THE RINK, MUSSOORIE

The picture, largely in red, and the caption in Times of India, "Inferno Reduces Hilly Icon To Ashes" caught my attention. It further said that a fire broke out in a hotel in Mussoorie in which "The Rink", 'an iconic 19th century heritage building was reduced to ashes....It had once housed Asia's largest wooden skating rink.'

That brought back memories of my visits to The Rink Hotel. The first was in 1949 when Masarji was commanding the 5th Gorkha Rifles in Dehradun and Mansi invited Mummy and me, age 10, to spend the summer holidays with them. We went up to Mussoorie for a week and visited the Hotel a few times. Then in 1965, I visited Mussoorie with the National Defence College team and found time to skate in The Rink. My final visit was in June 1995, when I took Mummy, Akhila and the kids to the hill station to escape the simmering Delhi summer for a while. This time, aging bones dictated that I stay away from skating and let Ruchir and Shumita indulge in the sport.

But the predominant memory is one of 1949. On an evening out, we went to the The Rink and I was introduced to the art of roller skating. I indulged in it for about an hour and loved it.

The next afternoon, I asked Mummy to take me skating again. The Hotel was more than 4 kms. from where we were staying, too far to go walking. Mummy was more keen on her siesta than to venture out looking for a rickshaw, the only transport available. So she firmly declined while I kept on insisting on going. She got into bed and I walked out saying I was headed for The Rink, come what may, hoping she would be forced to follow.

After I had walked a bit, I turned around to see whether Mummy was following me. That is when things went wrong. As Mummy told me later, she had just stepped out to see where I was. When she saw me turning, she thought I was coming back and went back to bed. On the other hand, when I saw her out in the open, I reckoned she was following me! 

Smug in my belief that my pressure tactics had worked, I resumed my march to The Rink. I reached the bend where the Mall Road began and stopped for Mummy to catch up but she was nowhere in sight. To make matters worse, it started to rain. There was a small bandstand by the roadside and I took shelter in it.

Now I was worried and at a loss wondering what to do. How long would it rain, should I go back to the house, although there was only one road but the house was a little off it and what if I missed it in poor visibility? I was also beginning to dread thoughts of the reception I might get on my return! Worry, worry, worry, and panic had started to creep in.

Just then, I saw a rickshaw with a lady partly hidden under an umbrella. As it passed the bandstand, I realised the lady was Mummy and ran after the rickshaw shouting for her. The rickshaw puller finally heard me and allowed me to catch up. I got into the rickshaw and a chilly silence prevailed between Mummy and me. She must have given the rickshaw puller directions earlier because he headed for The Rink and dropped us there. Mummy finally broke the silence telling me, “Go and skate.”

Spoilt kid? Perhaps.

WHAT IF....?

Mid-September is the time of year when I like to sit and look back at how years have gone by. 

An incident that involved Mummy over 40 years ago provided the theme for my thinking this time. We were staying on the 5th floor in the SP Marg flats. Mummy was with us and used to take Shumita, 5, for walks outside. One evening, the lift got stuck between floors. Shumita was panicking but Mummy kept her cool and while comforting Shumita, started rattling the lift doors and shouting for help. It took quite some time before some neighbours heard her and summoned an electrician who pulled Mummy and Shumita out of the lift. All this while, Mummy was completely calm and composed.

They came home and told us about the incident. It is then that Mummy burst out crying and wouldn't stop. We had a hard time pacifying her and asked her why she was crying when all was well. She said, "What if nobody had heard me and helped?"

We often ask ourselves what if something had happened differently and dismiss the thought lightly. But each of us would have been subject to a few major incidents that set the course of one's life in an unalterable direction. Mostly, there would have been an alternate. And then the question might have arisen, "What if 'that' had happened?"

Here are some in my book.

I. The first incident was the biggest influencer in my life. In 1942, my father, 30, passed away after a brief illness in Alwar. I was 4 and Mummy, 21. She had been married at the age of 16 just after becoming the first girl from our community to complete high school which she did as the only girl in a Boys' college in Mathura. Pitaji, my Nana, rushed to Alwar and brought Mummy and me to Mathura. Mummy was packed off to Benares, now Varanasi, to restart her education and I was taken care of by Pitaji and Mataji.

What if Daddy had lived his full life? Would we have remained in Alwar where he was working, what kind of schooling would I have had, would I have had siblings, etc., etc. Obviously, life would have been very different.

There could be a sub what-if too. Normally in a patriarchal society, which we were, Mummy and I might have been asked to live with my Dadi. My Dada had already passed away and my Dadi was very conservative and not educated. For sure, Mummy would not have been allowed to study further and would have been confined to the house in the purdah-dominated environment. And what kind of education would I have had?

Instead, Pitaji's broad mindedness and foresight shaped the course of our lives. Pitaji became my father, Mataji, an additional mother and my two Mamas, loving and respected brothers. The pain of losing my father was hugely mitigated by all their love and care. I was pampered by other relations as well and I was often teased by those close to me that I was a spoilt kid!

II. The next big happening was how I went to the NDA instead of St. Stephen's College, Delhi. After completing my Senior Cambridge from St. Xavier's, Jaipur, I had applied to join the NDA as also St. Stephen's College. Delhi. I qualified for the NDA but till mid-July, had not received any orders to join it. Meanwhile, I was called to Delhi for an interview at St. Stephen's and granted admission on payment of admission and boarding fees which were quite substantial. Determined not to waste Pitaji's money, I was in a dilemma, St. Stephen's or NDA? I mentioned the problem to the Principal who gave me half an hour to make up my mind. 

I managed to get a few coins, went to a Public Call phone (PCO), found a telephone directory, rang up the Army Exchange and got through to Col. Sharma, my Mausaji, who was posted in the Army HQ. I explained the situation to him and he said he would try to find out and that I should call him back in 15 minutes. I got through to him again and he informed me that my joining instructions had already been posted to Jaipur and I had to join the NDA in 3 days' time. St. Stephen's was declined, I rushed back to Jaipur and thence to Kharakvasla by train.

Many things could be subjected to 'what-if' here. 10 paise coins were hard to get, PCOs were infamous for not functioning, a tele directory was not found in most PCOs, Masarji (as I called him) might not have been available; everything had to work for me to get my information and it did. Otherwise, I would have been a bureaucrat or in the teaching profession as suggested by Father Mackessack at St. Xavier's!

III. NDA was a step I had taken to join the Navy and see the world. But after one term and six months of mental and physical ragging, marching like robots stomping heavily booted feet on the parade ground, jumping on wooden horses, dangling off the ground on beams, etc., it didn't seem to make any sense to me. Another factor disturbed me. After the first term in 'F' squadron and getting used to officers, fellow cadets and drill staff there, I was transferred to the newly formed 'K' and had to start adjusting all over again. Besides, the next course, 15th, was delayed and till they arrived, ragging for our course continued as we were still the juniormost. 

So I became convinced that I was not going to subject myself to all that nonsense any more. I decided to leave the NDA and informed my Divisional Officer and Pitaji. There was panic at home and my Mamas were told to visit me and find out what was troubling me. Over the next month, they made a number of visits and my Div Offr spoke to me for about an hour every day trying to convince me to stay on. But to no avail; I stuck to my decision to leave. Finally, Pitaji sent me a letter enclosing a request to the Commandant to release me and agreeing to bear all expenses NDA may levy for my training so far. Pitaji also wrote that before approaching the Commandant, I might like to read another letter that he was enclosing.

That letter was a 26 page masterpiece from Shashi Mama to Pitaji in which he trashed my grounds for leaving and summed me up as a stubborn mule bent on doing something totally unjustifiable. I read the letter a few times, tore Pitaji's request to the Commandant and informed everyone concerned that I would stay on in the NDA.

What if Pitaji had not shared that letter with me? He and Mummy were quite sympathetic with me and had started planning for my return. Pitaji had contacted St. Stephen's who were ready to admit me for BA Honours (Economics) in the next academic session. And what if I had dismissed Shashi Mama's arguments like I had been doing everyone's including his for over a month? However, that letter set my future course and I am a retired naval officer today and not a bureaucrat or educationist.

I had preserved that letter all through my career but lost it during my final move after retiring from the Navy. I wish I had it with me now so I could calmly go through it and try to understand what went through my mind then.

IV. The following incident sounds comic now but scared the hell out of me when it happened. I have described it in detail in my earlier blog 'Survival Tale II-Dismissal From Navy'. Briefly, during the visit of a US naval ship to Cochin, my coursemate Bakshish Singh and I, along with an American officer, were spotted on the road by the Base Commander (second-in-command) carrying a glass of drink in our hands while in uniform. The Commander threatened to throw us out of the Navy for what he called 'unofficer-like-behaviour'. According to Bakshish, this seemingly exaggerated threat was due to the fact that he had declined to marry the Cdr's daughter. To save our careers, I implored Bakshish to accept the Cdr's proposal but he said he couldn't do that as he was already committed to another girl.

Our appointment for being marched up to the Captain was in a few days' time. Meanwhile, some close relative of the Cdr passed away and he proceeded on leave. The case was then handled by the Acting Cdr who was a fine, large-hearted gentleman and we escaped with a scolding by the Captain.

What if the Cdr did not have to go away? I have often wondered if the Captain would have taken the extreme step of dismissal but he did have a tough reputation and was known as 'bulldog'. The Cdr seemed bent on throwing us out and as we were under training, it was within the powers of the Captain to dismiss us.

V. War over and happily married, I was looking forward to undergo the 1973 Staff College Course in Wellington as it was the turn of officers of my seniority to be selected. I was shocked, therefore, when the list came out but my name was missing. I put in a representation backed by Rear Admiral Sarma, Flag Officer Commanding Eastern Fleet and my boss, but there was no response from NHQ. Shashi Mama (Cdr PK Sharma) was in Delhi and met the Dy Director concerned in the Personnel Branch who told him that I should forget about Staff College. Apparently my mediocre (though improved from the  original 'adverse' through the intervention of RAdm Vasu Kamath, FOC Southern Command) report from OiC Signal School had come in the way of my selection.

In time the '74 list was put out which also did not have my name. Late '73, Cmde Mohan Grewal, Chief of Staff, Eastern Naval Command, was promoted to RAdm and transferred to NHQ as Asstt Chief of Personnel (ACOP). Within a few days, a signal was received adding my name to the '74 list.

Adm Grewal knew me from the NDC days in '65-'66 when he was Junior Directing Staff (Navy) and I was Flag Lt to Comdt. In Vizag too, we had a good equation and he had sympathised with me over my non-selection. So he corrected that wrong as soon as he got the opportunity to do so.

What if Adm Grewal had got a job other than ACOP? I would certainly have missed Staff College and probably shifted to some inane staff job in Vizag and passed over for promotion. Instead, I topped the '74 Course which washed out the mediocre report and I was promoted to Cdr at the end of my Course.

VI. By early-1985, I had commanded Trishul for about a year and a half and was due for my next posting. I received the NHQ letter appointing me as Defence Advisor, Indian High Commission, Singapore, to report by end-April, by which time the incumbent would have completed 3 years of normal tenure plus one year of extension granted to him. My family and I looked forward to moving to Singapore and began our preparations. But soon, there was another letter deferring my transfer as the incumbent had been granted an additional six months extension. I was slightly disappointed but quite happy with the resultant extension of my command and our eventual move to Singapore.

One evening, Kailash Kohli who was commanding Ganga, came over and said he had something important to tell me. He had gone to see the FOCinC and while waiting outside, overheard a telephone conversation between the CNS and the CinC to the effect that I was too senior to go to Singapore and that somebody else should be appointed as DA Singapore.

I thanked Kailash and immediately conveyed this to a senior well-wisher of mine in NHQ. My appointment held firm and I was in Singapore by end-October.

What if Kailash had not overheard the conversation or decided not to tell me? As I learnt subsequently, the threat was real and my family and I were on the verge of missing the 3 good years we had in Singapore. More than that, Ruchir and Shumita would not have had the high quality education and the wide, international exposure they got at the United World College, Singapore, which has stood them in good stead.

VII. 65 years ago, when we were cadets, our ship Tir was at anchor off Port Blair. Lt HML Saxena,  Navigating Officer, took us out in the ship's fast motor boat to teach us boat handling. I, a non-swimmer, fell overboard into the rough Andaman Sea and went underwater while the boat kept going. As I surfaced, I saw the ship's whaler, tied to the boom, next to me. I grabbed it and climbed into it and was picked up after a while.

What if I had surfaced below the whaler instead of by its side? Or what if I had surfaced a little bit away from the boat?

But here I am telling you these tales. "The moving finger writes...."

 

 

  

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

A famous quote from Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" is "What's in a name'?". In a soliloquy, Juliet, a Capulet in love with Romeo belonging to the sworn rival Montague clan, asks the question and goes on to provide an answer, "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet", implying that names are irrelevant and it is the nature and characteristics of the person that matter.

In our family, as in many others in India, it was forbidden to address older relatives by name. I guess when the first child arrived in a family, he or she was told to address the parents and relatives by monikers which then continued to be used by siblings and future generations. So my Nana's father was known as Chachaji and mother as Bahuji. And everybody including me, a great grandchild, called them that. My cousins and I called my Nana, Pitaji, and Nani, Mataji, and so did our children. On my father's side, I identified a granduncle as Alwarwale Chachaji due to his city of residence.

Many names particularly of ladies were not ever known. Thereby hangs a tale. Bahuji went blind at a very young age and used to spend the daytime draped in a thin cotton sari sitting on a coir charpoy in the 'aangan' of her house. One day, Mummy, then just a kid, got curious and asked Bahuji her name. Bahuji told her to keep quiet and go away but Mummy kept on pestering her. Bahuji's third son, teenager Brijendra Chacha was nearby and listening. He picked up a piece of coal and started scribbling on Bahuji's back which Mummy quite innocently read out loud as he wrote. She went, "Ja-ga-bha-vi-ni" when Bahuji shouted and scolded her for being impertinent because that was her name!

Akhila's family followed the same rule. Her father was called Babuji and mother, Amma, and the whole of Bijnor knew them thus. 

At the National Defence Academy, we were around 1200 cadets at any one time. For clear identification, we were assigned a number and I was 2134 by which I would be known rather than by name. The numbers have stuck to us ever since and some of us still refer to a coursemate by his number. Jhangoo Aga, 2133, and I used to exchange letters addressing one another that way.

It was very important, though, to know a senior's name, in fact the full name, or one would be subject to intensive ragging. I must have done countless front and back rolls till I finally learnt to pronounce and spell the full form of the initials KASZ belonging to one of my seniors, Kankipati Appala Satyanarayana Zagapathi Raju.

A somewhat odd practice in traditional families was for wives and husbands not to take each other's name. I would find it somewhat funny when Pitaji, wanting Mataji's attention, would say, "Kyonji, mein kya keh raha hoon?" Mataji would be more brief and direct with just "Sunoji".

The tradition continues. I am not used to calling Akhila by her name and we catch each other's attention through "Listen". For a short while, I tried 'Darling' abbreviated to 'D+' but then fell back on 'listen'. 

That word is used by many other couples. Interestingly, a very close friend's wife even when talking to Akhila, refers to her spouse as "my husband" and never takes his name.

Not everyone believes that there is nothing in a name. Here is an interesting quote from "Anne of Green Gables"  by L.M. Montgomery- "I read in a book once that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I've never been able to believe it. I don't believe a rose WOULD be as nice if it was called a thistle or a skunk cabbage." 

THREE SMILES FOR THE OLD MAN

I am growing old. No, correction, I AM old and growing older every day. 

That brings its own problems. Even if one has no serious issues, fair wear and tear is inevitable. Some pain there yesterday, some pain here today, wrinkles, dry skin, belly fat, visits to the toilet, cataract, hearing loss etc., etc., afflict most old folks. I remember reading a piece by the late Khushwant Singh in his well-read column, "With Malice Towards One And All", that he used to have around a dozen red, white, green pills with breakfast every morning. I laughed a lot then but now I realise I need not much less!

The ailments often lead to misunderstandings. Hearing loss is difficult for youngsters to understand who think one is not paying attention. A 'beg your pardon' from a young person is accepted as normal and the speaker has no problem in repeating what he said. But the phrase is taboo for an old man as it would invite impatience from the speaker and scorn on the oldie’s hearing. To avoid that, old folks often nod their head in agreement with something said though they might not have fully understood it. They are also wary of telephone conversations which too might lead to complications because of lack of comprehension.

A siesta is another requirement of most old folks and is mine too. Often people take it that they are unwelcome if the old man is trying to find time for it.

Unless one is cantankerous, and I do agree that quite a few are, most old folks need patience, sympathy and understanding. This in today's busy and fast-moving world is not an easy ask.

It is with these ruminations that I set out for my evening walk on Shanti Path today. The mind was fairly negative when I saw a policeman coming from the opposite direction. As the cop passed me, he smiled and raised his hand in salute. I was surprised as Indian cops are not usually known for such courtesies. I immediately responded to his salute and smiled back at him.

My mood lifted a bit and I was still thinking about the exceptional policeman when I saw a lad in his 20s on his run approaching me. He too gave me a big smile and nodded in a greeting as he passed by. Wow, what was happening today? Most youngsters are so engrossed looking at their smart watches and timing themselves that they scarcely notice anyone other than a pretty girl.

My walk over, I was climbing the stairs to my apartment in a much uplifted mood when I saw a 3-year old girl accompanied by her mother, ayah and others coming down. The little angel smiled, folded her hands and said a loud 'namaste' to me surprising even the ladies who were with her.

Three big smiles for the old man. God must be in His Heaven and all must be right with the world.

Hip-hip-hip-hooray!!!