly keen to impress the Chairman, had got so carried away with boasting about his achievements, that he had taken the wrong path through the Tea bushes and was soon at the last place he would have wanted to visit with his Chairman.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The work here was never up to standard. The old folk were no longer capable of whetting their implements to the required degree of sharpnessand to bend that low, to cut grass and weed just above ground level, was impossible. It was already too late when John Benson realised his predicament and he had nobody to blame but himself. His recourse predictably was to express astonishment and then rage at the poor quality of work.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"Yo ekdam naramro kaam ho!" He thundered. "Belight ma ... " Continuing in chaste Ghurkhali with a British ‘Lord Haw-Haw’ accent he said, "In England such work would be unacceptable. It is a pity that none of you have been to England. Little wonder then that India is in this sad state!"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Carried away by his eloquence, Benson thundered on, "You people have not seen good work. You never will see good work because you have never been to England!" The haranguing continued for some time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
His glasses glinted and his moustache bristled as fiercely as the noonday sun. Surreptitiously glancing at the Chairman to see what impact he had made, he glared defiantly at the workers. Dropping his sickle Harkadhoj straightened, bringing his weary mutilated body to attention. Barefoot, in old torn khaki shorts and a shirt full of patches, he took a deep painful breath and addressed himself to Peter Ross, ignoring Benson. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Benson's face was suffused with blood. His whiskers drooped a fraction and his outrage was manifest. How dare the natives usurp centre stage like this!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Chuup gar, you damned impertinent savage!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"I have been to England." Harkadhoj stated. His dead pan voice cut through the hushed assembly as he continued. "I have been to parts of England that you have never been to, or will ever be allowed into!" <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"Which parts of England are you referring to?" Asked Peter Ross. His voice was gentle and there was a hint of mirth that indicated he wasprepared to enjoy what was to follow. Peter Ross knew the Gurkhas. He knew them well, for through the war he had served with Ghurkha Regiments as had his father before him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"I have been to Buckingham Palace,” said Harkadhoj, sticking his chest out even further as he stood to attention.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Benson was about to splutter about the absurdity of that statement. A mere common labourer on a Tea Plantation – at Buckingham Palace indeed! The Chairman waved Benson into silence to ask:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“What were you doing at Buckingham Palace?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"I was the Queen's personal Bodyguard for two years."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This spoke volumes for the man since the Bodyguards were normally changed annually. To have been retained an extra year must have significance. Ross was immediately curious.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"Which Regiment were you with?" He asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"I was with the Seventh Ghurkha Rifles."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"You were in Tobruk, El Alamein and Monte Casino?" Peter Ross was now fully engrossed and concentrating hard on the features of Harkadhoj.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"Hazoor! Yes Sahib," confirmed Harkadhoj.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Were you decorated?" <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Almost everyone Ross knew, who emerged alive from that arena, had received some award.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"I initially got the Military Cross. After a few months I was informed that a Bar had also been added. After the War I received the 'Nepal Tara' or 'Star Of Nepal' from King Mahindra." <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Then reluctantly, almost ashamedly, looking at the ground he whispered:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"I was cited for the Victoria Cross."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The silence became electric.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
That night Harkadhoj was the Chief guest at the party held in honour of the Chairman. Peter Ross had especially asked that Harkadhoj bepresent and that I, who was the junior most Assistant Manager in the Company, see to it that Harkadhoj present himself in full Military regalia. This had been difficult. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I put his un-ironed trousers under the mattress to be pressed. The coat had to be darned in a few places. The Military Cross, the 1939-45 Star, the Italy Star and the War Medal, along with some attendant Oak Leafs, which signified dual awards, had to be affixed to a piece of cardboard placed under the shirt. This was done to keep the weight of the metal from tugging the fabric askew and thatwouldn't have done at all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The Star Of Nepal was attached to a blue ribbon left over from a Christmas present wrapping, and put around Harkadhoj's neck. Shoes? Well he couldn't fit into my size twelve’s with his five and a half size feet but a khaki pair of sneakers, belonging to my butler, served the purpose.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"Harkadhoj, what was the citation for?" Asked the Chairman.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"Near El Alamein, a German Panzer division surprised us at dawn. They came over a low hill and we were caught stranded in the middle of the desert. Many of us were killed instantly. Most were able to flee to nearby dunes and escape. One British Officer was caught in the middle. He was alive but a bullet in the spine had paralysed him. I was close by and managed to drag him to safety."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"My God! So it was you. I was there but frozen with shock. That was my cousin you saved. He has spoken about you ever since. Struth! But you were riddled with bullets. I saw the dust come off your shirt. You shielded Andrew with your body. He owes you his life!"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"Sahib, it was he who helped put my son through College in England. He has done enough for me."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This was obviously not enough for Peter Ross. But Harkadhoj refused any monetary help and a saddened Chairman went back to England stilldetermined to do something for this gallant soldier.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Six months later the Victoria Cross was awarded to Harkadhoj Limbu for Bravery Above And Beyond The Call Of Duty. It was posthumous. Harkadhoj had died a week before the award was made. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I think he would have preferred it that way.. "</div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-71393149837240995122017-08-21T17:43:00.004+05:302017-08-21T17:43:56.942+05:30MATHS RAM<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Maths
was my waterloo, which prevented me from becoming Napoleon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">My
father PEG was Ramanujam, the decimal man. While he was not administering
Karachi, when I was yet to line up as an embryo in his scrotum, he spent all
his time writing maths books, ‘Teach Yourself Maths’ series, five volumes,
which became the first Maths Ram text books in Independent India as well as
well as Pak. Unfortunately, when my turn came to line up as an embryo
post-independence, my father did not pass any of his DNA to me, reason why I
was Musth Ram and not Maths Ram. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">At
‘Amba-La-Puzha’ where I was born and grew up, when I was rearing to go and be the goal keeper in the local junior communist
football league match (with a tennis ball) on Sunday mornings, my father would snigger, ‘Come, let us prove zero is
not equal to zero’; which was his
funniest joke. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">As
I grew up, under the shadow of the
comely Marxist terrorist Miss <span style="background: white;">Kunnikkal <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-style: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Ajitha, nurtured and
tutored </span></em></span> by the Rasputin EMS Bumboo-Thiri-Pad, I became
allergic to many people besides my father; <span style="background: white;">Pythagoras, Calculus and Arithmatix in particular -
all of them considered to be anti-people, all Maths Rams. Sadly, my father
deposed my Napoleonic ambitions and sent me to
St Elba (Rimc), where I was fed scotch
eggs, like slow lead poisoning of Napoleon, to kill the commie worms in my
tummy and turn me from vermin to soldier, still with a grudge towards </span>my father, <span style="background: white;">Pythagoras, Calculus and Arithmatix, the Maths Rams of my life. I didn’t
have to worry about Mathematrix or curvaceously comely Cos Theta, just the silly 1/ 60 rule of
navigation, till I decided to become a test pilot at the age of 32.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">In the outback of Bidar, where I was posted as a flying
instructor, salvation was in Papnash and Nanak Jeera. Life became difficult on
a salary of around Rs 850, especially when
my tiny son started eating like ‘Bhima’, one tin of
baby food in two days. It made me bankrupt. After a combined visit to Papnash and Nanak Jeera, I got salvation,
enlightenment. ‘Do A2 and go to Iraq, Saddam will take care of you’, the Gods whispered in my ears. So I dusted
the old copies of IAP 124, FIS précis, and the ‘Naval Aviator’s Ki Voh’, but got
stumped by illustrious finger master Punia Sir who took the viva, mother of all
A2 tests. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">He asked, ‘Why are golf
balls dimpled’ ? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘I have no clue’, I
told him seriously. ‘I don’t play golf, only football with a tennis ball’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">He gave me another
chance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Why do bowlers vigorously rub one side, same side of the
cricket ball, on their crotch, before they bowl ?’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Perhaps they have a Dhobi’s itch ?’, I suggested with wit and a QFI’s ‘fault
finding’ wisdom, hopping to be sent to Iraq. I was going to add ‘Elementary Dr
Watson’, but didn’t, because of Saddam’s wet dreams were not supposed to have
humour in it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Punia told me to go learn Kutta’s theorem and Magnus effect,
the things that happen in boundary layer.
He told me to go befriend Maths Ram Mathematrix, whom I had avoided even in
FIS. In any case, the Gods in Papnash
and Nananjeera had given same
enlightenment to every man and beast in Training Command, starting from the
C-in-C to the AF police at the railway gate in Bidar which doubled as the
quarter guard. The same Saddam wet dreams. The queue was very long, from Trg
Cmd to AEB in Hindon. I realised that by
the time my turn came, my son would have grown a moustache between his legs
despite my bankruptcy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">So I went again to Papnash and Nanank jeera, bribed Lord Shiva with go-go
nuts, put 50 Naya Paisa into Jeera Hundi, and sought further advice. Despite
many appeals, the Gods were silent. Apply, apply no reply. Several days later, it was the ghost of Kutub
Shahi Sultan </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Qasim Barid</span><span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> who gave me good advice.
‘Go become a TP, you will get Rs 400 per
month, a 50% pay hike’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">So it was that I turned up in ASTE begging to be made a TP.
They promptly handed me two question papers, and gave me an hour to answer
each. The first was about flying and aeronautics, not difficult for a QFI with
Saddam dreams. But the second one was pure Maths Ram, with Pythagoras,
Trignometrix, Calculus, ‘Tadka Marke, with Khatta Nimbu and no salt’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I could hear my late father’s ghost snigger, ‘come, let us
prove zero is not equal to zero’.
I scored zero, because the only thing
I wrote on the answer sheet, my
service number, it wasn’t even a prime number. ‘Go learn Maths and come
back again’, venerable W/C (Later Air
MShl) Philip Sir counselled. He was even kind to take me to the library, and
loan me about 25 volumes of Abbot’s
‘Teach Yourself Maths Ram’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">While lugging 50 kg of Maths Ram, I missed my father for the
first time. He had facilitated seedlings of independent India with only 5
volumes of his Maths Ram, and here I was lugging 25 volumes of Abbot Ki Voh. My
Dad’s ghost was nowhere around to consult with, and Kutub Shahi was allergic to
the curvaceous Cos Theta.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">My wife helped teach me count backwards and forwards using
Naya Paisa instead of abacus. She went on to teach me multiplication tables
too, ‘Do
Bata Do, Panch’. Soon she became PhD and I remained King of Zero. It
took me about 6 months to become a Maths Ram, befriend Pythagoras, Calculus and
Arithmatix and Mathematrix, even the
curvaceous Cos Theta. Yes, I also converted my service number to a prime
number. To cut a long story short, I passed the Maths Ram test, by the
skin on my teeth. Immediately Philip
Sir told me to go learn French, which
was worse than Maths Ram. Learnt that too, in Alliance Francaise B’lore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">And that is how I became an ETP from EPNER in France, a Maths
Ram using the same logic of ‘Bolivian Algebra’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-90951210032274951722017-08-19T21:22:00.000+05:302017-08-19T21:23:28.248+05:30Eject, Eject …………….<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">After 8 yrs service, flying Daks
and Mi4s, about 2400 hrs as 1</span><sup style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">st</sup><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> pilot, around 3800 hrs on the bottom
line, I was sent to FIS to turn from pupa to butterfly, to become a QFI. I went
to Tambaram, thinking I was a super stud with a smoking gun. Within a week the
establishment used dry ice, deep froze and turned me into a worm with no
self-esteem, perhaps the first step towards beginning of any new learning
process, without an attitude. I had no problems re-learning the incredible art
of flying the HT-2, and was very comfortable with it unlike my counterpart
fighter jocks who had palpitations while flying them. But the HJT Kiran
was something new for me and required much heaving and hoving on my part, nerve
wracking palpitations and deep breathing, which could be heard loud and
clear on the intercom, and all the way to Air HQ even without intercom.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Each HJT those days
had its own handling characterises and none behaved in the same disciplined
manner. Indiscipline was rampant even amongst aircraft. I felt acutely
claustrophobic in the air tight cockpit and was frightened of
sitting on an ejection seat, since I was not used to such a contraption
earlier. I kept thinking, <i>what if the ejection seat fired on its own</i>
?’ !!! Perhaps it was a common phobia with all non-fighter jocks those
days. I confess that I did contemplate not taking the ruddy safety pins out,
but the conscientious ground crew were very zestful and would not close
the canopy till they had counted the pins in my hand and made sure that I
put them in my pocket before they closed the hatch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Because of the exceptional
teaching skill of late Sengupta Sir, an A2 instructor awaiting Iraq
tenure, I was cleared 1<sup>st</sup> & 2<sup>nd</sup>
solo on schedule on HT2 & HJT without a glitch. Sengupta was a
silent instructor, he was a man of few words and didn’t offer to teach
me, ‘I will show you how’ type of pitter-patter !! He believed that given a
chance I would learn on my own. I did have a major problem learning to do
barrel rolls, which usually started as a wing over, turned to a loop, and ended
in a spin. I learnt this manoeuvre finally from venerable Gals (Sr) Sir,
who got arthritis and diver’s bends trying to show me how to barrel using
his hands. We didn’t have model a/c with a danda up its chuff those days
in FIS and the articulation of the elbows had a limit for teaching
aerobatics like a barrel roll !! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Then disaster struck. I was
programmed the next day for a solo sortie on HJT, with a 75 kg kit bag dead
weight on the other seat, a 45’ sortie profile involving solo 3 turn spin &
aerobatics on tow line Gudwancheri, return, do an over shoot and land
back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Our daily routine in
FIS was met briefing and a 45 mts quiz test of emergencies by then Flt Cdr,
venerable Chilly Rao Sir starting at 0445, mainly to emphasise that one’s
silly cheap Casio digital aircrew watch, that couldn’t and wouldn’t keep time
with Big Ben, was the only instrument worth monitoring in the cockpit.
I think Chilly Sir had too many Bingo warning lights in his life
except at the bar where he did ample mid-air refuelling !! The briefing was
usually followed by flying till lunch time and classes on aeronautic subjects
in the post lunch session till 1730 hrs. Some evenings, night flying too,
after day flying and classes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Most of us married types lived in
a then nameless, address-less, horrible colony, two rooms with an
‘Indian Commodore’ to bomb poo in haunching posture, near what is
now Chinmaya Colony, a 45 mts drive from FIS on my ‘Hamara Bajaj’. My wife had
aborted take-offs three times in a married life of less than two years because
of my smoking gun, bumpy roads and Hamara Bajaj. Because she was pregnant again
(smoking gun) she was advised bed rest during the fourth time, when we reported
to FIS. So it was my job to cook, clean, sew, knit, whatever……..while doing
pitter-patter’ nonstop. My wife helped, knew it by heart while I didn’t,
and would often comment, ’Ayyo, so stupid idiot, during stall you are
supposed to say, feel the aircraft juddering’, while I was juddering trying to
sweep swap under the bed at 0300 hrs before met briefing and ‘Kaun Banega
Murga’ quiz contest by Chilly Sir with greater aplomb than Big B
!!! Evenings, my incredibly hungry nephews or thirsty bachelor
course mates would drop in and I had to cook Beef Biriyani and act like
‘Uncle’ the barman in Poona, pour myself as much or more than my guests. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I just didn’t have time to learn
‘pitter or patter’, or learn any lesson from the most interesting and enjoyable
lectures of Wg Cdr Rao Sir, the Nav instructor who had mischievous intensions
to make us QNIs and not QFIs. CO FIS Ubgade Sir, unsuccessfully tried to
teach us precession of gyroscopes, holding a pointer above his head and
rotating his hips like Hellen doing ‘Mera Nam Chi Chinn Chu’. But our gyros
were rigid and refused to precess or process Kutta’s theorem and Magnus effect
from Naval Aviator’s ‘Ki Pen Di Who’, the Bible fished out and smuggled from
test pilot’s school in <span style="background: white;">Patuxent River</span>. We
generally slept in class because afternoons were siesta time in RIAF. The
strategic location to sleep in class, learnt in NDA, was the front row;
right under the instructor’s nose. The only persons who didn’t sleep in
class was my cm NV Tyagi, and the youngest in the batch, Raha. Both used
precession and rigidity to navigate and climb to flight levels DCAS/CAS; rest
of us either killed ourselves or retired due to lack of any knowledge, to
learn or to teach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Just joking !!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> It was a rainy day when
I was programmed for 3<sup>rd</sup> solo and took a while for
the weather to clear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">So I signed the F-700, walked
to the HJT emulating a fighter pilot’s zestful gait during a scramble,
kicked the tyres, peeped into the poo hole jet pipe, noted the number of
asymmetric saw tooth vortex generators on and under the wing (very sharp to touch
or fondle), jumped into the cockpit, buckled up, hesitantly took
out the pins to show off to the ground crew that I had courage to
sit on the hot seat. They closed the hatch and incarcerated me in the
HJT, no escape. So I pressed the tit, released brakes, fondled the ‘Dooshang’,
and was ready to go, looking for tryst with my destiny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> I lined up on the dumbbell,
arrow straight, held the Kiran on brakes, opened full throttle. I checked
my watch to see if it was still working, just as Chilly Sir had told me
to, and let go the brakes. The HJT rolled down the centre line without my
intervention. I only looked at my watch and not the ASI, as Chilly Sir had
advised during ‘Kaun Banega Murga’ quiz contest, without ‘phone a friend’
option.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I was just getting ready to pull
back and unstick when I got ‘Hicum Fookum’, sudden vertical rush of poo,
from butt to brain . The A/C was on fire. Smoke was billowing out
of the air conditioning ducts below the instrument panel. I was
just about to pull the ejection handle when I remembered that HJT didn’t have
ground level ejection. So I unstuck and climbed like a bat out of hell. In my
panic, I also forgot to give a mayday call, but did remember to
raise the undercarriage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I hauled on the straps, looked at
my watch, straightened my spine, sat erect, reached for the ejection handle
between my legs and pulled. Sadly it was not the ejection handle that I
was holding and violently pulled, but my precious gonads. I screamed. The
trachea and e<em><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-style: normal;">ustachian tube choked the juggler and the
upward flow of poo, hicum fookum stopped. The HJT kept climbing without
any intervention from me.</span></em><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> When hicum fookum stopped,
my wits returned, I began to look around and not get overwhelmed by the cheap
Casio digital air crew watch. All cockpit instruments appeared normal and there
were no warning lights blinking at me. Strangely the smoke coming out of
the air conditioning duct had no smoky smell. When I crossed 5 or 6
thousand feet, smoke stopped coming out from the ducts. The smoke
was just condensation, I remembered that it was a wet, rainy and humid day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> I then went and did
whatever I was to do over Goodwancheri and landed back without any
fuss. Became a QFI without much ado. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> On a recent Indigo
flight from Hyd to Mumbai, after take-off, the passenger sitting next to
me, started shouting ‘fire, fire, fire’. Smoke was seen coming out of the
air conditioning duct behind the overhead baggage compartments. He had hicum
fookum. So I told him to eject, by grabbing and tugging his gonads. His
trachea and e<em><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-style: normal;">ustachian tube choked the juggler and the
upward flow of poo, hicum fookum stopped. But it gave him erectile
dysfunction like me. No more smoking guns.</span></em><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<em><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;"> Be
careful, look what you are holding, before you pull the ejection handle between
the legs !!!</span></em><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-29377297546299464362017-06-04T08:50:00.001+05:302017-06-04T08:50:12.243+05:30 ‘Unniz Turning Beez’<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">During
the hyper stage of ex ‘Brass-Tacks’ (BT) in 1986, when war seemed imminent, 104 (an Anti-Tank
Guided Missile Unit - ATGM) was deployed near No 6 (Independent) Armour Brigade, on
featureless sandy terrain south of Suratgarh (no helipad, just bloody sand). We
were completely dependent on the Brigade HQ to give us water, food, cooking
utensils, fire wood, tambu, bucket, dry sanitation WC, aviation fuel,
SS-11 missiles, batmen, field protection, candles, mugs, plate, fork
& spoon, vehicles, communication land line with field telephone, bunkers
with Charpoy, field camouflage netting, picks and shovels to dig trenches,
………..whatever, long list, for around 22 AF officers and 70 air men; essentials
required to live in the dessert to fight another day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">You see, the AF operates
on a ‘Mother Syndrome’ with air bases acting as Mother. One just has to fly
from base to base, go to Mummy (the Chief Operations Officer or Chief Adm
Ofiicer) and tell him, ‘Ma…., I am hungry’. They take care of you. But
104 was kicked out of air bases and told to go fight with the army. Army has
‘Step Father Syndrome’, no mother to report to. In 104, we had never heard of
WET (war equipment table) the big list, that enables all army units to Platoon
level, to live in a ditch in Timbuktu and run overnight to fight in <em><span style="background: white; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-style: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Burkina Faso, without Mummy, just WET. </span></em> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">We
did go to 6(I) Armd Bde HQ and beg the venerable Commander, ‘Ma…, I am hungry’.
But he acted like Father without Mother. Told us to stay far away from him,
lest we steal his prized dry sanitation porcelain WC with pig attached. The
tragedy was that the army, though kind and helpful, had none of their WET to
spare, they had themselves got into the battle mode, constantly on
the move. So we had to beg borrow and steal, live off the land, often capturing
tiny desert hamlets vacated by villagers who had panicked fearing war and had
run away. 6(I) Armd Bde also had this nasty habit of daily running away
from us, without any notice, into new highly camouflaged dugouts, miles away
from the previous one, leaving us like headless chicken. So every morning
we had to first fly a reconnaissance mission to find 6(I) hiding under
camouflaged nets to beg them for WET and also what they wanted us do in war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘I
am busy, go play with Col GS’, the Cdr 6(I) would counsel like a benevolent
father without mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">When
Col GS was approached, he would counsel, ‘Oh go play outside, do whatever you
want’, like mother preparing for coitus with father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">So
we made war on our own, along the IB, converting the young boys into 2, 3, and
4 helicopter ‘combat leaders’ to lead attack formations, mostly at 25 feet. 25
feet was important. That was to keep ourselves below the enemy radar, the
sneaky Air Defence type, and approach radar buggers, under camouflaged nets at
Suratgarh. They had a nasty habit of daily reporting to Air-I and C-in-C Western
Air Command in Delhi that 104 was uncontrolled nasty cavaliers ruining the ‘Air
Space Management’ in TBA. At 25’ we were phantoms of the sky, none knew
where we were or what we did. Great fun pretending to shoot Indian army tanks
and hay stacks where ever we could find one, with dud missiles that had no
batteries. We didn’t see any Pakis about, and hence couldn’t scare them
with the dud missiles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">This
story is really not about BT. It is about ‘Unniz Turning Beez’. So
here we go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">On
a freaking hot day during BT, while the Pak and Indian armies were doing sensible
siesta under camouflaged netting, I volunteered to ferry an ATGM Chetak,
whose rotor had got damaged by a stone, back to Sarsawa (Saharanpur) and bring
back another one, by evening. The CO W/C JK Kaushik asked me
to take along a troublesome younger Rimcolian YS, a year junior to me,
whose ambition was to be an investment banker, not a pilot, though he wore a
wing and claimed flying bounty. ‘Only you can sort him out’, the CO told
me, ‘make him fly’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">So
I dragged YS by his elbow to the helicopter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Do
you want to fly ?, I asked YS when we were strapped up in the cockpit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘He,
he, he, he, he’ YS neighed like a horse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘What
does that mean, he he he he ?’ I asked raising my eyebrows in consternation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘It
means No’, pat came the reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Two
Rimcolians should never be allowed to fly together. I could not even bullshit
YS, due to Rimcolian camaraderie. Just had to lump it, hoping I could
learn from him the art of investment banking and ‘Das Ka Bis, or at least
convert me from ‘Unniz to Beez’, like my Fox Sqn senior, venerable ‘Ekkis’ who
turned to ‘Bayees’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">So
while YS sat reading a three months old ‘Financial Times’ (analysing share
prices), I climbed up to 8000’, tuned the radio compass to Sarsawa
and made the 162 nautical miles long uneventful trip without navigating, though
the Chetak was behaving like a cocktail shaker making martini out of me. I
collected the replacement Chetak immediately but YS went home to do
‘de-sludging’, pumping out the bilge, which took all afternoon. He returned with a smug very </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">satisfied</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> look, about 1’ 50” before sunset, with a bundle of 2 month’s backlog of
Financial Times and investment guide under his arm, material to destroy
Paki economy in case we lost the war. There was barely enough time to get back
to the featureless sandy terrain south of Suratgarh with no helipad, just
bloody sand, before the sun set. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Do
you want to fly ?, I asked YS again, when we were strapped up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘He
he he he he’, YS neighed like a horse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
didn’t ask what that meant. He had already told me earlier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Look
YS’, I told him. ‘While coming, it was easy to find Sarsawa. But now we
have to go back and find the Op Location, the ruddy featureless sandy terrain
south of Suratgarh with no helipad, just bloody sand, before the sun set. We
have just this stupid B2 golf ball sized compass and it is going round and
round seeking north, due to your magnetic personality. Please help me to
navigate 162 nautical miles using eye ball Mark-1 and this moving thumb
display’, I lamented, waggling my thumb.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘OK,
give me your map, I will do map reading’, he said with churlish Rimcolian
camaraderie. So I gave him my map, the 1935 edition standard Lambert’s
Polygonic, 1: one million, where earth is just a dot in the solar
system. I got busy getting airborne and making a bee line for the ruddy
Op Location, the featureless sandy terrain south of Suratgarh with no helipad,
just bloody sand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Beware,
Sirsa, Suratgarh and Bhatinda are active. Low level fighter flying’,
Sarsawa Air Traffic Control whispered in my ear like Nostradamus, and the radio
went dead perhaps because it was shocked by </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 18.6667px;">Nostradamus</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> . I should have turned around and gone back to Sarsawa, but I didn’t.
I knew that if we turned back, YS will go back home and by the time he
finished de-sludging again and again, and finished analysing two month’s back
log of share prices, the war would be over. So I just said ‘f*** it’, descended
to 25’ feet above ground, where neither crows nor fighters dare to fly. I set course for
the microscopic 'dead reckoning' point on the million map, that was our Op Location,
the ruddy featureless sandy terrain south of Suratgarh with no helipad, just
bloody sand, before the sun set, with YS doing map reading.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
cut across the control zones of both Sirsa and S’Garh, with no radio contact,
and only occasional ‘whisper contact’ with God. But even God was silent when
I whispered into his ear, like my wife when she had PMS and I had to
resort to ‘Apna Hath Jaganath’, the moving thumb type. I had to go 162 nautical
miles, at 90 knots, at 25 feet above ground, the setting sun shining right into
my eyes, a flying time of about 1’ 50”, with 2’30” of fuel before the
fuel warning light came on, explicitly demanding that I force land.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
knew that at 25 feet, at full pelt 90 kts, the orographic wind was not likely
to take me off course. But the air driven gyro Direction Indicator (DI) was
definitely going to lead my illustrious career astray, especially if I didn’t
synchronise it with the B2 compass every few minutes. Since the B-2 was still
going around seeking north, I neither had the DI nor the B2 golf ball to steer.
I only had YS to save me, turn me from ‘Unniz To Beez’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Are
we on track ?’, I would ask YS every few minutes out of anxiety.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Yes
Boos, Tickety Boo’, YS would respond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
was very happy that I didn’t have to do mental maths, 1/60 rule to figure
out drift + closing angle to get back on track. As we progressed, we
buzzed trees and villages , and ducked under 33 & 66 kVA HT cables just
close to the pylons, and didn’t bump into any crows or fighters. Soon, in the
setting sun, the green countryside turned brown and then yellow as we approached
the deserts. Sand dunes started popping up and we pooped up with it . Went down
when the dunes were not popping out like Champaign corks – a tactic called ‘nap
of the earth flying’. I was hoping that all this excitement will enthuse YS to
start flying and also help convert me from ‘Unniz to Beez’ in the share market. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">We
flew along merrily for 1 hour and 50 minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
began to look for our Op Location. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
didn’t find Father Brig, Mother Col GS or my venerable CO 104 waving out
to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">There
was no sign of life, just sand dunes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Where
are we ?’ I asked YS with mounting trepidation. ‘Where the f*** are we ?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Tickety
Boo Boss’, YS answered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">That
is when I noticed that YS was holding Lambert upside down, facing north when we
were heading south. YS had no cue of map reading or moving thumb.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Jesus
Christ’, I screamed. ‘YS you bugger, where the f*** are we ?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Don’t
shout at me’, YS ordered. He promptly threw the map into my lap. He put on his
reading glass and took out his share-market score card.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
pulled up, a better manoeuvre than to pile up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">It
is difficult to fly at 25’ and do moving thumb display, especially when one is
lost and don’t know where to poke the thumb into Lambert.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
called up Suratgarh hoping to get a homing or bearing, but the radio was
silent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
back tracked looking for something, it
didn’t matter what. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">There
was nothing to see except desert and a few Kikar trees here and there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
flew around in expanding circles hoping to see something, anything other
than the dessert and Kikar trees that will get me find my destination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
began to sweat profusely out of nervous tension. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
began to recite Hanuman Chalis, but immediately realised that Hanuman can’t
hear me without the radio. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
tried to remember desert survival lessons; water, food and shelter. We
had none of these things on board. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
looked at the fuel gauge since looking at anything else was quite useless, I
was absolutely lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">We
had about 20” fuel left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The
sun was about to set.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Then
I saw goats, a whole bunch of them and a single ‘Lambadi’ with a long stick
herding them. Hanuman must have heard my Chalis, or Unnis, sent goats to guide
me to Valhalla.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Immediately
I descended and landed next to the Lambadi, kept the rotors running and told YS
to hold on to the controls while I went to enquire from the Lambadi ‘where the
f*** were we’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The
goats, a barking dog and the Lambadi started to run away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
ran like Usain Bolt right after them and did a baseball tackle. The Lambadi
started bashing my bone dome with his long stick thinking I was a Martian with
the visor down over the Oxygen mask. The barking dog turned to a biting dog.
I took off the bone dome to look human, and wrenched the stick from the
Lambadi, gave the dog a whack and a kick. It started yelping, making the sheep
mad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
let fly a few Punjabi epithets, just to sound human, making it sound like upper
crust Mewari cum Marwari (‘Todde Ma Ki Dal’ /’Teri Pen De Ink’). That
helped convince the Lombard that I wasn’t Martian. Punjabi epithets help calm
barking dogs and the sheep too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Hukkum,
Hukkum’, the Lambadi kept repeating senselessly, not understanding a word of
any language I tried including ‘Punjab Ki Voh’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">So
I gave up and returned to the helicopter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">When
I strapped up again, I noticed the tiny little white lamb, amongst the bunch of black
sheep. The bugger had high level of ‘Officer Like Qualities’ and was leading
the pack. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
sat there for a while, looking at the direction they were going. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
picked up the helicopter and followed them, over taking them after a few
minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The
sun set and the afterglow began to fade. Within minutes the desert became pitch
dark. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Then
in the distance I saw petro-max lamps, several of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">It
was my Sqn deployed in a wady, adjacent to a hamlet with a well, from where the
sheep had come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">When
I landed, I didn’t have to switch off, the engine conked out on its own because
the fuel had finished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">That
night I made YS a ‘Char Sau Bis’ and made him sign for everyone’s drink, though
he didn’t drink any. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">He didn’t share his trade secrets, from share market, to make me Unniz Ka Beez, I remained Unnis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
don’t chant Hanuman’s Chalis anymore, the radio has quit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">So
I chant ‘Ba Ba Black Sheep, Can You Show Me The Way’ !!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
am still ‘Unnis’ and have not become ‘Beez’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">CYCLIC<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-78485055545059620362017-02-20T15:28:00.005+05:302017-02-20T15:30:19.048+05:30My ‘Spider Man’ - Mohammad Ali<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">On the first day I
reported to 43 Sqn, 46 years ago, everyone at Jorhat had ‘passed out’. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Bhang, victory in war
and Holi when combined, does that to everyone, they march off to Valhalla. I
was then just 20 yrs old.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">A young boy, perhaps
around 15 or 16, came silently, picked up my steel trunk and hold all bag, put
them on his head, and took them to a barely furnished TRS room with a toilet,
which then became my ‘home’ for next five years. The young boy was a refugee from
East Pak. ‘Ami Mohammad Ali’, he said grabbing my hand and shaking it
vigorously. He couldn’t speak a word of any language which I understood and
looked like an undernourished monkey in torn and tattered unwashed clothes. He
spread my ‘hold all’ on the nawar cot, took out the extra bed sheet and
pillow, and moved in with me, under my bed. He then took over my life.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Ali had no relatives
and nowhere to go. Very quickly he put on weight, grew as tall as I, and
took possession of everything I owned; my clothes, razor and after shave,
flying overalls, Ray Ban, Akai Music System and took to wearing my formal mess
dress, the ‘the white patrols’ with a side cap. ‘It has become small for
you, go make another one’ he ordered. Very quickly Ali learnt not only Hindi
and a bit of English, but also to sign extra messing chits for himself
copying my signature, write dhobi list for both of our clothes, polish his shoes
better than mine, fix our uniforms (my white patrols which wore with élan),
clean our room and even demanded 15% of my Rs 330 salary as my 24x7 living-in
soul mate; my exclusive ‘Spider Man’. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">As bound to happen
between comrades, he started keeping a tab on my GFs too. ‘Mem ya Phaltu ?’, he
would enquire, and got pissed off if I ticked him off or told him to mind his
own business, go and sleep under someone else’s bed. Everything
concerning me was his only business. If I was happy he was happy, and sad when
I was sad. When I went outstation, or on detachment, Ali would wear my flying overalls
and surreptitiously board my aircraft. ‘Someone has to take care of Saheb, even
in the air’, he would say if any one questioned. I was not allowed to question
Ali. Soon Ali became my banker. He had converted my tiny Godrej shaving soap
tin into a piggy bank, and always had Rs 5 of my own money to loan to me in
crisis. Rs 5 was enough to conquer the world those days. When I became an
Adjutant, Ali learnt AF Act 1950, AFOs, AFIs, and the fat AP-129 (aeronautical
subjects), just to read the riot act to me if I wasn’t nice to him. When
I went on posting, Ali knew all about travel regulations, warrants and Form-Ds.
‘If the Government Sahiban allows you to carry a horse or mule on posting, what
is your problem taking me with you ?’, he would ask. So Ali became my shadow,
mentor and companion where ever I went.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">After about eight
years I decided to get married. Ali went around shouting ‘Mem Aa Raha Hai, Ab
Se Sahib Ke Pas Phaltu Nahing Hoga’. Bloody rascal !!! </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">After a week or so, he
started scratching his head and when I enquired why, he told me that he too
wanted a ‘Mem’, that he had someone in mind. So he loaded my Jawa dicky with 4
bottles of my Rum, put me behind my bike and took me to the village, wearing
flying overalls and my Ray Ban. ‘Ladki Aur Uska Bap Ko Patao’, Ali ordered,
‘you are very experienced and like my father’, he added. So after
protracted negotiations for about an hour, fixing a bride price of 4 bottles of
Rum, Ali was married to Bhanu, a young , simple, 16 yr old village lass. He
wanted to bring Bhanu and set up home under my bed. This time I read the
riot act to him and very humbly suggested that he become a ‘Ghar Jamai’ with
his new in laws in the village till I could find suitable accommodation for him
in the Air Force camp. As wedding present Ali appropriated my entire
‘Camp Kit’ and piggy bank, and made me buy a cycle for him. After
that I went and got married to T and brought her back to Chabua.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">T & Ali hit it off
from day one, mainly because he would regale her with never ending stories of
my bachelor life and T was hell bent on hearing every word in the series of
torrid stories. She said she wanted to get to know the man she married. I
was hoping to start with a clean slate and Ali was a strategic nuclear threat.
He even offered to take T sightseeing on my mo-bike and introduce my old GFs.
That is when I read the riot act the second time, and threatened to chop off
Ali’s gonads. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Ali remained my Jeeves,
refusing to do anything unlawful which T ordered. He often quoted AF Act, 1/60
rule and even Vir Narayan’s Point of No Return formula. Ali knew about those things more than I
did. But between Ali and I there was no law, just exemplary loyalty arising
from gratitude. He was a refugee with no family, except me. Perhaps reason why
he believed that everything that I had was his too. Ali worshipped T, followed
her about like a Labrador puppy. When we were posted in NDA, I got Ali a job in
MES, as an electrician. He was good at that sort of thing, short-circuiting my
life. In due course, while I moved on, because Ali was intelligent, industrious
and a good worker, he rose to be a foreman in GE’s staff in NDA.
Bhanu and Ali reared five sons, all of them, Super-Men, the elder two joined
the Indian Army.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">When I took a PMR from
AF in 1994, Ali heard about it and came to see me in Delhi. We sat and chatted
about good old times. He expressed his wish to make a visit to B’Desh, ‘just to
go see if there is any one left, and to check whether I still own the “Do
Bigha’ that my father owned before the ‘Bhoka Choda’ killed him. My sons
must see where I came from. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Where do you come
from?’, I asked after 23 years.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Ali was quiet for some
time thinking. ‘I don’t know Sir’, he said sincerely.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Where do you come
from ?’, Ali asked me in turn.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I sat there in the
evening hours of my life, thinking. ‘I don’t know either Ali’, I said with
equal sincerity. We were two flotsams from nowhere who met and fused as
brothers.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Ali took his family
and went back to B’Desh, never heard from his afterwards. Perhaps he went home,
no longer a refugee. I am still a refugee, hoping that I can find my
roots, and that Ali would come back and sleep under my bed, to keep me safe and
content, just the way he did when we were young. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Cheers Mohammad Ali. I
owe you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">CYCLIC</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-31330640521183258802016-08-08T22:06:00.000+05:302016-08-08T22:06:44.035+05:30Screwing Queen’s ‘E’ – In Brief <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">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=MC<sup>2</sup>. None of my
superiors ever read my briefs, they already knew all about E=MC<sup>2</sup>.
If I had to write briefs that had to be sent to MoD, sycophancy was made to
drip like honey from E=MC<sup>2</sup> . 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 !!.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">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’ (<span style="background: white;">difficulty in reading and comprehending anything, other than his own
perception)</span>. Double trouble for me, especially when I had to write
highly complex technical briefs, E=MC<sup>2</sup> type with no sense of humour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">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 ‘<span style="background: white;">Wren & Martin’</span></span><b><i><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span></i></b><span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> ‘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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The illustrious CAS hiccupped and very justly threw the report
at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Go away, and don’t come back’, he commanded like King Solomon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘What happened ?’, my boss asked when I returned to my
throne of MTNL telephone directories, looking sad and forlorn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Chief didn’t like the brief’, I said tactfully, rather unusual
for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">So I sat down and typed, ‘<b>Bon Voyage</b>’ 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘ What is it now ?’ he growled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I put the single sheet of brief in front of him without saying
tactless things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">He picked it up, held it at arm’s length and squinted at it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">He then got up from his ejection seat, grabbed my hand and shook
it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘No Sir’ I replied with a smile. It was a pleasure to please the
fine chief, I was very proud to be his minion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Why not ?’, he asked with a frown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Finally when <i>British-ers</i> got fed up, their venerable
High-Commissioner issued me a ‘De Marche, T<span style="background: white;">out
De S<em><span style="font-style: normal;">uite</span></em></span>’.
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 ‘<i>British-ers</i>’
to learn to ‘<i>ish-crew’ Queens ‘E’</i> without ‘<i>Running Martins</i>’,
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 ‘<i>British-ers’</i> and ‘<i>English-ers’</i>
are now ‘<i>jusht loving it</i>’, like the fraud Chicken Tikka Masala. They are
now ‘<i>sa-tanding and ish-crewing their Q’s E, ish-slowly, ish-slowly’</i>.
I think that is why they voted ‘Brexit’, all of them want to exit Britain
and migrate, come right back to India to rule !! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘<i>What a good</i>’ it will be, to have a ‘Wise-Roy’ back on
Raisina hill, instead of the ‘Han Jee’s with ‘Vices’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cyclic<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-28891261200166432082016-04-25T13:39:00.000+05:302020-05-10T20:44:27.529+05:30The ‘Talmud Scroll’ Wish Lists<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">My wife T
(21) and I (28) started our serious married life in Chabua beginning Oct 1978
after an arranged marriage, one day honey moon on Mahabaleshwar beach, followed
by one month Flood Relief operations in Calcutta where T & I were housed in 5 star MLA quarters
in Chowringhee to continue honey mooning
while I flew my pants off for flood relief, morning noon and night. It was a
boon that my older sister then in Calcutta took charge of T . They went around
Cal and had a ball while I earned my keep and let T spend it all in ‘New
Market’ and gallivanting on Park Street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zY2UHQHUoZM/Vx3P59XYnpI/AAAAAAAACGE/pQ4uZ3Ci-0MfAsabIjFNhW5CJXoGNLLLQCLcB/s1600/T%2526%2BI%2B-%2B1978%2BChabua.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zY2UHQHUoZM/Vx3P59XYnpI/AAAAAAAACGE/pQ4uZ3Ci-0MfAsabIjFNhW5CJXoGNLLLQCLcB/s200/T%2526%2BI%2B-%2B1978%2BChabua.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Once we reached
Chabua, it was a cultural shock for T.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">We started
with my bachelor’s room, the size of a toilet, with an oval aluminium mess tin
and a spoon. The ‘mess tin’ was from my ‘camp
kit’, free issued by AF when I was commissioned eight years earlier. The
rest of the camp kit, the kit bag, folding canvass cot with mosquito net and
rods; they were the heirloom of Mohammad Ali, my exclusive Bangladeshi Jeeves
for life, inherited on the first day when I joined 43 Sqn in Jorhat immediately
after the 71 war. He was about 21 or 22 then, same age as T.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">T & Ali hit it off from day one, mainly because he would regale her with never
ending stories of my bachelor life and T was hell bent on hearing every word in
the series of torrid stories. She said she wanted to get to know the man she
married. I was hoping to start with a
clean slate and Ali was a strategic nuclear threat. He even offered to take T
sightseeing on my mo-bike and introduce my old GFs. That is when I read the
Riot Act, and threatened to chop off Ali’s gonads. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Ali
remained my Jeeves for 23 years, refusing to do anything unlawful which T
ordered. He often quoted AF Act and AP 129 to T. He knew the law more than I
did. But between Ali and I there was no
law, just exemplary loyalty arising from gratitude. He was a refugee with no
family, except me. Perhaps reason why he believed that everything that I had was
his too. My clothes including flying boots and flying overalls, Ray Ban, razor, after shave, mo-bike, music system… the works. I drew a line when I
married, T was my personal property and he was to do Namaz in front of her five
times a day. Ali was Bindas, never did Namaz, but he actually worshipped T,
following her about like a Labrador puppy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">As a
mighty F/L, I was considered a capitalist bachelor because I had T, Ali, a Java
mo-bike, an Akai music system, and a quilt with a big cigarette burn in the
centre. My pay was around Rs 450 including ‘Rs 75 as flying bounty’ for which I
had to have a private insurance with minimum monthly premium of Rs 80. I had
about Rs 5 in my bank, a shaving soap tin in Ali’s custody. T said with
conviction, ‘it is enough and more, because you are a resourceful man’. My
share of two boxes of chocolates and five tins of condensed milk every month,
the flying rations to prevent ‘hypoglycaemia’, kept T happy, sugary and syrupy.
I suffered only from hangovers, not hypoglycaemia .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Two large
cast iron British army steel trunks with ‘Dowry’, essentials to start a married life (pots & pans, a
pressure cooker, bed sheets and so on), and some of the stupid presents that we got during our wedding including a 2 feet
high brass lamp, these were despatched from Madras to Chabua by goods train by
my Rajput Rgt KCIO father-in-law. Our future chugged its way, at snail’s pace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">There were
several good married friends living in ‘bashas’, and primates in bachelor
quarters much like a Zoo, who took good
care of us. They ensured that we ate two meals a day for about three weeks.
Then I took T to Chakabama, for two months, lived off the army while we continued
to honey moon. On return, we would go to Chabua Rlwy Stn daily to enquire about
our trunks, the ones with our heirloom. When it finally arrived after about
four months journey, it seemed heavier.
We hauled them back to base gleefully in two rickshaws. When opened them, one was
full of stone aggregate (railway kind), the
other had a mile stone, ’50 miles Gaya’. It broke T’s heart, all that
she had was ‘Gaya’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Since
there was no Araldite those days to mend broken hearts, I told T to sit and
make a wish list, everything she wanted. I promised her that I would makegood
everything on that list. After two weeks
of very secretive activity, she excitedly produced her master piece, a roll
about 2” wide and about 25’ long. She had torn ‘Legal’ sized paper into strips,
stuck the strips together with goo made of boiled rice. It was her ‘Talmud
Scroll’, in two parts, written in microscopic alphabets, in English. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The first
part <span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> ‘</span></span><span style="background: white;">Mishnah</span>’,
the ‘must have’ started with a ‘Bajaj Mixie’. The second part ‘Gemara</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">’, perspective plans
for long term acquisitions, started with a Fridge, with a ‘2<sup>nd</sup> hand
Car’ somewhere in the middle. It ended with a ‘House Of Our Own’. I fell down
and hit my head on the empty steel trunks that had by now become a sofa cum
dining set. When my head stopped bleeding and my heart beats reverted to
normal, T gave me a choice. ‘Either be a Kartha (a doer) or change your name to
Akartha (non doer), make good your promise if you are a Kartha’. She shook her
bums and pushed off to the kitchen like a good woman. I lay there on the floor,
cursing my father who didn’t name me an ‘Akartha’, which compelled me to go and
be the ‘do and die’ type.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The ladies club in Chabua, who were adept at market survey, advised T
that the first item on her <span class="apple-converted-space">‘</span>Mishnah</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">’ part of the Talmud
Scroll, it was Rs 5 cheaper in Sadar Bazar in Delhi. ‘Damn Cheap’, T advised me
in turn. After series of correspondence in free Pink Inlands (forces mail),
authored by T but censored by me as Adjutant, my previous CO (late Jaya) in Air
HQ in Delhi was commissioned to procure
a Bajaj Mixie from Sadar Bazar. It was air lifted by Comn Sqn aircraft under
the PM’s seat, 43 Sqn Daks along with goats, and finally all by itself in a
Mi-4 to Chabua. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">At that time, T&I were staying in the
adjacent 42 WEU mess, an empty zoo with only one primate, the mighty Godzilla,
Pilot Officer Anjit Bose (with frequent visitor Peter George from Chabua Zoo).
Both of them addressed me as ‘Big Brother’, but refused to call T as ‘Big
Sister’. They called her nothing because she refused the offer to be called
‘Madam’. ‘Aayyee, Madam is bad woman’,
she said. It was young rascal Anjit who gave T her name as ’T’, as in ‘Abe Oh
T’, though it made her mad. Anjit gave names to all. Poor Bisht and Yasmin in
Dinjan, good friends of ours, were ‘Beauty & the Beast’. Yasmin, a lovely
woman, was the beast. Behind my back rascal Anjit used to refer to me as ‘Big
Brother Kirtar’, a habit which he still has.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">For the inauguration of Bajaj’s Mixie, Anjit and Peter waited patiently
for T to light a lamp, do ‘Aarti’, put soaked Dal into it to make Pakka (Dal)
Vada. When T turned the Mixie on, it burst into flames. The motor got
burnt. I ran away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I have no idea what Anjit did, perhaps tuned into Bajaj’s telephone in
Gujarat, using 42 Wireless Experimental Unit’s eve’s dropping technology, sent
hate telegrams using meteorology tele printer network, more hate mails through
pink forces inland, whatever. After about 20 days, T got a telegram from Rahul
Bajaj, ‘Sorry, New Mixie Despatched’. So one morning after about a month, the
local distributor of Bajaj Mixie from Dibrugarh personally delivered a new Mixie to T. It lasted us 33 yrs, till we retired it with much sadness and bought
another new Bajaj Mixie from CSD Canteen, Rs 50 cheaper than Sadr Bazar !!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Alwyn 165 fridge, the first item on T’s other ‘Gemara</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">’ scroll, came by
air from Hyderabad to Poona courtesy NSS Avro, at 30% employee discount,
courtesy the father of one of my pupils in B Sqn when I was posted to NDA after
I sent him a cheque for Rs 1745. He was an employee of Alwyn. It lasted us 29
yrs despite moves on postings all over India, storage in Hakkimpet hangar while
T& I went to France. The Alwyn 165 finally became stand by ‘beer fridge’
when T went and bought a Samsung double door fridge from her salary as a Babu,
from Babudom, the Kindom of GoI. I had no money, I was retired by AF by then as
non-performing asset. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">T has preserved the ‘Talmud Scrolls’ just to remind me that I was
indeed an Akartha, many of the items on T’s scroll, especially the last item
‘house of our own’, is yet to be realised even after 38 yrs. T says I didn’t do
a thing. She has forgotten my old share of two boxes of chocolates and five
tins of condensed milk every month, the flying rations to prevent my
‘hypoglycaemia’, which once kept her happy, sugary and syrupy while I suffered
only from hangovers, not hypoglycaemia !!!! I flew Mi-4s for a living, like
Bond’s martini, shaken but not stirred, the pay wasn’t adequate to acquire
everything on the Talmud Scroll wish list of our married life !!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Reason why
T left me. She is now married to GoI. I am now back to being a bachelor,
looking for Ali. The bugger has gone back to B’Desh with dual passport; he is
no longer a refugee like me. I also miss my mo-bike and Akai music system. My
son hijacked the Ray Ban. ‘Pop, you don’t need it ', </span><span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">he said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The TV is
all balls, not worth watching.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Cyclic<span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-9889175737897506622016-04-09T16:03:00.002+05:302020-11-24T14:57:36.634+05:30KILO COURIER<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">There is an old comrade from
Daks in 43, Arun Karandikar (Kandy, Air Cmde Rtd, later a famed Indian Airlines Pilot), about 5 yrs my senior
who was/ and still is, one of my role models. When I joined the AF, first met
him, he was flying Daks from Jorhat. He was a brilliant pilot with no attitude,
a simple man. From Jorhat he went on to fly the AN-12 and often came back to
Jorhat on ‘Assam Courier’ trips. When someone not on the manifest ever came to
ask for a lift, he would say, ‘Get in if you want to, but I cannot assure
you that we will not crash’ !!! Usually Kandy Sir never counted the heads and I
have personally seen him carry twice the number of passengers that was allowed.
‘What is the use of being a good pilot if you can’t put it to good use’, was
his usual comment. There are a lot of old and bold simple soldiers from
days of yore, who took leave and came to Jorhat praying that Kandy Sir was the
Capt of Assam Courier. We did not have the Plan Aren those days, but the
enterprising Sig fellows in Nagaland used HF & VHF to patch up to
Chandigarh ATC on Wednesdays to check out who was likely to be the Capt
of the Assam courier. If it was Kandy, half of 8 Mtn Div including the
GOC used to apply for leave and run to Jorhat on Friday !!! Since I spent
long innings with the army in 81 Bde (Chakabama), I have heard them repeat this
folklore innumerable times with great satisfaction (making me jealous).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">After Jorhat (Daks) I
went further / farther in service to Chabua (105 HU) to fly MI-4s. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">Once around 1977, I was
sent to the outback (Tripura, Manipur and Mizoram) in the Mi-4 to do an all day
long a pay parade, I think for Assam Rifles, about 10 - 12 posts starting from Parva,
the southernmost point. It was called the Kilo Courier. I was to night halt at
Kumbigram, do the courier the next day, again night halt at Kumbi and return to
Chakabama two days later. I was to fist drop GOC 8 Mtn Div at Limakong and pick
him up on return, I think he was going
on R&R. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"> I picked up the paying officer, a young Capt
from AR with his treasure chests (cash boxes), from Limakong (near Imphal) and
took him to Parva. While the paying officer went about his task, distributing
pay to AR soldiers in cash, there would
be a crowd wanting to take a lift in the MI4, either to the next helipad or
somewhere en-route.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">‘Come One, Come All’ I called
out like an ‘Azaan’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">‘Jahaz Ap Ke Bap Ka Hai,
Aur Pilot Best Hai’, I added unnecessarily. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">So at every helipad
someone would get in and someone would get off, I never counted or checked to
see who got in, or who got off. The Mi-4 did complain but refused to hover as usual. I
had to plead with the Mi-4 that I had declared that ‘Pilot Best Hai’, even give
it a kick on its rudder to behave itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">At every helipad, an AR JCO
would come to me, salute and say ‘Rakh Diya Shaheb’. I presumed that it was
their luggage and hence absentmindedly repeated ‘Thik Hai Saheb’. This went on
for around 8 halts till we reached I think Moreh. For some strange reason, I
went into the tail boom to check something and there I found two or three crates
of rum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">I called to the JCO,
‘Somebody has forgotten his Rum’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">‘Nahin Shab’, he told me
without guile, ‘Shab Ne Apna Apna Hishab Diya hai’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">I was quite perplexed. So
I asked the young arfmy Capt (paying officer), ‘What did the JCO mean ?’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">‘See here’, the Capt
explained. ‘Every man who takes a lift, he has to pay his share of half a
bottle of rum, it is a bribe for the pilot’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">‘Says who ?’, I roared,
out of sheer disgust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">‘Well Sir, that is the
tradition of the Mi-4 unit in Kumbigram’, the Captain told me shrugging his
shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">‘Captain, we are going to
change that tradition’, I announced emphatically. ‘Stop the pay parade. I have
had enough. We are going back’, I told him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">‘All the guys who took a
lift, I want them back in the helicopter’, I ordered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">We went back all the way
to Parva, landing at each helipad turn by turn, to pick up and return the same
soldiers from where I had picked them up or dropped them. I returned the
bottles back to each of them ceremoniously with a proper salute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">‘Jahaz Ap Ke Bap Ka hai,
Pilot Khundaki Admi Hai’, I repeated at each stop. ‘Age Se Pilot Ko Rum Diya,
To Sari Paltan Ko Utha Ke Dacca Chod Doonga’, I said with determination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">I went back to Limakong,
as well as the posts in Tripura, Manipur and Mizoram several times after that
on routine Kilo Couriers or with GOCs / Army Cdr. I gave a lift to every man
who wanted to go somewhere – it was my privilege.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">Each time I asked, ‘Sala
Mera Ghoos Kidhar Hai ?’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">‘Nahin Shab’, I was told
by the simple jawans of AR. ‘Sala Dacca Kaun Jayaga ?’, they smiled. I smiled
with them out of sheer joy, camaraderie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">I hope I set a new
tradition for Mi-4 Kilo couriers in those days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="'Calibri Light', sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">Perhaps I acted stupid
because of an attitude problem ? That
was what the guys in 110 complained to my Flt Cdr in 105 !!!</span><span face=""Calibri Light","sans-serif"" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-17420421960090505172016-04-06T20:05:00.000+05:302019-05-31T11:09:01.714+05:30'SURDIE' TALES<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I was perhaps a strange AF officer, because I spent almost
60% of my 24 yrs undressing uniform in front of the Army. In the end, after
uninterrupted coitus, the army was left with no choice but to marry me, place
me under command, and write good fiction in my Confidential Reports !!! In due
course, like all ‘Kothe Walis’, I grew too old and ugly after 24 yrs nonstop
‘sewa’ without functional upgradation, and hence took PMR to emulate ‘Umrao
Jaan’, to go do ‘dirty dancing’ in the streets for a living !!! To be perfectly
honest, if I could get a few Botox injections and Silicon implants in ECHS, I
would love to go back and do it all over again. It was great fun while it
lasted !!.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">This is a ‘Surdie’ tale, about the mighty 5 Sikh in Chakabama
around 1977. I was then a 28 yr old bachelor. The famed Army Cdr used to call
me a ‘French Leather’, because the AF had promoted me to the rank of F/L
(Flight Lieutenant), while the army felt that ‘Do Phiti’ Khal-Naik would
be more appropriate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Nagaland was then on the boil with NSCN and ‘Muivah’ on a
recruiting drive, forcing the prettiest girls and LGBTs in the Jessami/Tuensang
valley to go and do it in the jungles, mostly underground. That part of
the world for the army was ‘non family station’; life without pretty girls and
LGBTs, not doing it above ground, was totally unacceptable, not only to
the venerable bachelor Army Cdr, but also the lonely heart L/Nk bachelor freaks
like me. </span><span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">There was a general feeling of unhappiness due to ‘love failure’. GOC
8 Mtn Div and Cdr 81 Mtn Bde became as jealous of Muivah, angry and upset like
me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">While I went around the bend, in mountain paths, the army went on the
warpath. Train loads of freshly minted troops began to arrive, all of them with
their bayonets unsheathed. As was customary, two weeks’ insurgency
training was required for all newly inducted bayonets, basically on how to
‘Patao’ the girls and LGBTs, and give Muivah the middle finger and erectile
dysfunction. MoD had conferred NFU status to NSCN and given the army AFSPA pills
that act like Viagra. Chakabama was the pit stop before the troops were
deployed further up on the hills, mostly on pickets where no sensible yak,
yeti, Naga or Sardar would go voluntarily, there were no girls or LGBTs there.
Rest of Nagaland was as exciting as it could get. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">One fine rainy day, Bravo Company of 5 Sikh came marching down
the road from Kohima, with the Coy Cdr leading. I think they were told to
dismount from trucks and march to Chakabama because of poor discipline (or
perhaps Diesel shortage). I am not too sure who was more undisciplined, whether
the Coy Cdr or his B Coy !! One could hear them coming from as far afield as
Theprazumi, about 20 km as the Mi-4 flies, which is about twice as much as what
a crow needs to fly to get there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">There was no marching band. So the
Sardars cracked a continuous stream of bawdy jokes and their laughter was
music to their ears, but caused humming and tingling in the ear drums of
others. The entire company was out of step, which was not their fault. The
Coy Cdr was my illustrious Gorkha course mate AK (E/37), about 5’ fuck
all, while there wasn’t a soldier in B Coy of 5 Sikh who was an inch shorter
than 6’2”. So how could B Coy march in step with their illustrious Coy
Cdr, whose normal step was only 18” despite venerable SM Kanshi Ram’s efforts
in NDA to give AK the bum-boo, with a 30” pace stick ? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘5 Sikh were like that only’; they usually said, ‘I am loving
it, like Subway Sand-bitch’, in pure Punjabi !!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> . <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">In due course, B Coy of the famed 5 Sikh settled own to their
routine, whatever it is that Inf Units do ‘best-test-tesht’. Perhaps walk
from here to there and back, in battle order, ‘jusht’ for the heck of it.
They also dig trenches where ever they go, I presume to protect themselves from
snake in the grass Mallus like me. The famed Coy Cdr of B Coy immediately
captured my OP hill accommodation in Raj Rif Mess, and took over my inventory,
especially the crate of XXX Hercules under my bed. He ordered me to piss off,
but did show camaraderie by asking me not to go too far
without him and an armed escort of Sardars from B Coy. AK insisted that I lead
tac reconnaissance missions to Theprazumi, to check whether my GF ‘Angu’ and
her friends were doing it over or underground. I didn’t complain, I promise.
Except when subjected to creeping line arty shelling, bawdy Nepali jokes,
narrated incessantly in Punjabi. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">One rainy morning when I was unemployed and trying to burrow
myself underground dreaming about wonderful bayonet charges in Balaclava with
Angu as the target, AK woke me up, with a kick on my butt. ‘Come on, I
will give you a chance to command B Coy of 5 Sikh’, he told me in <b>‘Neplish</b>’
(English spoken in Nepali), with a few MC/BC thrown in like Tadka. ‘We are
going on mission cross country route march’, he ordered imperiously like GoI. I
joined the AF because I never quite liked route marches in NDA, even with
Nimbu Pani and Tipsy Pudding as bribe. I preferred flying cross country like a
crow. But AK would have none of that and was hell bent on inducting me
into Infantry. I went along meekly, for the heck of it, just to show subway
sand-bitch type camaraderie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It was raining cats and dogs when AK lined up the Sardars of B
Coy of 5 Sikh and told them that a famed Ullu Mallu AF officer (Sadda Munda
Kirtara) will lead them that day and teach them how to do cross country route
march like a crow. The sum total of Punjabi that I understand are a
few words; MC, BC, Todde Ma Ki Daal and Teri Pen and Pencil Di.
Since AK used all those words in his mission briefing, I presume what he said
to his troops in ‘<b>Punjali</b>’ (Punjabi when spoken by a Nepali) was perhaps
not complimentary and unprintable. The Sardars shrieked like a bunch of
hyenas, many of them rubbing their stomach from mirth. The jokes were on me. I
had to grin and bear it for the pleasure of joining Infantry (referred to
as ‘Fantry’ by 5 Sikh).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Soon we were trudging up and down the wet and slushy hills,
incessant chatter of the troops louder than the thunder and rain. My flying overalls,
which I insisted on wearing, was so soaked that my W front underwear shrank
three sizes and started squeezing my gonads. The flying boot was
obviously meant for flying and not for walking. Soon the
uppers and soul of my F-Boots departed company and I had to use shoe lace to
tie them together. For every four steps that I took up hill, I came
sliding down five, mostly on my bums. The Sikh troops found the AF
manoeuvre, sliding down hill on the bums, most hilarious. Soon we were only going
downhill, sliding on our bums, the entire B Coy howling with laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">After every ten minutes, AK would order a halt. The troops would
utter things under their breath, ‘Teri Pen Di’, shrug off their packs and sit
on their haunches. One doesn’t sit on the ground in Nagaland, there are leeches
that go up the ass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘<b>Sabji Chai’</b>, AK’s Batman cum Spiderman, cum Superman,
would proffer hot tea in enamel mugs to AK and I, as soon as the halt was
ordered. This was repeated at every halt and I got quite intrigued. Everyone
in B Coy was drinking hot tea every time we halted and I didn’t see any thermos
flasks. ‘How do they do it ?’. I asked AK with unsuppressed curiosity. ‘Wait
and watch’, AK said in <b>‘Neplish</b>’ interspersed with MC, BC, Todde Ma Ki
Daal and Teri Pen and Pencil Di. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">When B Coy was ordered to start marching again, AK grabbed
my arm and pulled me aside, allowing the marching column to go by in platoon
groups. And there amongst each platoon I saw apparitions that I can never erase
from my memory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">In thick rain, one 6’2” Sardar in each platoon, besides his
Chindit pack, ammo pouches, rolled up rain coat, ferocious looking wet Pagri,
SLR in one hand and <span style="background: white;">2” Howitzer</span> base in
the other, was carrying on his head a perfectly balanced GI Bucket
with burning coal and a boiling kettle. No matter what the Sardar did, whether
slipping and sliding on his bum, or charging up hill, the bucket and kettle
were perfectly balanced on his head, ready for ‘Sabji Chai’, every time we
halted. An incredible feat of arms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Oh that is nothing, wait till we get back’, AK said when I
expressed astonishment. My imagination went ballistic on what else the Sardars
could do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">We went up and down all over the mountains, sometimes
through sleepy villages, not breaking stride. I tried declaring myself a
causality, asked AK for casevac by helicopter. But the Mi-4 was back in
Chakabama pining for me. Everyone in Chakabama could declare himself a
causality and ask for casevac by helicopter, all except me. That was my job. So
5 Sikh made a stretcher with Bum-Boo, and carried me like pallbearers, singing
‘Ardas’ all the way to keep me alive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">When we arrived back, AK ordered B Coy to line up and surrender
‘Booty’. Meekly B Coy pulled out two live goats and nine chicken from their
rolled up rain coats. They had swiped all that when we went through villages
without breaking stride, not a step sideways, though they were not marching in
step. That night, at the langar, we celebrated with Rum, Tangdi Kebab and
Mutton Ghosht. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Kirtara was formally declared a ‘friendly’, I think because they
could then stop digging snake trenches. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">After Rum, Tangdi Kebab and Mutton Ghosht, the CHM slid up to
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Kirtara Sabji, can B Coy join Hair Force ?’ he asked with a sly
smile, full of guile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Why ?’ I asked, interspersed with MC, BC, Todde Ma Ki Daal and
Teri Pen and Pencil Di in <b>Punjlu</b> (Mallu’s Punjabi).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘Hawai Seopy gets better pay, higher ration scale, travel free
in aircraft, and besides I quite like the AF style of cross country route
march, that you taught us today, sliding on our bums’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">B Coy hooted, it could be heard in Theprazumi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Shortly B Coy of 5 Sikh moved out to ‘Phek’ or someplace like
that. I was tempted to go with them and enrol in 5 Sikh. They are jolly good
chaps, especially my course mate AK, the Nepali rascal !!!! He is the type
to whom you can hand over Davy Jones’ heart and soul, and 5 Sikh would
then guard it with their life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-74223357938218867732016-04-04T19:46:00.001+05:302016-04-04T19:46:20.670+05:307 DAYS IN MAR<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘Rat Revolution’ in Lushai Hills - 1966<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iehotgbgC-Y/VwHs1RCnGDI/AAAAAAAACDE/ioJFDKhr6-APgW6SKRFmlQoWdt2Sy1exQ/s1600/1%2BHapy%2BMizo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iehotgbgC-Y/VwHs1RCnGDI/AAAAAAAACDE/ioJFDKhr6-APgW6SKRFmlQoWdt2Sy1exQ/s200/1%2BHapy%2BMizo.jpg" width="177" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘Mi-Zo-Ram’, now a ‘land of the happy hill people’ became
an independent state of the union only in 1987, 40 yrs after Indian
independence. It is an exotic locale in the north eastern corner of India, with
<span style="background: white;">90.7% dense forest cover, lots of bamboo, just
52 odd persons per sq km, almost equal man to woman ratio and 97% literacy, all
of them reasons why Mizoram is such a happy place</span>.<span style="background: white;"> </span> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But that was not how it was in 1840 when Capt Blackwood,
a cavalier pirate of sorts, led the 14<sup>th</sup> NLI Regiment of East India
Company through the thick bamboo forest to go after the Kukis (<span style="background: white;">Thahdos),</span> <span style="background: white;">Lusei
and others, who were all hell bent on head hunting and eating themselves ‘Su-Shi’,
in the raw, and displaying the leering heads of the dead men on a stake outside
their cottage.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To give them due credit, the natives of
erstwhile Lushai Hills were a persistent war like people and tested the
patience of Queen Victoria till she annexed them in 1895 and made them her subjects
and predicates, in Wren & Martin, the constitution of ‘Eng-Land’. Reason why
they had bit of an attitude in 1947 and wanted to become ‘Lushai-Land’ like ‘Eng-Land’,
and not be a part of Indian Union. Their attitude upset quite a few, including
Sardar Patel, who wisely left the state of affairs and governance to 259 tribal
chiefs, to continue head hunting and eating each other sushi, to keep the Lusei
very happy in ‘Hinglish’ Wren & Martin under the ‘Tiranga’, and make them
forget their aspiration of an independent ‘Lushai Land’. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l7jl5nQ3fXU/VwHs1UF6ieI/AAAAAAAACEM/IAQQk0WsquQ4aQuFOhWXKYlHgxWnLUeoA/s1600/2%2BLusei.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l7jl5nQ3fXU/VwHs1UF6ieI/AAAAAAAACEM/IAQQk0WsquQ4aQuFOhWXKYlHgxWnLUeoA/s200/2%2BLusei.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">After Indian independence, the entire
‘North East’ territory ahead of Siliguri continued to be one single province ‘Assam’,
ruled by Congress Chief Ministers (CMs) Gopinath Bordoloi (1946-50), Bishnu Ram Medhi
(1950-57) and then, for thirteen tumultuous years by </span>a Rasputin, Bimala Prasad Chaliha (1957-70). Elected thrice
as CM, Chaliha faced two national emergencies; the Sino-Indian conflict and the
Mizo revolution/civil war. The former
had nothing to with him. But the latter was perhaps triggered by his
politically savvy, but demographically catastrophic, draconian ‘<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Official Language Act 1960’ which
hoped to unify the entire North East, compelling all diverse ethnic groups to
learn and speak in Assamese. Chaliha, with king size ambition, proactively resisted
the popular demand to divide the mammoth, ethnically diverse, geographically
difficult to administer Assam state,
into smaller states (with common ethnic and linguistic identity, as it is now),
though he was put in charge of various Committees of central Govt of India (GoI)
which contemplated such division. Only after his death in 1971 could GoI make
any headway to break down the mammoth Assam province. But let me not jump the
gun.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ovjE0LpfWAA/VwHs1RJmsMI/AAAAAAAACEM/4N1mjHAzJD8YUpO-vJECdCx6pFwCz5wgA/s1600/3%252C%2BMedhi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ovjE0LpfWAA/VwHs1RJmsMI/AAAAAAAACEM/4N1mjHAzJD8YUpO-vJECdCx6pFwCz5wgA/s200/3%252C%2BMedhi.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: black; border: 1pt none black; padding: 0in;"> </span><span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">During Medhi’s innings as CM in 1954,</span> <span style="background: white;"> an attempt at ethnic
cleansing was made by the 259 venerable Mizo chieftains, mainly to make the
Christian Lusei and Budhist Chakamas into edible sushi delicacy; head hunting
was after all a favourite ‘time pas’ in
that part of the world. The European Presbyterian Missionaries were the first
to start crying. Their cry was picked up and repeated very volubly by
international press, the Queen of England, President of America, and even the
Pope. GoI, Nehru in particular, was heartbroken. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFqxWGP-AjI/VwHs2ldup-I/AAAAAAAACEM/Gv7mhspnzeEbdCFgrrLgd3jiHc3NNkT-Q/s1600/5.%2BMap%2BMizoram%2B66.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFqxWGP-AjI/VwHs2ldup-I/AAAAAAAACEM/Gv7mhspnzeEbdCFgrrLgd3jiHc3NNkT-Q/s640/5.%2BMap%2BMizoram%2B66.jpg" width="464" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">Medhi came under severe pressure to act.
As all CM’s do under emergency, usually under ‘Air To Civil Power Act’, Medhi
immediately called for Army intervention. But Maharaj Rajendrasinhji<span class="apple-converted-space"> Jadeja, then Commander-in-Chief (C-in-C) of
Indian Army, declined saying he had inadequate resources and that it was a
political problem which Medhi must handle himself on political and
administrative level. So VK Singh was not the first Army Chief to say ‘Bugger
Off’, when asked to go and murder fellow Maoist citizens whom the politicians
and bureaucrats could not handle within the political machinations </span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;">of our strange democratic system.</span></span></span><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O1kAJ6_HtS0/VwHs29gjYjI/AAAAAAAACEM/bhr2b2kadr035iYXvyqcJU3h7OrEajObw/s1600/6.%2BJairaamdas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O1kAJ6_HtS0/VwHs29gjYjI/AAAAAAAACEM/bhr2b2kadr035iYXvyqcJU3h7OrEajObw/s200/6.%2BJairaamdas.jpg" width="135" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;">Medhi then turned to </span></span><span style="background: white;">the </span>very spirited and
dynamic <span style="background: white;">Jairam Das Daulatram, Governor of Assam, and Kailash Nath Katju, the Union Home Minister
under Nehru. They helped by moving two Regiments (Rgts) of Assam Rifles,
para military under Home Ministry, from Shibsagar and Shillong into Lushai Hill
Tract, to assist in maintaining law and order by giving everyone in Lushai
Hills the ‘Bum-Boo’ ! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-reVNtsJfsOM/VwHs7Mt4MMI/AAAAAAAACEU/tjvUKOYOfUAGQTuzbX2vmWlAJCEe-bDvQ/s1600/mizo%2Bold%2Bpics.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-reVNtsJfsOM/VwHs7Mt4MMI/AAAAAAAACEU/tjvUKOYOfUAGQTuzbX2vmWlAJCEe-bDvQ/s400/mizo%2Bold%2Bpics.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">Medhi made the 259 tribal chieftains redundant
and turned to the </span><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250);">Deputy Commissioner Lushai Hills,
S.N.Barkataki from Assam Civil Service Cadre, and the newly enacted ‘Lushai
Hills Act’ </span><span style="background: white;">to handle administration through elected
‘</span>Autonomous
Village Councils’<span style="background: white;">. For a while Mizoram once
again became a happy place eating food cooked with ‘Bhut Jolokia’ chillies and not sushi or ‘Tipsy pudding’
with Chakamas’ gonads. Then in 1958, with clockwork precision, the forests in
Mizoram went wild with ‘Mautam’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;"> </span>Mautam, a
cyclic <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecology" title="Ecology"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">ecological</span></a> phenomenon, occurs
precisely every 48 years when the strange bamboo (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Melocanna" title="Melocanna"><i><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Melocanna Baccifera</span></i></a>) in the jungles of Luhai Hills and neighbourhood, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flowering" title="Flowering"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">flowers</span></a> all at the same time.
Strangely, this massive flowering of the bamboo incites the pheromone and testosterone
levels in jungle rats to multiply so rapidly that there is not enough for them to
eat in the jungle. They then run out of the jungle like locust and spread-out
all over Lushai Hills to forage food grains, creating famine and plague amongst
the Homos, Sapiens, LGBTs as well as those who look and act like Neanderthals
in Lushai <span style="background: white;">Hill Tract.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1NRnSkW8dBE/VwHs2Wd1JeI/AAAAAAAACEM/vdq4sA18O6YPFXPtlQpFEun02cdWfA_aA/s1600/4.1.%2BChaliha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1NRnSkW8dBE/VwHs2Wd1JeI/AAAAAAAACEM/vdq4sA18O6YPFXPtlQpFEun02cdWfA_aA/s200/4.1.%2BChaliha.jpg" width="154" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the Mautam of 1958, the rats perhaps fornicated with more zest
because the famine and plague were most severe. The then Governor of Assam, <span style="background: white;">Chandreswar Prasad Sinha, along with Chaliha in tow, moved Assam
Rifle and some local armed constabulary, at platoon level, into the far reaches
of the jungles, to set up posts with air dropping zones, create a civil-supply-chain
for distribution of essential commodities, maintain law and order, and feed the
hungry and unhappy people of Lushai Hill Tract. He also got the central Govt to
send in the Border Roads Organisation (BRO) to create a north to south motor-able
road from Silchar to Lunglai, no mean task due to the severity of the jungles
and mountains. The road was expected to not only improve communications, but
also substantially increase the quantity of supplies that could be sent to
Lushai Hills because Silchar was connected to Guhati by rail. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mr Shankaran Nair, then Dir IB in Delhi
(later Sec RAW before he resigned during Morarji’s time as PM), in a secretive
operation, recruited and inducted an army of Malyalees, as ‘Political Officers’ who had a covert role as ‘Special
Intelligence Bureau (SIB)’ operatives all over the North East. They were meant
to keep their finger on the pulse of the local people, transmit daily
intelligence reports for IB HQ in Delhi. Their overt inconspicuous role was
supply chain management of air dropped stores and assistants to civil administration!!!
Local people were first taught social adjustment trades (carpentry, masonry,
electrical applications, or simply as labourers for road construction and as
porters for the public logistic distribution system). They were then paid in
Indian currency. The currency was used to buy the goods that was air dropped. It was a cyclic process, a successful
non-profit business run by GoI !!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">First into the foray to meet the
challenges of air dropping supplies to the beleaguered Mizos was Biju Patnaik
and his private airline Kalinga Airways, operating from Guhati and Kumbigram
(Silchar), also handling the to-ing and fro-ing of VIPs, para medics, political
and administrative teams, all from a small wartime ‘advanced landing ground
(ALG)’, (now the Lengpui Airport, 32 km
from Aizwal (old Aijal). IAF soon joined in. General Satyawant Mallanna
Shrinagesh, ex Chief Of Army Staff (CoAS), who succeeded Sinha as Governor, increased
the quantum of solace and the Mautam crisis was more or less brought under
control by 1960.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As it happens in every calamity, the locals rose to the
occasion too, by forming the ‘Mizo National Famine Front (MNFF)’. The MNFF was a
large work force of pioneers, basically to lend a hand with the grass root
distribution of the logistic aid that was being air dropped at the dropping
zones at Aijal, Champai and Lungle. MNFF was to carry it in small head loads to
inaccessible far flung habitats, all over the jungle, …….one hell of a job. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AhcTzq4bNsU/VwHs5BaL5QI/AAAAAAAACEM/gmLVv-ScYwwTSp9rMuXxaVD8xkR4MxXUA/s1600/Hav%2BLaldenga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AhcTzq4bNsU/VwHs5BaL5QI/AAAAAAAACEM/gmLVv-ScYwwTSp9rMuXxaVD8xkR4MxXUA/s1600/Hav%2BLaldenga.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And the man who quickly rose up the
chain of command in MNFF was the charismatic, dynamic, 33 year old, demobilised
ex Havildar Pu Laldenga, born an Assamese with Mizo ancestry and family ties. His
greatest achievement was to integrate the diverse tribes of Lushai Hill Tracts
into a single group called Mizos and give an identity to the Lushai Hill Tract
as ‘Mizoram’. He was gleefully preferred as a stooge and promoted to the
forefront by the state, as well as the local civil administration, due to his
military background as well disciplined efficiency and ability to motivate his
illiterate and backward people. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As Hav Laldenga’s popularity grew
amongst the tribes of the new ‘Mizoram’ across the board, his pockets began to bulge.
He began to develop megalomania and king sized ambition, especially when inadvertently
supported and abetted by the army’s Eastern Command, as well as the civil administration run by an ex CoAS in
Guwahati. The Indian army, civil administration and the IB created the over
ambitious political Frankenstein from one amongst their own cadre.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As it often happens, political mavericks
create <span class="apple-converted-space">secessionist</span> movements only
when supported by rouge external nation state(s) with motives, money, cross
border shelter, arms and training. Hav Laldenga became the darling of then East
Pakistan, keen to support dissidents and break away groups in India. Under Paki
tutelage in Oct 1961, Laldenga (along with JF Manliana, R Vanlawma, and
Rochhinga, comrades from MNFF), dropped ‘Famine’ from the apolitical MNFF and
converted it to a right wing fascist ‘Mizo National Front (MNF)’ with explicit
secessionist intensions, to go back to the ambitions of creating a kingdom
called Mizoram, the same ‘Lushai-Land’ like ‘Eng-Land’, with Hav Laldenga as
King (much like Idi Amin in Uganda).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">India at that time got embroiled with
the Sino Indian war (1962) and lost focus of the MNF and the Mizoram. The
Malyalee political officers from SIB, most of them young frustrated bachelor Catholic
Christians, were using the expat missionaries as conduits for creating ‘zenanas’
with the prettiest girls in the neighbourhood. Their finger instead of being on
the political pulse as Shankaran Nair intended, was elsewhere. They became ‘sleepers’ on the job. Laldenga
was left alone to ferment separatist ideology, piggy backing on the public dissent
created by introduction of Assamese as compulsory official language, part of
the ping pong policies introduced by CM </span>Chaliha,
with full support from <span style="background: white;">ex CoAS Srinagesh and Vishnu Sahai, an
ex-ICS Cabinet Secretary, who alternated with ex CoAS Srinagesh every few years
as imperious Governors of Assam between 1959-68. GoI had no clue about the
political trouble that was brewing in the new found Mizoram despite the bevy of
‘political officers’ of SIB present there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zyAbG-fO2-0/VwHs3Wts1OI/AAAAAAAACEM/FfQKDcD3mYAV7dgN0XuH-rLN0V2IVdWtg/s1600/8%2BMNA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zyAbG-fO2-0/VwHs3Wts1OI/AAAAAAAACEM/FfQKDcD3mYAV7dgN0XuH-rLN0V2IVdWtg/s320/8%2BMNA.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Laldenga and his minions in MNF went on
a recruiting drive to create a private army of mercenaries using demobilised or
retired ex-military cadres to form the supervisory chain of command with
younger able bodied men as jawans. 2 AR, which had just been disbanded for
mutiny, joined Hav Laldenga to the last man. This private army of the MNF was then
named Mizo National Army (MNA). After recruitment, the MNA cadre were secretly
ferreted out to clandestine training camps in East Pakistan, where they were
split, armed and trained to form two infantry Brigades (Bdes), each with four
battalions (Bns), much like the Indian army. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">The ‘Lion Bde’, with Bns named after
Mizo legends (Chawngbawla, Khuangchera, Saizahawla and Taitesena Bns) were
given operational responsibility of the northern half of Miizoram. The Dagger
Bde (with Joshua, Lalvunga, Vanapa and Zampui Manga Bns) operated in the
southern part. By the end of 1965, the MNF had armed themselves with basic
infantry weapons; 303 rifles, 9mm Stens, AK-47, LMGs, RPGs, mostly supplied by
Pakis, and others stolen from </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assam_Rifles" title="Assam Rifles"><span style="background: white; color: black; text-decoration: none;">Assam Rifles</span></a><span style="background: white;">. They also obtained explosives by raiding the posts of </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Border_Roads_Organisation" title="Border Roads Organisation"><span style="background: white; color: black; text-decoration: none;">Border
Roads Organisation</span></a> engaged in building the north to south road in the
inaccessible parts of Mizoram. Money came from raiding banks in Assam, as also counterfeit
notes printed in Pakistan. The Pakis taught MNA how to make improvised
explosive devices (IEDs) to booby trap jungle trails, to mine roads and to blow
up installations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">To support the operational logistics of
the two Bdes in inaccessible terrain, Laldenga called upon his old army of
pioneers and irregulars of MNFF and formed them into Mizo National Volunteers
(MNV) under command of MNF. By mid-1965 the stage was set for ‘rat revolution’
and civil war in Lushai Hill Tract, now referred to as Mizoram. </span>Happy Lusei
were then turned to very unhappy and angry Mizos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As it happens in insurgency and civil war
in remote areas, the MNA too had to feed off the land, depend on the villages
for their sustenance (new recruits, money, food, shelter, wine, women and
song). Atrocities began initially as pillage, abduction and rape. To cover that
up, Laldenga called for ethnic cleansing, targeting the non-Christian
minorities (Chakma, Mara, Lai, Tripuri, Hmar, Paite,…….etc). Mizoram went on
the boil.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mAkqa70_gtc/VwHs6EDxV-I/AAAAAAAACEM/wVvpnavkVFYEnBkKcy_09I9aowor1x1hg/s1600/MNF%2BLogo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mAkqa70_gtc/VwHs6EDxV-I/AAAAAAAACEM/wVvpnavkVFYEnBkKcy_09I9aowor1x1hg/s1600/MNF%2BLogo.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Code named ‘Operation Jericho’, Hav Laldenga’s plan was
simple. He hoped the two Bdes of MNA attacking form north and south would
quickly capture the </span>treasuries, neutralise the posts manned by Assam Rifles / other local
police / militia, takeover police stations and jails, capture armouries, arrest
important non-Mizo (‘Vai’) officials and hoist the MNF flag at Aijal on 1 Mar,
followed by a victory parade on 2 Mar 1966. He hoped that many from the civil
administration would turn sympathisers and make the takeover easy. Hav Laldenga
also hoped that if he could keep the MNF flag flying in Aijal for 48 hours,
other countries such as Pakis would recognise the Mizo territory as a sovereign
state, plead their case in UN, perhaps even invite UN peace keeping forces in the
new found ‘Kingdom of Mizoram’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The AR posts did get some indication that something was amiss when
during the night of 27 Feb, Rokima, the brother of the MNF Lieutenant
Lalnunmawia was killed in an accidental explosion of an IED, investigated by AR
on 28<sup>th</sup> morning. However, AR could neither connect the IED blast
with an impending attack, or the ferocity with which it would come the same
night. <span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">28 Feb 1966.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There was no Indian Army tentacle in
Mizoram on 28 Feb 1966. The closest, 61 (then an Inf Bde), was located at
Silchar. Its forces, 4 understaffed Bns, were strung about on posts all over
Nagaland and Manipur tackling other insurgencies. Since Mizoram had been
comparatively peaceful, the only defensive forces there were para military; one
battalion of No 1 AR, besides unarmed Border Roads Organisation (BRO) road
construction parties, tentacles of unarmed / armed local armed constabulary,
all of them in defensive garrisons at Kolasib, Aijal, Champai and Lunglai,
besides platoon sized in-depth posts elsewhere deeper in the jungle where there
were DZs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the night of 28 Feb/1 Mar 1966, both Bdes of MNA launched a series of
simultaneous well planned attacks on the AR posts at Kolasib, Aijal, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lunglei" title="Lunglei"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Lungle</span></a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Champhai" title="Champhai"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Champai</span></a>; as well as the constabularies
at <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demagiri" title="Demagiri"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Demagiri</span></a>, Chawngte, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hnahlan" title="Hnahlan"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Hnahlan</span></a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marpara" title="Marpara"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Marpara</span></a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuipang" title="Tuipang"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Tuipang</span></a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuipuibari" title="Tuipuibari"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Tuipuibari</span></a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaphai" title="Vaphai"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Vaphai</span></a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaseitlang" title="Vaseitlang"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Vaseitlang</span></a>. The Border Security Force
(BSF) in embryonic state was just being raised and was not involved in Mizoram,
not then. There is no record of employment of CRPF at this stage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The MNF attack at
Lungle began at about 2230 hrs on 28 Feb 66, at the sub-treasury office
situated within the defended perimeter of 1 AR post. 500–800 strong MNA attacked the stockade and
were soon repulsed leaving two AR personnel and six of MNA dead. Three AR
personnel were wounded. The AR camp was then surrounded and the siege lasted three
days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CBzIE6WM7FU/VwHs6dA4YTI/AAAAAAAACEU/7rt6JCu_U0Qjx2qnkRjI9pWQodFU6zn9Q/s1600/MNA%2BLMG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CBzIE6WM7FU/VwHs6dA4YTI/AAAAAAAACEU/7rt6JCu_U0Qjx2qnkRjI9pWQodFU6zn9Q/s320/MNA%2BLMG.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On 1 Mar morning
one Mi-4 from 110 Helicopter Unit which tried to attend to 1 AR call for causality
evacuation was shot at and had to return empty handed, without landing. No
further attempts were made by helicopters to rescue the wounded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The siege
continued with intensive rifle and LMG fire from both sides. 1 AR began to run
out of ammo and drinking water, while the MNA seemed to have no such
difficulties. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bSWclIV6uRY/VwHs444RyBI/AAAAAAAACEM/nK3EAkPwt-sh6QlUyi9ZjcfMFyIXJV0Og/s1600/Dak%2BAirdrop%2B66.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bSWclIV6uRY/VwHs444RyBI/AAAAAAAACEM/nK3EAkPwt-sh6QlUyi9ZjcfMFyIXJV0Og/s320/Dak%2BAirdrop%2B66.jpg" width="250" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">An AF Dak from
Kumbigram made a valiant attempt to air drop ammunition and water. It too came
under fire and had to abort. On 5 March, the insurgents kidnapped RV Pillai,
the Sub-divisional Officer (from SIB). At night on 6 Mar when they ran out of
drinking water and ammunition, Lungle post surrendered along with the lightly
held garrison of the BRO. By 0700 hrs on 7 Mar, MNF flag was flying over Lungle
and the treasury as well as the armoury were in MNA’s hands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lungle was a
diversion. The main objective of the MNA was Aijal. As sun set on 28<sup>th</sup>
Feb, MNA elements started to infiltrate the township and completely surrounded
it by around 2230 hrs. MNA then setup road blocks to prevent vehicular traffic.
They began a combing operation looking for important members of the civil
administration. TS Gill, the Deputy
Commissioner (DC) at Aijal, an ex-Army officer from the Indian Frontier
Administrative Service (IFAS), took shelter in the heavily defended AR
garrison. On his way he managed to get hold of L/Nk Shivashankaran Nair and his
HF radio set from the BRO post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1 Mar 66<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At around 0200 hrs
on 1 Mar, MNA elements attacked the telephone exchange at Aijal and took
control, cutting all telephone links to the outside world. An hour later,
around 150 MNA combatants, led by Nk Sub Lalnundawta (ex 2 AR, by now a self-styled
Colonel), attacked the District Treasury and took control of not only treasure,
but the entire armoury. Within the next few hours, the MNA was in control of
all the administrative nerve centres, entirely paralysing the civil
administration. They also seized all the vehicles in the town. MNA attacked the
Aijal AR garrison repeatedly but could not penetrate the outer ring of ‘punjis’
(sharp wooden stakes) and ditches with intensive well sited fire from AR. By
daybreak on 1 Mar, Aijal was completely under the control of the MNA and the AR
garrison was surrounded and quarantined.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">L/Nk Nair opened
communication with 61 Bde in Silchar and civil administration at Shillong,
Gauhati and Calcutta by 0400 hrs on 1 Mar. TS Gill started dictating situation
reports every half an hour with Nair tapping the Morse code key. This BRO radio link remained the only means
of communication with Lushai Hill Tract in the subsequent days. The bad news
was conveyed to the PMO, but blacked out from the press.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The records of a
fact finding mission, from Govt of Assam, consisting of an all-party group sent
to Mizoram three months later states, ‘<i>At
about 0130 hrs on 1 Mar, about 150 MNA surrounded the sub-divisional
officer of the Public Works Department at Phainuam (near </i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vairengte" title="Vairengte"><i><span style="color: black;">Vairengte</span></i></a><i>) and asked
him to get out of the district. They also took over the departmental stores,
arms and ammunition of the policemen and all available vehicles. After the
civil administration and local police ran off into the jungles, the MNA
retreated to Kolasib. Similar incidents were reported from Coinlang and
Chawngte. At the same time MNA captured the AR post at </i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Champhai" title="Champhai"><i><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Champhai</span></i></a><i>, with help from their sympathisers inside the AR post. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>At </i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kolasib" title="Kolasib"><i><span style="color: black;">Kolasib</span></i></a><i>, the MNA took around 250 civil officials, the policemen and BRO road
construction pioneers as captives, and kept them without food and water for two
days. The women and children were also taken as captives and kept separately in
a small building. However, none of the civilian officials and government
servants was harmed. The MNF perhaps expected their support in running the
administration of the proposed new sovereign state’. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In a brilliant
lightening surgical strike, Hav Laldenga had liberated Lushai Hill Tract, and
proclaimed independence of Mizoram. Well almost. All that remained as a thorn
in his ass was the vigilant and valiant besieged post of 1 AR at Aijal which
refused to surrender. It was just a matter of time, before they too ran out of
water and ammunition and surrendered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At 1100 hrs on 1
Mar, Hav Laldenga ceremoniously proclaimed independence, and exhorted all the
Mizos to join the revolt against the ‘illegal Indian occupation’ of ‘Mizoram’,
land of the Mizo people. Due to sniper fire from the AR post, he had to cancel
the victory parade. The declaration of independence was a public relations fiasco
since there were only the MNF cadre present along with a few press reporters
whom Laldenga had invited. They could not get the news out since all telephone
lines had been cut by the MNA. However, jeeps with loud speakers were sent
around Aijal to convey the declaration of independence amongst the local
population. It panicked them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2 Mar 66<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On 2 Mar, MNA ambushed
an offensive patrol of the 1st AR just as they set forth from the garrison and inflicted
heavy casualties on them. Around 1100 hrs MNA captured Aijal jail and all
prisoners were set free. This led to further looting and arson of Aijal bazar,
though the bazar was closed. Because of AR's refusal to surrender, the planned
victory parade by MNF on 2<sup>nd</sup> Mar was postponed to 10<sup>th</sup>
Mar. Fearing oppression and retribution, the civil population of Aijal began
running away into the jungles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All of 2<sup>nd</sup>
and 3<sup>rd</sup> Mar loudspeakers were used to broadcast continuous
propaganda asking the Aijal garrison to surrender. However the garrison stood fast and repulsed
the MNA sallies to overrun the post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By now the national
press as well as international press had got the wind of the revolution in
Lushai Hills. Canards began to fly. Chaliha, the CM in Gauhati, was livid with
rage. He went ballistic with his rhetoric. Vishnu Sahay the Governor was
equally emotive and joined Chaliha in blaming everyone else other than himself
or Chaliha, especially for releasing Laldenga from jail without interrogation
of any sort when he was caught returning from East Pak, the previous year.
Indira Gandhi, a political novice had been PM for just 35 days with Gulzari Lal
Nanda as her Home Minister. There were political and policy paralysis in Delhi,
as well as Guhati. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Igmnl6CyznA/VwHs6po-YwI/AAAAAAAACEU/lHm4zYFUiqk1A_hYYROCC0EvbFUC4zBYw/s1600/Sam_Manekshaw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Igmnl6CyznA/VwHs6po-YwI/AAAAAAAACEU/lHm4zYFUiqk1A_hYYROCC0EvbFUC4zBYw/s200/Sam_Manekshaw.jpg" width="145" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Though overwhelmed by the turn of events, perhaps because of the quick intervention
of Shankaran Nair from IB, GoI immediately grasped the delirious situation and promptly
passed the buck back to Sahay and Chaliha to deal with it as they deemed fit, to
take immediate and appropriate actions. On 2 March 1966, the Government of Assam
invoked the ‘Assam Disturbed Areas Act (1955)’ and ‘Armed Forces Special Powers
Act (ASPA-1958)’, handing over the ball to Lt Gen Sam Manekshaw, then GOC-in-C
Eastern Command at Calcutta, to intervene and sort out Hav Laldenga and his
revolution. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When interrogated
by the press, Sam made a candid admission that the ‘<i>Army has been caught with its pants down. We have lost complete control
in Lushai Hills and would now have to go and use maximum force to capture it
back’</i> !<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">3<sup>rd</sup> Mar 66<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On 3<sup>rd</sup> Mar,
the MNA led by self-styled Brig (ex Hav of 2 AR) Hruaia plundered the Public
Works Department office in Aijal, looting and destroying the entire records of Lushai
Hill Tract ‘Sawrkar’ (Government) Office. The violence and strife continued
unabated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A quick tactical appreciation by Sam, in consultation with Brig (later
Lt Gen) Jaswant Singh, then Commander 61 Inf Bde then in Silchar, convinced Sam
that the battle was lost even before it began. Jaswant estimated that, to go
find transport to recall even a few from the 4 Inf Bns under his command
hamstrung all over the then vast north east Assam, traverse the impregnable
jungles using the only road defended by the enemy (Lion Bde of MNA), fight
through the road blocks and ambushes to go and relieve the beleaguered 1 AR
garrison in Aijal, 61 Bde would take not less than a month. Time was of
essence, since 1 AR garrison, the only forces opposing Laldenga’s rat revolution,
was likely to be overrun in a matter of few days. If Laldenga did his victory
march in Aijal, Lushai Hills would be lost for ever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HTO76fxR0uw/VwHs5eSJWNI/AAAAAAAACEM/rsVcoUoUBS8YGFXW6fqMKV_liOzFxAV5Q/s1600/JN%2BChou.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HTO76fxR0uw/VwHs5eSJWNI/AAAAAAAACEM/rsVcoUoUBS8YGFXW6fqMKV_liOzFxAV5Q/s200/JN%2BChou.jpg" width="123" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Without hesitation
Sam dialled Gen JN Chaudhuri, then CoAS, and did a corner kick to put the ball
into the apex court in Army HQ. JNC called for a meeting of the Joint Chiefs Of
Staff and asked the Chief of Air Staff (CAS), Air Chief Mshl (now Mshl of IAF) Arjan Singh to use ‘Air
Power’ to bailout Lushai Hills.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WsyXpKduSEM/VwHs4ZLdljI/AAAAAAAACEM/ES9FR86mDE0mC-1MvQrUPIw7qc42WRD1Q/s1600/Arjan%2BSingh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WsyXpKduSEM/VwHs4ZLdljI/AAAAAAAACEM/ES9FR86mDE0mC-1MvQrUPIw7qc42WRD1Q/s200/Arjan%2BSingh.jpg" width="142" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Heli lifting of
troops using Mi-4s was the obvious answer. But in earlier attempts Mi-4s (as
also Daks and Caribous) had been thwarted by intense ground fire from MNA. Some
ground sanitation was called for. Army had no artillery in that area. Flying
armed WW-II propeller driven Havards from flying training academy at Jodhpur to
Silachar, to do escort duty as well as ground attack was considered by Op
Branch at Air HQ. But this was found to be time consuming to get them
operational at Silchar. Since there was hardly any choice available to IAF, the
only pragmatic solution that Arjan Singh found was use of Hunters and Toofani
jet fighter aircraft locally available in Assam. The CAS immediately ordered 29
Sqn (Toofanis) to move to Kumbigram and 17 Sqn (Hunters) to move to Jorhat. They were
ready for combat missions at both bases by the morning of 5 Mar 66. Perhaps the
lessons from 1962 war helped make this quick decision by Arjan and equally
quick reactions by the fighter Sqns. The IAF had no choice but to use a sledge
hammer to kill a fly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">In the meanwhile, Sam ordered 61 Inf Bde Cdr,
Jawant Singh, to move forward to </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Vairengte along with 8 Sikh and 2 Para less a Company to make contact
with </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">forward
elements of Lion Bde at Chimlang on the
northern extreme of Mizoram. Another two Bns (2/11 GR and 3 Bihar) were asked
to thin the boots on ground at their posts and rush to </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Vairengte</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> and beyond as soon as
possible in support of the meagre force
that was led by Jaswant. Since it was then an Inf Bde, it had no artillery
worth mention.</span>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Brig R Z Kabraji
commanding 311 Inf Bde at Tallimora (near Agartala) was ordered by Sam to thin
the troops on Paki border and send part of his forces as reserves for 61 Bde.
They were able to move only by 7<sup>th</sup> Mar, and were hence sent back
half way, after MNA was neutralised by the AF and Aijal recaptured. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By nightfall on 3<sup>rd</sup>,
61 Bde was on the move southwards from Silchar towards the traps laid by the
Lion Bde of MNA, with mine fields, road blocks and ambushes. A fate worse than
Namka Chu (Dalvi’s 7 Bde in 62 war) awaited them. Unless ‘Airpower’ was brought
to bear in Lushai Hills, the war with MNA was lost. Unlike 1962, the IAF did not hesitate; like a
Cobra, they uncoiled and struck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">4<sup>th</sup> Mar 66<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At around 0900 hrs
on 4<sup>th</sup> Mar, waves of suicide squads comprising MNV and MNA made a
well-coordinated massed attack on the Aijal garrison. They lost 13 men with
more than 150 wounded with no loss of life in the AR garrison, other than 9
wounded. The AR garrison was completely out of ammunition and drinking water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Two Mi-4s of 110
HU from Kumbigram sent with ammunition boxes, medicine chests and water in
jerry cans could not land to discharge stores or pick up causalities due to
heavy ground fire from MNA. One single pass high level air drop attempted by a
Caribou fell outside the garrison, into the waiting hands of MNA. It completely
demoralised the AR garrison and they began preparations for surrender. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The MNA had taken over
and consolidated all over Lushai Hill Tracts. Aijal garrison was on the verge
of collapsing, but held on perhaps due to the charisma, leadership and encouragement
of the DC, TS Gill present in the garrison. He had first been a soldier, and
bureaucrat only afterwards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">5 Mar 66<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AVC9ZSXRd9g/VwHs6AA1KSI/AAAAAAAACEM/AYJZ5V2L6ZcsJdJKAXGbfd0BHtBCjBqHQ/s1600/Mi-4s%2Bin%2BMozoram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="129" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AVC9ZSXRd9g/VwHs6AA1KSI/AAAAAAAACEM/AYJZ5V2L6ZcsJdJKAXGbfd0BHtBCjBqHQ/s200/Mi-4s%2Bin%2BMozoram.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On 5<sup>th</sup> afternoon,
an attempt was once again made to land Mi-4s at Aijal with Toofani fighter escort,
as well as a similar exercise by Caribou to airdrop with escort. But both
attempts failed simply because of the vast difference in the speed of the
fighter jets. They had difficulty in locating Aijal and could not arrive over
the target at the precise moment when the Mi-4 or Caribou arrived there. Due to
intense and accurate LMG fire from MNA, both the Mi-4 and Caribou turned
back once again with many bullet holes. Though all these attempts by the Air
Force raised the morale of the AR garrison, the time had come for direct action
by the fighter jets. The trouble was that due to their high speed, they could neither
locate the MNA, nor distinguish friends from foe !! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Toofanis
operating from Kumbhirgram, and Hunters from Jorhat were used over Champai,
Darangoan, Vaphai and Demagiri. The posts were asked to generate yellow smoke
to identify them from the air. These
operations were meant to keep the MNA at bay and to ease the pressure on the
surrounded posts till they could be reinforced by flying in troops by
helicopter. Aijal was the main target and the AF fighter aircraft went into
this battle with whole hearted zest and enthusiasm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">6 Mar 66<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘17 Sqn (Hunters)
was based at Jorhat and we carried out strikes at Aijal on 6th Mar 1966. We asked the GLO to inform the AR garrison at Aijal to paint markers to
indicate targets’, recalls Fg Offr (later Air Mshl) Tester Master who flew missions in a Hunter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">‘The GLO at Jorhat briefed us that an army unit was
surrounded at a high ground by rebels in the middle of Aijal town. We were
briefed that air support/supply by helicopter and Dakota aircraft had been met
by small arms fire from the rebels. The AR garrison was in danger of
suffering casualties and needed close air support.</span> <span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DaTUQDRAbqI/VwHs33FPCAI/AAAAAAAACEM/uuBWgCTnz_IGyF0fSANoIr7neBo6XzSQQ/s1600/9%2BAijal%2BPost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DaTUQDRAbqI/VwHs33FPCAI/AAAAAAAACEM/uuBWgCTnz_IGyF0fSANoIr7neBo6XzSQQ/s320/9%2BAijal%2BPost.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The AR Garrison were housed in barracks with thatched
roofs, with a clear area around them the size of a football field. It was
decided to use rockets and front guns to attack the rebels and provide relief
to the surrounded troops (we did not use bombs). The AR was asked to put
markings on the ground to indicate the target (</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">location of MNA
concentrations). The markings comprised
an arrow to show the direction of the target and strips laid diagonally below
the arrow to indicate distance. If I remember right, the baseline was 1000 yds
and each strip was plus 100 or 200 yds. So if there were two strips below the
arrow the target was 1200 or 1400 yds in that direction.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I did two Hi-Lo-Hi strikes on 6th March with rockets and
front guns (Hunter Mk 56 252 1:15 and 331 1:20 minutes). We carried out rocket
attacks first, followed by strafing of the designated area. In both
sorties, our targets were thatched ‘bashas’, which in our cine films were seen
to be hit by my wingman and myself. After the attacks, we reconnoitred the
main highway leading to Aijal to interdict vehicular movement, but found no
such targets.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Viju Joshi, Harry Hardas, then Sqn Ldr MS Bawa were some
of the others from 17 Sqn who flew ground attack missions. That month's
log book was signed by Sqn Ldr PP Singh as Flt Cdr and Wg Cdr AS Mohan as
CO. Our EO was Flt Lt Nagpal. The Stn Cdr was Gp Capt
Kirloskar. We received messages that our missions were successful and
helped relieve the siege of the army units.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The sound and fury
of jet fighter aircraft orbiting overhead at low level are by themselves frightening
enough to those who have never experienced it. And when these aircraft attack
with rockets or guns, there is none who is not psychologically scarred. There
were no buildings near the AR garrison, just a village of thatched huts housing
and a small market that had grown around the post, which the MNA were using to
hide and enfilade the AR garrison. The civil population had fled into the
jungles during the previous three days. And because bombs were not used, the
air attacks killed or injured only a few (14 MNA / MNV killed). The fear psychosis
of the unexpected air attack, and the fire that engulfed the village (because
the village was made of dry bamboo and thatch, both <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">incendiary),</span> these were adequate to completely shatter the morale and discipline of
the MNA / MNV and MNF and disperse them helter-skelter. By the time the air
attacks were called off on the evening
of 6 Mar, there were hardly any one present in Aijal, neither civil population,
nor the MNF/MNA/MNV. They all ran away. The civil war was immediately deflated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">7 Mar 66<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 6pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because of the air
strikes, 8 Sikhs and 2 Para had an easier passage to quickly reach Aijal.
However, they did have to overcome blown bridges, mine fields, and ambushes
with sporadic small arms fire from MNA stragglers. In an exceptionally zestful
insertion, 2 Para entered Aijal and relieved 1 AR by the afternoon of 7 Mar. The
Mi-4 helicopters then brought in water, food, para-medics and civil
administration. On return, they evacuated the causalities and injured to the base
hospital in Silchar. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">TS Gill moved back
to his headquarters and immediately started a disaster management program with
vigour. Chaliha continued to spew venomous self-seeking verbiage to the press
to gain brownie points, but did not have the courage to visit Aijal, not then. Governor
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Vishnu</span> Sahay, an old hand from ‘Babudom’, the civil service, kept his mouth
shut and left Chaliha on a loose rein. Indira and Gul Nanda became entangled in
their own battle for political survival in Delhi because of the overwhelming
threat form Moraji Desai, the piss man. Lushai Hill Tract now became the baby
of the Army, not only to maintain law and order, but to also administer, win
hearts and minds to make the Mizos happy once again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Continuing their
incredible momentum, Lt Col Mathew Thomas commanding 2 Para moved on southwards and relieved
Lunglai on 13 Mar. The MNF/MNA/MNV with Hav Laldenga moved into the jungles and
mingled with the local population with the loot, arms and their deceased minds,
starting a zestful insurgency abetted by Paki intelligence (ISI). This story unfortunately
does not end here. It was just the beginning of a long drawn out battle in
which the Indian army suffered as much, or more than the civil population,
while the political kingpins continued triggering dissent and pursuing grandiose
personal ambition with the help of ISI. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Aftermath : 1966 – 1987<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After the MNF fled
into the jungle and started a virulent insurgency, the Army Commander Sam was
left holding the tub and bath water, without the baby. His staff officers in Eastern
Command ran about helter-skelter and finally, for want of another example, narrowed
down to templating ‘Briggs Plan’, which the British had used to subdue a
similar conflict in Malaya, a decade earlier. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Briggs' Plan</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">, was devised by British General Harold Briggs in 1950 as
‘Director of Operations’ in Malaya, to defeat the Malayan communists operating
out of Malayan jungles as a guerrilla army, primarily by cutting
them off from their sources of support amongst the local population. Briggs
devised a massive forced resettlement of Malayan peasantry, around 5 lk people,
removed from their natural habitats. He interned them in guarded military camps
called ‘New Villages’. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">The only unimaginative change that Sam made, before he moved
on to Delhi as the CoAS, was to change the name ‘New Villages’ to ‘</span>Progressive
Protected Villages (PPVs)’<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">. The man who was put in charge to
execute the controversial Briggs’ plan was the newly posted</span> GOC 101 Com Zone
(CZ) in Shillong, </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aPqwAgrwWtQ/VwJ2qASNJKI/AAAAAAAACEc/9EFjQ6BAIPIB__G79BFJZmhrmkK_Gpudw/s1600/Sagat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aPqwAgrwWtQ/VwJ2qASNJKI/AAAAAAAACEc/9EFjQ6BAIPIB__G79BFJZmhrmkK_Gpudw/s200/Sagat.jpg" width="146" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Maj Gen Sagat Singh, who was under the impression that he had
been side-lined perhaps due to his tenacious action at Nathu La. While he fixed
the Chinese at Nathu La pas and fenced off the border, his colleague in the
adjacent area in Sikkim abandoned Jalap La pas for ever.<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"> In the administrative melee that followed, very strangely,
the man who lost Jalap La got away while Sagat’s heroic acts at Nathu La was
not viewed in kindly light, perhaps because he was considered a maverick and
prone to think and act out of the system box. In a war that followed, several
years later, as GOC 4 Corps, Sagat’s illustrious character traits won India its
greatest military victory in a thousand years. That war, as also the insurgency
in Lushai Hill Tract required such a man, with ability to think and act out of
the box.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the aftermath
of the civil war in Lushai hills, Sam’s desire to execute Briggs plan
immediately, was not Sagat’s priority. Instead he went after Hav Laldenga and
his MNF/MNA/MNV. Though Sagat was close lipped and held his cards close to his
chest, he perhaps felt that Briggs plan was likely to succeed only when the insurgency
was controlled, a matter of chicken and eggs perception, which was to be done first
! By the end of 1966, armed reinforcements were sent to the Lushai Hill Tracts
(18 Punjab, 9 Bihar, 6, 18 & 19 AR, 4 Bn of CRPF) to maintain law &
order under Sagat’s command (101 Com Zone, at Shillong). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Capt Chandrakant
(later Maj, VrC) of 4 Guards, recollects; ‘D<i>uring
the raids on MNA hideouts, the documents seized indicated transfer of large
funds to MNF from the Methodist Baptist Churches in USA, and routing such funds
through the Roman Catholic church in Shillong. The expat missionaries were the
conduits for MNF funding and were found abetting and inflaming the MNF
aspirations. Most of these foreign missionaries were therefore expelled and
replaced with Christian priests from Kerala’</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Chandrakant
continued. ‘<i>The MNF/MNA/MNV cadre dispersed in smaller units, merged with
the local population and continued to carry out armed attacks against the
security forces in the district. The villagers suffered from both sides. The
insurgents would kill those resisting their entry into the villages, while the
villages suffered reprisals from the security forces in case ambushes had taken
place in their vicinity. However, due to the proactive efforts of the Army to
win the hearts and minds of the people of Lushai Hills, they began to turn
against the insurgents and often helped the army to locate their hideouts and
act as scouts. The tide began to turn against Laldenga’.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To the south, due
thick forests in Burma, Laldenga had no direct escape route. Using 61 & 311
Bdes, well placed blockades on every exit route, extensive use of helicopters
to reposition his forces, Sagat effectively blocked off the eastern and western
escape routes. A new 57 Mountain Div was raised at Masimpur and a Counter
Insurgency / Jungle Warfare School at Vairengte to train Inf Soldiers in the
art of fighting counter insurgency battles. Every soldier in Mizoram was
trained in this school to reduce the degree of violence and to reduce
discomfiture of the innocent population especially during cordon and search
operations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sagat then started
a systematic flushing of MNF/MNA/MNV out of the jungles.. Gradually, they were
either caught and jailed, or if they surrendered, sent for rehabilitation
programmes instituted by the army and civil administration. Hav Laldenga
escaped into East Pakistan along with a few of his cadre. Sagat then carried
out clandestine cross border, deep penetration strikes into East Pak. But Hav Laldenga, under the protection of
Paki intelligence, moved first to Mirpur and then to Lalmai Hills, from where he
escaped to Chittagong tracts and the jungles in Burma with what was left of MNA.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Briggs’ plan was
finally put into effect by Sagat, on the insistence of Sam, with political
connivance and approval of Cabinet Committee on Political Affairs (CCPA) which
also included opposition parties, plus Planning Commission. 764 villages (95%
of population in Lushai Hills) were forcibly grouped together into 18
Progressive Protected Villages (PPVs), in four phases over 4 yrs, in a 30 km
belt along the Kolasib-Lunglai road, in an infamous military operation named ‘
Accomplishment’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The PPVs had
barbed wire fencing, ditches and ‘Punjis’ to protect them from MNA attack. All
inmates of PPVs were issued Identity cards and had to take an ‘Out Pass’ when
leaving the PPVs for personal errands. Anyone caught outside the PPVs without a
pas was deemed MNF/MNA and arrested. The
major complaint against the PPVs, discomfiture for the tribal populace who were
earlier nomadic, was discontinuity of ‘Jhooming’, burning of jungles to do
cursory farming and moving on to other locations when the forests grew back. In
reality, the Mizos lived in better conditions in the PPVs, were better fed and
clothed, availed modern medical facilities, lived a safe and secure life, all under the auspices of the Army. Many
reports filed by foreign correspondents, after visiting PPVs, bear testimony. This
continued till 1970. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While insurgency
continued at lower levels, the space for political negotiations was created by
the Army. In August 1968, the Government of India offered amnesty to the
insurgents, which resulted in the surrender of 1524 MNF members. This was
followed by more amnesty offers, which led to benign entry of the MNF into
mainstream politics. While armed insurgency was contained, ‘Op Accomplishment’
inflamed the passions and aspirations of the Mizo peoples for autonomy and
statehood, but without <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">secessionism</span>, or claims for
‘Azaadi’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">In 1971, because of the efforts of RAW, who negotiated with
Laldenga, the GoI agreed to convert Lushai Hill Tracts into a Union Territory,
which came into being as ‘Mizoram’ in 1972. Afterwards, in </span>1986, in pursuance of Rajiv Gandhi’s peacenik policies, RAW once again
negotiated a ‘Memorandum of Settlement’, signed by Hav Ladenga, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._D._Pradhan" title="R. D. Pradhan"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">R. D. Pradhan</span></a> (Home Secretary), and Lalkhama
(Chief secretary). <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Following the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mizoram_Peace_Accord" title="Mizoram Peace Accord"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">Mizoram
Peace Accord</span></a>, <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Mizoram was declared a
full-fledged state of India in 1987, incredibly with the secessionist, arsonist,
Hav Laldenga as its first Chief Minister !!! Laldenga finally won his war, even
had a victory parade in Aijal, with the Army saluting and acknowledging him as ‘King
of Mizoram’ !!! </span>However, political
defections within MNF toppled him from office in 1988, like Humpty Dumpty. <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Hav Laldenga </span>never rose in politics again, perhaps due to lung cancer. He was treated
at state expense in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Delhi" title="New Delhi"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">New Delhi</span></a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York" title="New York"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">New York</span></a>. While headed for London, he
died on 7 Jul 1990. Hav Laldenga, the Kaliyug King of the Mizos, was honoured
with the first <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/State_funeral" title="State funeral"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">state funeral</span></a> in Mizoram,
and buried in the centre of Aizawl, the born again Aijal, capital of the 23<sup>rd</sup>
state of Indian Union for which Laldenga had fought tooth and nail. More than 80%
of the Mizos now live in Aijal and one wonders whether Hav Landenga is happy in
his grave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">On the 50<sup>th</sup> anniversary of the ‘Rat Revolution’ Mizoram
is now one of the most peaceful states in the region, leapfrogging towards
prosperity. </span>Mautam came again in 2006-07. But rats have realised that they cannot
create a revolution again. Mautam has now become a tourist event. Rat
revolution is perhaps over, for good. Thank God. The Mizos like my old senior
comrade in AF, Joe Lalmingliana and an old GF in Aijal whose name I forgot,
they are really very nice people, they deserve better; all the peace,
prosperity and happiness they can have !!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cheers to the
Mizos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cyclic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-81462460856527745442015-10-15T21:43:00.002+05:302015-10-15T21:43:55.438+05:30CAMARADERIE ?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I am an alumni of RIMC, Ranjitian, 1962-66, and from
37/F in NDA. I joined the Air Force. </span><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75"
coordsize="21600,21600" o:spt="75" o:preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe"
filled="f" stroked="f">
<v:stroke joinstyle="miter"/>
<v:formulas>
<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"/>
</v:formulas>
<v:path o:extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect"/>
<o:lock v:ext="edit" aspectratio="t"/>
</v:shapetype><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_3" o:spid="_x0000_s1027" type="#_x0000_t75"
style='position:absolute;left:0;text-align:left;margin-left:331.2pt;
margin-top:-.15pt;width:136.75pt;height:170.15pt;z-index:251659264;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square;mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-top:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;mso-position-horizontal:absolute;
mso-position-horizontal-relative:text;mso-position-vertical:absolute;
mso-position-vertical-relative:text'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\UNNIKA~1\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.jpg"
o:title="" croptop="843f" cropbottom="6402f" cropleft="1597f" cropright="1800f"/>
<w:wrap type="square"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Afterwards I led an uneventful
life doing ‘this & that’, ‘here & there’, and never had a chance to
visit ‘Rimc’ till 1996, or even remembered that I was a ‘Rimcolian’. None asked
me, and hence I never told these ‘nones’, that I am a Rimcolian, till I retired
from AF in 1994. One ‘L’ is sufficient for ‘Rimcolians’, in Hinglish, don’t you
think ?!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Sometime mid Feb 1988 I took over
as the CO of 104 Sqn, then equipped with AS-11 Anti Tank Missiles on Chetak
helicopters, located at Sarsawa (Saharanpur). I had neither been to Sarsawa
earlier, nor to Manali, by foot, car, or flying, flapping my wings like the
Biblical Icarus. My job was simply to induct the formidable ground attack
helicopters, Mi-35s, into 104, move the unit to Bhatinda, integrate with army
under JIP-87 and prepare the Sqn for high intensity, high density battle on the
western front ASAP. The eventuality of war seemed very real at that time. Phew,
huff & puff, one hell of a job. I was being lovingly goaded, and
purposefully prodded, ‘faster, faster’, by a superior ‘Armed Kaur’ Rimcolian
(then BGS in 10 Corps, later VCoAS).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Just a few days after I had taken
over the Sqn in Sarsawa, there was the usual rounds of welcome parties. My
subordinates bestowed their affections by insisting that I have Patiala, ‘one
for the road, and then one for the gutter’. So on one weekend, a Sunday night,
when it was raining cats and dogs, I had more sycophancy than what I could
imbibe, even in the gutter, and was just falling asleep, when the doorbell rang
at 0230 hrs on Monday morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">My wife immediately turned over
in bed, pulled the blanket over her head. ‘I have a migraine’ she said. ‘You
handle this’, she commanded. Obedience is drilled into all Rimcolians, even if
they are filled to the gills with rum & molasses. Hence, I had no choice
but to obey. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I hitched up my lungi to
half-mast and ran bare chested to open the door with much irritation since
someone was persistently and continuously ringing the bell. ‘What the phokes
?’, I roared, like a zebra turned ‘Tiger’ turned ‘Gadha’. There was lightening,
thunder and heavy rain in the background.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">‘Hai, You Bugger’, said an
apparition when I opened the door. He was in uniform, with pips of a Lt Col,
soaked to the skin, water dripping even from his W-front ‘chaddi’. There he
was, Sec Cdr Ranjit, winner of the President’s Gold Medal, ‘Swapan Bhadra’. My
classmate, whom I had not seen since we passed out of NDA in 69, almost two
decades earlier. Swapan was just the same, tall, handsome, suave, sportsman
extraordinaire, didn’t need an introduction. The bugger has a record of winning
all the medals clean sweep, along with the sword of honor, in IMA.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-in-_ejBfS7E/Vh_QhkVShLI/AAAAAAAABZ8/BvEajvgctG4/s1600/SWAPAN%2B2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-in-_ejBfS7E/Vh_QhkVShLI/AAAAAAAABZ8/BvEajvgctG4/s320/SWAPAN%2B2015.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">‘‘What the phokes ?’, I mumbled
again meekly, giving him a zestful hug. Immediately he did commando style deep
penetration into my drawing room dripping water all over the carpet and sofa. I
should have closed the door on his face and told him to ‘phoke off’ when I had
a chance. It was too late now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">‘What are you doing here, at this
time of the night ?’ I asked out of curiosity. After all there is a limit to
civility at 0230 hrs, on a Monday morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">‘I have to reach Manali by 0730
hrs or I will be court marshalled’, he announced unceremoniously. ‘And you are
going to take me there’, he commanded. ‘Give me a drink, Champaign, and
something to eat, I have not had anything to eat since lunch yesterday’, he
ordered ‘Din-Fast’ (dinner + breakfast, on the quick, double march). I don’t
blame him, I was dressed worse than a ‘Masalchi’ of the Madras regiment on
holiday in Kovalam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I poured him a drink
and went to the kitchen to make ‘Masala Dosa’, with my lungi at half-mast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">While I was making Dosa and
warming refrigerated Sambar, at 0245 hrs in the morning, Swapan told me his
story hanging on to the kitchen door, sipping my Champaign, directly from the
bottle. He does everything in style.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Swapan had been posted to DRDO’s
Snow & Avalanche Study Establishment (SASE) at Manali and had gone to
Meerut to pack and dispose off his baggage, which perhaps consisted of several
GFs too. He is such a handsome, suave, irresistible kind of chap that all
neighbourhood birds watch him. Baggage is easy to dispose off, but not the
birds. So he had over stayed his leave and had just few hours to join his unit,
or be court marshalled as ‘absent without leave’. He was asking me to
demonstrate camaraderie. Old boy’s ‘esprit de corps’, to do or die, simply
mumbling ‘Itch Dien’, whatever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">While I was making the third
Dosa, at 0255 hrs, I evaluated the odds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I was drunk and not fit to fly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I could get court marshalled,
grounded, all of which were worse than what could happen to Swapan, if he
didn’t reach Manali at 0730 hrs.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The weather was bad, there was no
way I could help him reach Manali, where I had never been to before.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">We could kill ourselves doing
what he wanted me to do.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I would lose my command before I
even got used to having, ‘one for road and one for the gutter’, war cry of the
boys under my command. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">None of it sounded good. They
sounded like laments of an old woman. I was a Rimcolian, got punched, ate
vitamin XXX, scotch eggs and then was made to run round and round the quadrangle
to imbibe camaraderie and esprit de corps. It was time to show it, not act like
a wimp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">So, Swapan and I got into his
jeep at 0330 hrs, and went to my Sqn. There was only one of my airmen on guard
on duty. ‘Tham, Kaun Aata hai’, he challenged with his Danda, holding it like a
rifle doing a bayonet charge. ‘Tera bap’ I told him. ‘Come here and help me
push the hanger door open’. We pushed out a Chetak helicopter which had its
fuel tanks full. We kept pushing it down the taxi track till the ARC dumbbell,
far away from the AF habitation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">At 0415 hrs, we got airborne as
quietly as possible. It had stopped raining and the clouds had lifted. It was
still dark with the eastern sky beginning to glow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">‘You do the map reading’, I told
Swapan. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">He was holding the million map upside down. ‘Yar I have never seen such
a map, do you have a ¼” or 1” map like the army ?’, he asked. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I was in serious
trouble, the clouds were sitting on our head at about 500’. I drove the
helicopter like a ‘Jonga’, terrain following using the landing lights, heading
for Manali knowing fully well that I can never reach Manali<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in such weather. But I had to show Rimcolian
camaraderie, esprit de corps, didn’t I ?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">To cut a long story short, we did
reach Manali , somehow, never once going above Jonga driving height at full
speed, around 140 kmph. Swapan went into Champaign induced sleep despite all
the excitement and his batman kept jabbing my head from behind when I nodded
off, rum induced sleep. The helicopter flew by itself and had more camaraderie
than I. Moses used godly powers to part the sea. With same zest I used
willpower to try and part the trees, hills and the clouds. The helicopter knew
where to go and what to do. Actually I didn’t do anything, I was feeling very sleepy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I dropped Swapan at Manali,
refuelled and came all the way back on my own, just like I went, parting trees,
hills and clouds like Moses. I had learnt to do all that and more, because of
Swapan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I arrived back at Sarsawa as my
colleagues were assembling for the monthly ‘Station Parade’ at the opposite dumbbell.
So I quietly landed on the ARC Dumbbell and switched off. ATC began making
frantic calls to figure out the mad man approaching at low level and landing at
Sarsawa, so early in the morning, in bad weather. I switched off the radio to
get the irritating ATC off my back. I ran to my office, instructed my men to
push back the helicopter from ARC dumbbell, changed into uniform and ran to
attend the parade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">‘Did you go somewhere early
morning ?’, my boss the Station Commander asked me later. I winked at the OC
Flying, ex NDA few courses senior, seeking his tacit cooperation. ‘I was just
doing an early morning ‘doo-shang’, I told my boss with a straight innocent
face, ‘Just helping the compass to find the North, Sir’. Waffling was an art I
had learnt in Rimc, and refined to ‘fine art’ in NDA. In love and war, always
waffle, do Kathakali to win, that was my belief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="sm-tile-image-yui_3_8_0_1_1444744352874_1139"
o:spid="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75" alt="https://rkohli.smugmug.com/photos/i-qf77Cgf/0/L/i-qf77Cgf-L.jpg"
href="https://rkohli.smugmug.com/Coursemates/Kovalam-Get-Together/Course-Party/n-9JfV9b/i-qf77Cgf"
style='position:absolute;left:0;text-align:left;margin-left:315.45pt;
margin-top:1.15pt;width:147.75pt;height:181.85pt;z-index:251658240;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square;mso-width-percent:0;
mso-height-percent:0;mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;mso-wrap-distance-top:0;
mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;
mso-position-horizontal:absolute;mso-position-horizontal-relative:text;
mso-position-vertical:absolute;mso-position-vertical-relative:text;
mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;mso-width-relative:margin;
mso-height-relative:margin' o:button="t">
<v:fill o:detectmouseclick="t"/>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\UNNIKA~1\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image003.jpg"
o:title="i-qf77Cgf-L" croptop="8676f" cropbottom="5595f" cropleft="27325f"
cropright="10466f"/>
<w:wrap type="square"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Nothing more was said or heard
from Swapan, till we met a decade later in school on 13 Mar 98. We only hugged
and said cheers, the Manali escapade remained forgotten. It was not anything
special to remember.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I don’t think this story is
anything great. At best it was just a ruddy display of Rimcolian brotherhood.
Do you think that is what is meant by ‘camaraderie’ or perhaps ‘esprit de
corps’ ?!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0000cc; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-17306320154593029572015-10-15T20:34:00.000+05:302019-06-12T01:07:35.428+05:30CONFESSIONS OF A POSTMAN<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">One winter early 70s, Indian Airlines went on strike. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Don’t know how
much it affected the jet set crowd, because those days the ordinary folks
travelled by train, no one was in a hurry to go anywhere. In my wonky opinion,
the Postal Dept got constipated because ‘Air Mail’ got stuck, in their you know
where. So Air HQ was told to apply a ‘pull through’ to clear the barrel of the
P&T.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Air HQ came up with an incredibly simple plan. One Dak each was to be
positioned at Cal, Madras, Bombay and Delhi. Each was to go to Nagpur and back.
The P&T would switch the mails from Dak to Dak at Nagpur and Bingo, the P&T
could now heave a sigh of relief from constipation. All well laid plans get
laid in the heat of the battle, and that is what this story is about. P&T
didn’t want to send mail during day as envisaged by Air HQ, they wanted it done
at night. Flying Daks during day was a difficult job. At night, well it was
almost the most stupid thing to do. P&T was most insistent, ‘do it at
night’, they commanded. I guess they were right, making love or war, they were
best done in the dead of the night !!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I was then minding my
own business in 43 at Jorhat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">When not flying, I
would go and ask Le-Le Sir, our venerable Flight Commander, ‘Sir, can I go to
my room ?’.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Why ?’, Le Le Sir
was a man of few words, a man of ‘Le-Le, or De-De Action’. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘So that I can relax
and go to sleep’, I would say most sincerely.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘No’, he would say
emphatically. ‘Finish the author book, make MFTR, do boards & charts, write
Sqn diary, board of officers, CoI, canteen check, base ops duty, orderly
officer, paying officer, look after pigs, run citronella plant, be food member
…………do something constructive’, he would say in one breath. All these were my
jobs when I was not flying.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Sir, can I go to
account section ?’, I would persist.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
'<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Why ?’.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘So that I can go
from account section to my room and go to sleep !!’. I was a stupid chap, but
scrupulously honest, reason why he never laid me on the foot mat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually Le-Le Sir was very fond of me. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">When the P&T plan was given to him, he promptly dispatched a Dak
from Jorhat to Barrackpore with two sets of crew. As an afterthought, to get me
out of his sight, I was added as the 11<sup>th</sup> man, the cheer leader and
score keeper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Once in Barrackpore, our routine was to proceed to Dum Dum where the
mail was to be loaded at around 2200 hrs. Since Barrackpore ATC closed at 1330
hrs, we had to raise a 901 for a three ton that used to masquerade as an ‘air
crew transport’ before the Bongs in the station went home at 1300 hrs, to pick
us up from the mess at 1200 hrs since the MTD too wanted to abide by ‘Bong
Marxist Labour Union Law’ that encouraged all to spend quality time with family
after 1400 hrs. Bengalis chatter in long breathless sentences, I learnt that in
Barrackpore. Phew…..what a long sentence above.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">More often than not, our routine was to leave the mess after an early
lunch, with packed dinner, push start the 3 ton and the Dak, take off for Dum
Dum before 1330, land at Dumdum, loiter around the departure/arrival
lounges to do bird watching. Sleep for a while on the very uncomfortable chairs
in the lounge and dream. We dreamt of many things. Mostly fair weather and
friendly Bong birds, good behavior of Dak, a cup of tea, and more than
anything else, for Lord P&T to position the load on time at 2200 hrs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bongs are not only very argumentative, but
from the size and number of ‘Air Mail’ bags, I inferred that they also
compulsively wrote too many argumentative letters too !! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Once the mail was loaded, we push started the Dak, got airborne to
cruise at around 6000 feet on auto pilot, while the Signaler went nonstop ‘Dit
Da Dit Dit Da’, telling Shillong ‘Eastern Control’ to piss off. The two pilots
would then appoint the Nav as ‘Officer On Bridge Watch’, a term borrowed from
the Navy, burrow ourselves under the mail bags and go to sleep. The Jorhat Daks
had open windows and door, so it used to be very cold up there. Sometimes the
Navs also would delegate his ‘watch keeping’ to the Sigs, make him sit on the
pilot’s seat and surreptitiously join the pilots under the mail bags. We had a
Nav who couldn't sleep. So he used to open mail bags fishing for love
letters to do ‘time pass’. If the love letter was not zestful, he would add
explicit intensions as PS, lick it closed, and put it back in the mail bag !!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Exactly one minute before we hit Nagpur NDB, the Nav or the Sig would
wake up the pilots. After landing, while P&T took out the mail bags and
re-loaded the Daks with return mail for Cal, everyone would head for the ATC
cafeteria where a fat lady, Bhabi type, used to serve delicious cutlets. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Other
Daks would come from Madras, Mumbai and Delhi, and the whole jing-bang crew of
all four Daks would have a mid-night snack party, cutlets, Coke and Hip Flasks.
The return journey to Cal was usually a repeat, and we would land back at
Dumdum around 0400 hrs. We had to hang around the dispersal, usually under the
Dak’s wings because the lounges would be closed, there were no birds to ogle. A
thermos of coffee from the Nagpur fat Bhabi would help ‘time pass’. We could
land back at Barrackpore only after the ATC started union hours at 0730. There
would be no MTD and hence, no 3 ton. Return to the mess for breakfast at around
1000 hrs and into bed by 1100. Barrackpore mess also accommodated hybrid
mosquitoes, legacy of the Gnat Sqn from 71 war. The mozzies were well versed in
doing air defence combat air patrols, tactics they learnt in Boyra. They did not
allow us to sleep even with a mozzie net.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They would use the thermals of the fan to slide up the walls, right up
to service ceiling and then dive bomb from there like a Zero, right through the
mozie net to catch us unaware. Usually we slapped, punched and even kicked
ourselves to sleep. The second crew would take over. That was the master plan,
which got laid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The zestful meeting and greeting of four sets of Dak crew from four
corners of India at Nagpur soon began to take shape of an adhoc secretive
battle plan. Everyone had a GF at some corner of India and here was an
opportunity to go with Air Mail to visit them surreptitiously with no fear of
being caught 'en flagrante delicto', or ‘AWOL’. It started as a trickle, one by one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Just a day in Madras’, begged one of the Jorhat crew. ‘Manage without
me, I will be back after two days’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">He switched Dak at Nagpur and caught the one to Madras (TTW Dak from
Bangalore, sometimes the yellow TTU target towing Dak from Cochin). He didn't come back for
five days and when asked why, he said with a sheepish grin, ‘I have several GFs
in Cochin and even in Bombay’. Soon the trickle leak became a deluge, turbulent subsonic
flow, and it reached a point when everyone ran off from Barrackpore leaving the
Dak with just RPM Nair and I, to manage on our own. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Three days in a row, RPM graduated from his Navigator’s throne at the
back and shifted into the co-pilot’s seat. Sleepless days and nights with no
birds in Dumdum terminal, just the ruddy Air Defence fully ops mozzie Gnats at
Barrackpore. Our eye lids became so heavy that we couldn't keep it open for
more than a few seconds. RPM improvised clothes clips to pin my eye lids to my
eye brows, during take-off and landing in accompaniment of his vulgar jokes with
quadratic equations to blow my mind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On
the fourth consecutive night, we got airborne somehow from Dum Dum, even though
the flare path seemed to be converging at the Transport Command Datum Line
(TCRL), about 10 feet in front of the Dak’s nose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">As soon as we were airborne and climbing, I told RPM, ‘You got controls,
wake me when we are overhead Nagpur’, burrowed myself under the mail bags and
within a second was fast asleep, dreaming of fair weather birds and what I
would do to them if I caught them. It was perhaps a long dream since I had many
novel ideas to tackle bird menace of youth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I woke with a start, pushed the mail bags aside, and looked at my watch.
The time was ETA Nagpur + 40 mts. I jumped up and ran to the cockpit. There was
no one in the cockpit, the Dak was merrily flying on its own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Rrrrrr Peeee Emmmmm’, I screamed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I ran back into the fuselage. I could see one flying boot sticking out
from under the mail bags. I gave the boot a football corner kick. RPM shot out
like a Polaris missile launched from a submarine, from under the mail bags.
‘There is none is the cockpit’, I shouted over the din of the engine noise and
the cold air rushing around the fuselage. I ran back and buckled myself into my
seat. RPM was right behind and strapped himself in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I put on the landing lights.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘What are you doing ?’, RPM quizzed making a face.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘I am trying to look out for Nagpur’, I said, perhaps incipient panic
and onset of disorientation.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Switch the ruddy thing off. We over flew Nagpur 43 minutes ago’, he
said calmly, displaying supreme confidence, a character trait of RPM. ‘Turn
around’, he ordered me, pulling on the khaki cloth head set with bulbous
earphones that made us look like monkeys. I did the same and buckled my dummy
smelly Oxygen mask on my face, used only because it had a microphone inside. I had to have
both hands to disengage autopilot, usually the Dak bucked and kicked like a
mule when the autopilot was disengaged. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Nagpur approach, Victor Oscar Bravo’, RPM pressed the PTT and said into
his dummy Oxygen mask without clipping it on his face. He couldn't stand his
own spit smell and made RT calls without breathing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I began to turn around, but was unsure which was the sky and which was
the ground, both looked the same. ‘RPM, which way is the ground ?’ I asked.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Oscar Bravo, Na-ga-pur, I was so bhurried, how do you read ? I made so
many calls, you did not resh-pund’, the Bong Nagpur civil controller began
complaining. I think I was trying to invert the Dak thinking that sky was the ground.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">RPM tapped the artificial horizon, trying to make me focus there.
‘Nagpur Bravo is inbound from west, stand by for ETA’, he said breathlessly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I turned around, reciprocal. RPM trimmed the circular wheel on my side
and the Dak pitched forward . He opened a bit of throttle and readjusted the
pitch lever to stop making the props go asynchronous, ‘wow,wow,wow,wow’. The Dak began to
descend at a faster speed. I was very happy to let RPM do things without asking
him stupid questions.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Nagpur Oscar Bravo, ETA Nagpur in 35 minutes, request gradual descent
and long finals’, RPM started fiddling with the radio compass. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Alter heading
left by 12 degrees’, he said after half a minute, pointing at the radio
compass. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘RPM, are we climbing or descending ?’, I asked in a partial disorientated
state. RPM took out the clothes clips and silently pinned my eye lids to my
eye brows. Now I could see the instruments better. I felt better too, and
smiled. RPM smiled with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘I thought you were supposed to keep awake and fly while I slept’, I voiced
my frustration.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘You think I am God ?’, RPM scowled. He pointed at the far horizon. It
was a clear moonless winter night with no sign of fog. We could see the glow of
Nagpur on the horizon. We silently descended and approached Nagpur.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘What happen, Oscar Bhravo, bhy are you approachiiiiing phram bhesht,
your homing to Na-ga-pur 085 ?’, Nagpur enquired incredulously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Oh it is OK, we just went for a bit of sightseeing, ETA 17 minutes’,
RPM told the approach controller soothingly. I could now begin to see the
glimmer of the flare path. I pushed the nose further forward and opened more
throttle trying to get to Nagpur faster, before I fell asleep again. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">We heard the Dak inbound from Madras calling and asking for long finals.
Nagpur approved and advised him to check short finals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I started doing cockpit checks, adjusting the UV lights on to the
instruments. When I looked up out of the cockpit, the runway flare path had vanished.
I looked and looked, opened my eyes wider to let the ‘Rods’ in my retina get a
hard on, improve night vision. I could see twinkling lights in the sky and on
ground, but the runway had disappeared in a matter of twenty seconds. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘RPM, am
I inverted ?, I asked quite frankly, without fear or favour, as Tagore told me to do.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘No, you are doing fine, the sky is up there’, RPM said pointing. ‘See,
that is the Orion group, and down below see the rotating beacon of the
airfield’. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Like I said, RPM was unshakable, inspirational, supremely confident,
a man I prayed for, to have as my Nav.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Where is the f***ing runway ? I asked totally confused. ‘It was right
there on the nose, I could see the flare path, now I can’t see it’, I
confessed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Eda Maire’ (‘pubic hair’, in Malayalam, RPM’s endearment for me). </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Can’t
you see, the controller has switched off the runway lights of 09 and switched
on 32 to let the Madras Dak land’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘I looked again and now I could see the cross runway lit up. ‘Should I land
on 32 ?’, my mind’s gyros had somewhat become rigid and precessed more than 90
degrees. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‘We are still 8 nautical miles from touch down’, RPM instructed me. ‘Carry
on for 09, the controller will put the lights on for you after the other
aircraft lands’.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">In due course we landed on 09, switched off and went to eat cutlets. I
think we ate one dozen cutlets each, like the last supper, and went to sleep on
the floor of the cafeteria. We left for Cal next morning and didn't fly for next two days. There were no Air Mail love letter delivery in Cal for 36 hrs. Few
more crew members, Bongs who had run off locally, returned and hence RPM and I
were given two days off to go and gallivant in Grand, watch out for birdies in
Dalhousie square and Park street. Those days the Bong birds had a board around
their neck, ‘Look, but don’t touch’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I was a bad postman, I confess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I am still using clothes clip to hold other things up. Time to raise 901
to go for met briefing, on my way to Valhalla. RPM is already there, waiting
for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Cheers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calibri light" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">CYCLIC<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8915751989137189583.post-69123454386884203432015-08-17T00:02:00.000+05:302015-08-17T00:02:33.149+05:30SHOOT OUT AT KURMITOLA<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Preface<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lZ1clgDsNOI/VdDR7DIAgvI/AAAAAAAABQw/_rMVYlj7hpo/s1600/Nebb%2B-2%2BJPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lZ1clgDsNOI/VdDR7DIAgvI/AAAAAAAABQw/_rMVYlj7hpo/s200/Nebb%2B-2%2BJPG.jpg" width="153" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Vinod Kumar Neb, just out of his teens,
was a young ‘under-trainee’ pilot, when he won a VrC in the 1965 Indo-Pak war
for shooting down a Paki Sabre. By 1971, he was older and more experienced, The
following story is about how he repeated his feat and shot down yet another
Paki Sabre in the 71 war. He was once again awarded a VrC, a 'Bar' (tiny metal
strip, hardly noticeable, that is worn on the VrC ribbon on his chest). Vinod
is VrC & Bar, one among a rare breed of air warriors of great distinction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is my belief that during a soldier's
life time, he prays to his god of war, for an opportunity to demonstrate his
professional skill and valour. He is indeed a fortunate man if war comes twice
in his life time when he still has testosterone and the zest to fight. A hero
is one who needs to show valour and heroism only once, after all, it is mortal
combat where the enemy too attempts to demonstrate valour and heroism.
Therefore, those who win ‘Bar’, bar bar, are very special. Something in them
which makes them an icon. Vinod is one such person, the bar bar kind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Vinod is an affable
but reticent person, doesn’t like to talk about himself. So this story was pried
out of him, bit by bit, by my sheer perseverance and prodding. I took the liberty of writing
it in first person, as if Vinod is the narrator. But any inaccuracy or exaggeration
in this story is purely due to my lack of comprehension or misinterpretation on purpose to make this an interesting
story. Please forgive me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">CYCLIC <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>SHOOT OUT AT KURMITOLA<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>(Air War – Liberation Of Bangla
Desh 1971)</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I rehashed
my name in 1982 and added another B to my name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But way back
in Dec 1971, just before the war started, I was Flt Lt Vinod Kumar Neb VrC, a
fully operational fighter pilot, flying Hunter aircraft in 17 Squadron (Sqn),
then based at Hashimara in eastern sector. I had earlier won a VrC in 65 war,
as a rookie pilot, for shooting down a Sabre in the western sector.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By around
1900 hrs on 3 Dec, because of an All India Radio (AIR) broadcast, most of us at
Hashimara got to hear that the Paki Air Force (PAF) had carried out a
pre-emptive strike on Indian Air Force (IAF) airfields in the western sector
and that a formal war with Pak on the west and eastern fronts had commenced. Since Jul that year, we had been training and
anxiously awaiting such a moment, to be unleashed and ordered to go and make
war on PAF and Paki Army in East Pak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4 Dec 71<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The very
first offensive operational mission, launched early morning on 4 Dec 71, ex
Hashimara, was a two aircraft (a/c) strike package led by then Wg Cdr Supy Kaul
(CO 37 Sqn, later the CAS) with Fg Offr Harish (Harry) Masand, later Air Mshl,
as his wing man. They were armed with high explosive rockets for attack and front
guns for self-defence, or ground attack.<span style="color: #0000cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They were immediately followed by
a 2 x 2 a/c strike package, similarly
armed, led by then Sqn Ldr AW Lele (Flight Commander 17 Sqn) with Fg Offr SS (Buster)
Bains as his wing man. I followed in the line-up for take-off, with Fg Offr KS
Bajwa as my wingman. We took off, all four of us together in a vick, and were
soon heading south at low level. The two
formations were in a loose echelon. Bajwa was tucked into me, behind and to my
left. Lele and Buster were similarly tucked in, about 2000 yards to my right. Our
mission was to strike Kurmitola with rockets and degrade the airfield, make it
dysfunctional. We were aware that Paki
Combat Air Patrols (CAPs), Sabres, would
be waiting for us. The only technology that we had those days to stay alive was
‘Eye Ball Mk- I’. My eye balls were out of its socket and rapidly scanning the
sky all around me, I wished to stay alive and had no desire for heroics. I had
a wife to return to.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we approached
Kurmitola, with the sun to our left and rising, I saw Supy Kaul’s formation
ahea<b>d, </b>returning from the strike at low level, few hundred feet above us. Simultaneously
I also saw three Sabres ahead, high, closing up on us in a screaming dive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Three Bogies,
2 O’clock high’, I instinctively called out on the radio. ‘3000 yards closing
in’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QQZdPSRK2PA/VdDUIqBHoxI/AAAAAAAABQ8/f5tYxtbCEhQ/s1600/Combat%2B-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QQZdPSRK2PA/VdDUIqBHoxI/AAAAAAAABQ8/f5tYxtbCEhQ/s640/Combat%2B-1.jpg" width="521" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As per our training doctrine, I
anticipated an instinctive hard right by all four of us in the formation, a
turn right into the oncoming Sabres to take them head on. Hence, I punched my
tanks and threw in an immediate turn, with Bajwa reacting along with me with
unspoken reflexes of combat pilots trained for such contingencies. For some strange reason Lele and Buster were
slow to react. At that instant, perhaps for a few seconds, Lele may not have
spotted the threat. And in that instant, what seemed like hours, I thought I
was leading Bajwa and going to collide with Lele and Buster. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dUMwc9Hpmhg/VdDUWslS5AI/AAAAAAAABRE/zEqC1aXstxs/s1600/Combat%2B-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dUMwc9Hpmhg/VdDUWslS5AI/AAAAAAAABRE/zEqC1aXstxs/s640/Combat%2B-2.jpg" width="522" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I allowed
my nose to ride up in the turn and went right over Lele and Buster and in the
bargain lost visual contact with them. I
had Bajwa with me behind my left wing. The cloudless early morning sky was all
around us, brilliant with myriad colours. I had no time or inclination to enjoy
the rising sun. My eyes and brain was focused on this one horrifying Sabre,
streaking straight at us, with his guns blazing. Perhaps for a few seconds my
brain may have wandered, asking silly questions, as to why the enemy was taking
so long to shoot me down, asking for trouble, and closing in for a front gun
kill. I don’t remember.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The three
Sabres perhaps saw me pull up and turn into them. They had two Hunters going
away but four of us coming into them. So,
like all fighter pilots in a close quarter aerial dog fight situation, they perhaps
split, it was the natural thing to do. Perhaps two went after Lele and Buster.
But what mattered to me was that one of them was hell bent on killing me. We started to jockey in time and space for
the right shooting loop. I had to kill
or be killed within the next few seconds, I had no choice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was
perhaps the longest aerial combat of my life, on the very first morning of that
war. Despite our numerical strength, the odds were against us because we were
sluggish and weighted down with fuel and full load of munitions. However, we
believed that the Hunter was a pilot’s dream in close combat. We believed that
it could out turn the Sabre in killing manoeuvres with front guns. Both the
Sabre and the Hunter had similar fire power, so it was a matter of who could
first pull the sucker punch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we began
to manoeuvre all over the sky, chased by the Sabre. The enemy, as well as us,
we pulled incredible amount of ‘g’ that rushed the blood from head to foot and
made us feel five or six times heavier than our body weight, our vision
blurred. The enemy was as good as us, or perhaps better. I was
hyperventilating, I could hear my own breathing volubly in my earphones. I
think my pulse may have shot up two and half times the normal, the adrenalin
may have been copiously released into my blood stream, all of it quite usual in
dog fights, in practice and in deadly real life drama. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x3GPXx7tN_0/VdDU1WL6Z7I/AAAAAAAABRM/K6NO7yLZw0M/s1600/Combat%2B-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x3GPXx7tN_0/VdDU1WL6Z7I/AAAAAAAABRM/K6NO7yLZw0M/s640/Combat%2B-3.jpg" width="352" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What may
have seemed incredible to others afterwards, I had got Bajwa and myself into a
scissor manoeuvre at low level. Many said afterwards that this is not possible,
but that was perhaps exactly what I did, the
unconventional thing. We perhaps did three scissors, with Bajwa taking pot
shots at the enemy. I was too unsettled, could not get the enemy within the pipers
on my gun sight and hence never pulled the trigger during the initial three
scissors.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometime
during the third scissor, my fire warning light and the low fuel warning light started to blink. I
tried not to look at the blinking lights, there was nothing I could do about
them. Instinctively I pulled back the throttle and eased out of the turn. I saw
Bajwa over shoot me, guns blazing. The enemy now was turning into Bajwa with
his guns blazing, each hell bent on killing each other. I was being ignored. I
bashed open throttle instinctively and did a wing over turning upside down. And
right there, while being on my back, I saw the enemy glide by. He was so close
that I could perhaps have reached out and touched him. With my left
hand, I adjusted the pipers, got the shooting configuration using a bit of
trigonometry and the wing span of the Sabre, perhaps it took just a second. I
now had the enemy right in the centre of my gun sight. I pressed the trigger.
The four Aden guns blazed away, I was lucky that there was no jamming of the
guns. I could see the yellow tracer arrow into the enemy followed by high
explosive and armour piercing rounds. A few seconds later, I saw him
disintegrate. The wings broke away from the body of the Sabre and they
plummeted towards the earth individually. I did not see the pilot eject. Incredible
even to myself, I had achieved my second kill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I rolled
over, got my aircraft level and did a quick check of the controls and the
instruments on the dashboard. The fire warning and the low fuel light were
still blinking. I perceived that I may have been hit, that I was low on fuel
and my engine on fire. I suppressed my panic and for a few fleeting seconds, I
thought of ejecting. But the aircraft was still flying and responding to me and
the panic subsided as quickly as it came. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By then I was
all alone. My formation had disappeared somewhere in the blue sky. I decided to
divert to Rupsi (Bhagdogra) which was closer than Hashimara from where I had
got airborne. However, when I reached overhead Rupsi, I was overwhelmed by
‘get-home-itis’, and decided to head for home. There was an a/c doing an
emergency landing at Hashimara with unserviceable air speed indicator. But to my
good luck, he landed safely and did not crash or block the runway. Buster and I
landed one after the other uneventfully. While taxying back to dispersal my
engines conked-out due to fuel starvation. The fire warning was perhaps spurious.
After I got down from the a/c, I heaved a sigh of relief. I had lived to fight
another day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While we
were returning to Hashimara, a second 2 x 2 formation of Hunters led by Wg Cdr
Chatrath (CO 17 Sqn) had got airborne, perhaps for the same target Kurmitola. I
was busy preparing for a second strike and hence did not keep a track of
Chatrath’s mission.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My second
mission, about an hour after we returned, was once again a 2 x 2 strike package
led by Lele, a repeat of the earlier mission, with the same pilots, this time to
strike Tezgaon (Dacca) airfield. To my
utter dismay, my aircraft would not start. So Lele left me behind, with Buster as my
wingman, to follow as soon as possible. Lele and Bajwa managed to strike Tezgaon
without being bounced by Sabres and were recovered at Kumbigram since they did
not have enough fuel to come back to Hashimara. Because of the undue delay in
repairing my Hunter, and none other was available, Buster and I were then asked
to proceed directly to Kumbigram to join Lele and operate from there. Rest of
17 Sqn led by our venerable CO also moved to Kumbigram and we operated from
there for the rest of the war. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By 6<sup>th</sup> Dec Lele, Buster, Bajwa and I had
become a team and continued to fly together. Early morning on 6<sup>th</sup>,
we did another 2 x 2 strike mission with Lele leading to strike Kurmitola. Due
to poor visibility, we missed the target on the first pass. Much against my
wishes, Lele decided to climb and make another run. We were bounced by two Sabres, perhaps
assisted by ground control radar. We spotted them as we began our run-in.
However, because we had by then begun to descend, we perhaps went into the
ground clutter on the enemy radar and the Sabres perhaps lost visual contact.
They broke off and went away. We continued with our attack and returned to
Kumbigram home safe. Rest of the day, and on the next day we did several more
uneventful missions mostly destroying other tactical targets indicated by the
army. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On 7<sup>th</sup> evening four of us were once again at
it, this time an attack on Comilla Cantonment. Lele and Buster were to do the
attack while Bajwa and I were to set up a CAP overhead Comilla to cover them. On
target, while Lele and Buster went into attack, Bajwa and I circled overhead,
180<sup>0</sup> opposite to each other, round and round exercising our
eyeballs, looking out for Sabres. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Sabre on your tail’, Bajwa called out suddenly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Instantly, reacting out of conditioned reflex, I punched and
jettisoned my drop tanks, pushed open the throttles to the gate, and commenced
a hard left climbing turn. Still climbing, I saw an aircraft 50 yrds ahead and
slightly higher than me. I rolled out of the turn facing North East in the same
direction as the other a/c. He suddenly jettisoned his two tanks and the tanks
zipped past, almost colliding with me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Perhaps he is Buster’, I thought to myself, taking my
finger off the trigger. Though so close, in the fading light, I did not discern
the distinctive contours of a Sabre. Then the thought occurred to me, just two
drop tanks, Buster had four under his wing, ‘this is a bloody Sabre’. I began
the chase a few seconds too late. The enemy seemed to have sensed danger. I
think he bashed open throttle and the last I saw him, he was diving and
accelerating away from me. I lost him against the myriad colours and darkness
of the ground in the fading light. It was such a close thing, so easy a kill,
but I lost the opportunity because I took a few seconds too long to make up my
mind. It was his day, to live another day. Doing a 3<sup>rd</sup> kill was
something that even I could not imagine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="color: #0000cc;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On one of
the CAS missions, Lele and I were briefed to attack Birkal. The attack was to
be coordinated with a Chetak h/c acting as an airborne FAC to help us locate
the targets easily. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once we
reached the area, we saw that there were two hills with a river in between,
going from north to south west. The river had a prominent bend that took it
around the hill. The enemy had fortified bunkers and gun positions right on top
of the two hills as well as on the eastern bank of the hill in the north. We
neutralised the gun positions, direct hits with rockets, and the bunkers by strafing
with front guns. I was given to understand recently that Maj Parvez Mushraff
was present there in the bunkers and survived our attack. Perhaps his destiny
was not to die that day, but to go on and become the President of Pak. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once I was
briefed thoroughly, a long briefing using reconnaissance photographs and what
seemed very accurate grid coordinates. I was to go and strike a black top
building, 400 yards opposite the railway station that was believed to be an
ammunition dump. On reaching the target area unmolested, we orbited, correctly
identified the building and attacked it with rockets. After repeated direct
hits, all I managed to achieve was to make a big hole, but there was neither an
explosion nor fire. Rather strange for an ammunition dump. While orbiting, I
saw that there was another black top building further away, with what looked
like ventilators just above the ground. The rockets were finished but I decided
to put a few rounds into this strange building with ventilators. We strafed the building and perhaps a few
bullets went through the ventilators. To my utter surprise the whole building
exploded, the debris narrowly missing me as I was pulling out. That much for detailed briefing and
interpretation of reconnaissance photographs !!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On another
ground attack mission, the FAC on ground asked us to fire on a low building
with a large red cross on it. Though beset with some moral qualm, we engaged
the target. Once again to my utter consternation, the building blew up like a
gigantic Napalm bomb and set fire to the entire neighbourhood. Apparently it
was a fuel dump. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On 12<sup>th</sup>
Dec evening I was asked to ferry an aircraft that was due for routine
maintenance, ferry it from Kumbigram back to Hashimara. Once in Hashimara, I
was asked to stay put and continue operating from there. On 13 Dec, I went out
for a CAS mission with Fg Offr Ranawat as my number 2. While returning after the strike, I saw a
strange looking ‘Otter’ aircraft, painted grey, operating from a stretch of
straight road, temporarily barricaded on either side with vehicles. Randy
and I did several orbits, trying to establish its identity, even calling up
‘Eastern Control’ in Shillong. There were no FACs about and no sign of any army
or battle on the ground. ‘Chabao’, Randy
advised. Once again I was beset with moral qualm. I was aware that then Gp Capt
Chandan Singh had adapted an Otter with guns and rocket pods and had trained a
nascent Bengla Deshi air force who were
doing clandestine operations deep inside East Pak. I had even seen it in
Kumbigram. I did not wish to shoot the good guys, even by mistake. Fratricide
is a horrible cross to bear. So we turned away and returned to base. After
landing at Hashimara, during debrief, the army GLO told me that the man I let
go was none other than Lt Gen Niazi, the butcher of Dacca. Perhaps he too had a
destiny to keep, to sign the surrender ceremony four days later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Foibles of
war. Some live to tell tales, some don’t. For my contributions in 71 war, I got
a bar to my earlier VrC. I went to Hashimara Officer’s Mess bar to celebrate,
when the surrender ceremony got over in Dacca.
I never got to fight any more battles, except in the bar, perhaps ‘<i>bar bar</i>’ !! </span><span style="font-family: Calibri Light, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
CYCLIChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01141224220070565546noreply@blogger.com20