Boots Belts Berets

by Tanushree Podder

  So we ran the eight-kilometre distance, climbing over a lone tree hill, scrambling over mounds, tumbling down the slopes, in the shortest possible time. The target was to reduce the timing by all possible means, because those who could not make it in good time were made to run every day.

  Golf squadron’s record for the cross-country competition was dismal. Of the twelve positions, the squadron had never managed to rise above the tenth place.

  It was a shame because cross-country competition carried the maximum weight while the overall championship was considered. Since the squadron officers were graded according to the performance of their squadrons, they fretted over our performance. We were promised the moon if we did well, and hell if we did not.

  Desperate to pull us out of the rut of double digits, our officers sweated along with us. The cadets were put through rigorous practice, which started a month in advance. All this so that we could break the jinx. Needless to say, it was the first-termers who were expected to bring in the laurels since the sixth-termers were an elite lot. Each Sunday morning, the officers of the squadron would turn up to check the progress of their squadron. Cadets who did well could go on liberty to Poona and were allowed more freedom. Those who did not fare well were made to suffer punishments like running daily during the games period, and curtailing of privileges. Liberty, as the very name suggests, was our passport to a visit to the city on Sundays. For the cadets who had slogged through the week, it was a big event. To be denied liberty was the most heartbreaking punishment that could be given to a cadet.

  As luck would have it, during the practice runs, the officers concentrated on the first-termers and allowed the seniors to practise on their own. The scoundrels invariably took short cuts, while we ran in real earnest. In fact, the onus of our failure rested entirely on the sixth-termers who cheated during the practice runs.

  It was a glorious Sunday morning and after a hectic night of punishments, we were in no mood for the cross-country practice run. Sullen-faced, we made our way to the field.

  ‘It is sinful to run on a beautiful morning like this,’ remarked Bertie. ‘A morning like this is meant for picnics. I could think of …’

  ‘Why don’t you invite Sabby for a picnic?’ interjected Maachh. ‘I am sure he won’t mind cooking your goose.’

  Sabby was Captain Sabharwal, our squadron officer.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Bertie angrily, his temper on the boil.

  ‘Move it, guys, move it,’ Randy goaded. ‘Don’t squander your energy over silly matters. When the rape is inevitable, it is better to lie down and enjoy it.’ We prepared ourselves for the rape of our morning.

  The general practice followed by the officers was to flag off the run at 6.00 a.m., after which they stayed back at the starting point, armed with stop watches to time the cadets.

  Eager to finish the ordeal, the cadets took off as fast as they could. As soon as we were beyond the visibility range of the officers, Maachh halted. He signalled us to slow down and allow the other cadets to overtake us. He said, ‘I don’t want to run all the distance. I hate cross-country runs.’

  ‘So what’s new? We all hate it,’ said Bertie.

  ‘The seniors always take a short cut, while we are made to sweat. Let us skip the lone tree hill,’ suggested Maachh.

  ‘And?’ I asked.

  ‘We will take a short cut,’ he said, and watched us for our reactions.

  Randy didn’t offer any response, so I also restrained myself. Maachh continued to outline his plan. ‘Here’s what we will do. We will rest under the cover of the bushes near the hillock. When we see the first lot of the cadets returning from the lone tree hill, we will emerge from our hideout and join them. That way, we will be among the first lot, without having to run all the way.’

  He waited eagerly for the applause he expected for his brilliant plan. There was none.

  ‘But that is cheating,’ I was indignant.

  ‘No one is stopping you, Pessi. Why don’t you run till the farthest point, my dear Gandhi?’ Bertie spoke up.

  That shut me up. Gandhi was the moniker I hated more than Pessi. From decent Nick, I had tumbled to becoming Pessi, and now they were deifying me into the Father of the Nation.

  With all of them agreeing to Maachh’s dim-witted plan, I hardly had any option.

  ‘Let’s creep towards the bushes on the return route,’ suggested Randy. ‘But for heaven’s sake, be cautious. The last thing we want is to get caught in the act.’

  ‘Wait till the others have passed by,’ I cautioned nervously.

  It could be disastrous if someone spotted us. The entire lot of hillocks was crawling with cadets.

  The moment everyone had crossed us, we began creeping under the cover of bushes, towards the return route. The hillocks offered us adequate cover.

  We had almost made it to the clump of bushes near the finishing point.

  ‘One last dash, and we will be there,’ I sighed with relief as we crouched and sped to the undergrowth. Suddenly, we froze in our tracks. Someone was already there behind the bushes. Perplexed, we shushed at each other and crept stealthily towards the culprit. It had to be another smart cadet like us.

  And the next instant Captain Sabharwal sprang out of the bushes and seized Maachh, who was the first in line.

  ‘You piddly little first-termers!’ he yelled. ‘You think you are smart, don’t you? I knew some of you would try this stunt. Taking a short cut while the others are sweating it out? No wonder you smell as fresh as lilies. Wait till I make you sweat!’

  And make us sweat he did.

  He made us do the entire stretch again. We were back in the evening doing it yet again. Added to this, we were awarded three Sinhgad hikes, each.

  I cursed Maachh for his dumb ideas.

  ‘You really think you are smart,’ I said, losing my cool. ‘Sabby must have experienced dozens of cadets trying to outwit him. He knows all the tricks.’

  The morning had been ruined beyond redemption. For once the Tragedy King had the wisdom to hold his tongue.

  The punishment of hiking up to the Sinhgad fort was known as ‘high jump’, and it was not confined to first-termers only. Cadets from all terms and squadrons ran together.

  The Sinhgad hike was reserved for Sundays. Sinhgad Fort had been a bastion of Shivaji, the valiant Maratha king who had the audacity to challenge the Mughal rulers. Perched on a steep hill, it was about twenty kilometres away from the Academy. The hike involved a climb of 800 metres on foot. More than the distance and altitude, it was the impossible deadline allotted to complete the hike that made the punishment rigorous. The cadets started off at 5.00 in the morning, and had to return by 3.00 p.m. The fort was a popular picnic spot for city folk, and every Sunday, luxury buses would disgorge hordes of them. For the cadets, however, it was no picnic as they hiked up, racing against time.

  An officer or ustaad was posted near the entrance of the fort to mark the attendance of the cadets who reported there. Using unfair means like taking a lift from a passing vehicle, or cycling up (not that it was possible), was forbidden to the cadets.

  The next Sunday, while the others were still in bed, we woke up early, changed into our battle order dress, and assembled at the PT ground for our first Sinhgad hike.

  We were bursting with excitement.

  ‘It will be fun going up,’ said Randy. ‘The place is full of girls who come for picnics.’

  Bertie rubbed his hands gleefully at the prospect.

  Maachh was equally enthusiastic about the idea.

  ‘Let us hope we are able to complete the hike within the allotted time,’ I began. ‘Otherwise … ’

  ‘Forever the dampener,’ Randy cut me off. ‘Pessi, your glass is forever half empty. You must learn to enjoy life.’

  Darkness covered the Academy as we began o
ur hike. A lot of ground had to be covered, and so, we started off at a fast clip. That morning, there were about fifteen of us. Among the star-crossed fifteen were some veterans who had been to Sinhgad a couple of times earlier.

  ‘Let’s get it over, fast,’ I said, eager to get moving. ‘If we are not able to complete the hike in time, the trip will not be counted.’

  ‘What’s the hurry? The entire day is at our disposal,’ said Randy. ‘Bertie, can’t you get the chit for me from the ustaad on top?’

  ‘My foot! You get one for me – you are faster with your legs,’ said Bertie. He was one up on him.

  By the time we began running, the others had already disappeared beyond the bend. My gang seemed to be in a mood to go slow. They ambled along at a leisurely pace amidst much bantering and backslapping as though they were off on a picnic. Maachh was at his irritating best, humming like a bumblebee, tunelessly. My efforts to convince them that this was no pleasure trip failed to galvanize them into a faster trot.

  The lush green surroundings and the cool breeze were invigorating. We skirted the Khadakvasala Lake, and moved out of the NDA campus.

  ‘Isn’t it a spectacular view? Makes me want to pitch a tent and live here forever,’ sighed Bertie.

  ‘Keep your sacred dreams for a later date. Right now all you need to do is hasten your trot, dear comrade,’ I admonished.

  ‘Yes, it is better to run fast and reach the fort, and then loiter around. Then we can eye the girls in peace,’ Maachh panted out, seconding my opinion.

  By the time we reached the foothills, none of the other cadets were in sight. Wisdom dawned, and at last my pals realized that we were much behind schedule. That spurred their feet, and we began to run in earnest. In the next two hours, we covered a lot of ground. At the base of the hill, a few tourist buses and private vehicles had already arrived.

  We covered almost fifteen kilometres wordlessly, and reached the toughest part. From here on, the climb was almost vertical.

  ‘Let’s take a break,’ panted Bertie. ‘I could do with a soft drink.’

  ‘Forget the soft drink. Let’s move,’ I urged.

  A few tea stalls had begun rolling up their shutters, and the aroma of steaming tea tickled our noses irresistibly. Despite all my motivating words, the team decided to take a tea break. We rested for a while savouring the brew served in chipped glasses, while our eyes darted energetically, feasting our tired eyes on a bevy of young girls standing near a tourist bus. It was with great reluctance that we relinquished the glasses and took to the road once again.

  The picnickers looked at us with curiosity, watching us panting and puffing. Our shirts were already sticking to our backs, with the sweat running down in torrents. Taking pity on us, a few tourists offered us cold drinks, but common sense prevailed, and my pals turned down the offer. Each minute mattered, each moment vital.

  Suddenly, Randy screeched to an abrupt halt. Looking back I realized that it would be difficult to drag him away from the spot. Some of the girls smiled and waved at Randy, who smiled back at them. With his tall, athletic figure and handsome features, he always managed to attract female attention. Bertie also lingered back hopefully.

  ‘Come on, you two,’ I pleaded.

  ‘You guys, carry on. I will join you in a few minutes,’ Randy said, ignoring my plea, and fell behind, while Bertie hesitated. After a few moments, he decided to continue the run.

  ‘No point in encouraging them,’ he said gravely.

  ‘Grapes are sour,’ sang Maachh in a nasal undertone.

  ‘No one even stops to look at guys like us,’ Maachh cribbed a while later, once we were running again.

  ‘Don’t worry, buddy,’ I consoled, ‘once we pass out of the Academy, there will be hordes of girls lining up, and you won’t know whom to choose.’

  That set his mind at rest. ‘Do you think so?’ he asked hopefully.

  En route we found several cadets lolling around theparking area where a group of girls had gathered. They pretended to drink water, but it was obvious that they had taken a break for some bird watching. Although Bertie and Maachh were tempted to linger on, sanity prevailed, and they continued with the hike.

  Gradually, the three of us gained ground and were soon leading the pack. The shortest route to the fort was through a steep, almost vertical climb. Most cadets preferred the easier, circuitous route, which naturally took more time. Mercifully, my friends agreed to the suggestion that we take the shorter route.

  The fort was impressive. With its rugged features, the impenetrable bastion evoked visions of yesteryear. The steep sides, which made the fort invincible for the Marathas, made it equally tough for us to scale. It seemed hours before, totally spent, we panted up to the top. I plonked myself on a boulder and pointed at the army jeep parked at the entrance of the fort. The ustaad seated inside glanced at us and put down his newspaper. We were the first cadets to have reached the top.

  ‘Good, very good, cadet, shaabash (well done)!’ He thumped our backs energetically and proceeded to complete the formality of marking our attendance in the register, after which he handed us the chits, which were a proof that we had reported at the top.

  Waving the piece of paper philosophically, Maachh said, ‘Isn’t it funny? This bit of paper represents hours of energy and perspiration.’

  ‘Keep it safe, buddy. It is the only proof that we trudged all the way here,’ cautioned Bertie.

  Like spent bubbles in a flat drink, we lay limply on the grass and stared at the blue, cloudless sky. The sun had turned into a ball of fury, singeing everything in sight, but we didn’t have the energy to get up and move into shade. Pulling our caps low over our eyes, we continued to bask there. The thrill of visiting Sinhgad had already fizzled out. We were sweating through all possible pores in our body.

  After a while, the skin almost blistering with heat, we decided to embark on our return journey.

  ‘Shall we wait for Randy?’ I asked Maachh.

  ‘Not necessary.’ The green monster of jealousy seemed to have coiled around his heart. ‘He will find his way when he finishes with the girls.’

  ‘But we came together,’ I protested. ‘I think we should wait for him.’

  ‘So do I,’ added Bertie.

  ‘Okay. Just five minutes, and then we return,’ Maachh conceded.

  The minutes ticked by, but there was no trace of Randy. Reluctantly, I got up. Not completing the hike in the stipulated time would amount to the trip being nullified.

  As we were coming down, Maachh spied Randy taking the long, circuitous route with a group of girls in tow. Like a guide, he pointed to something in the horizon and the girls tittered. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

  ‘He deserves a kick on his backside,’ Maachh hissed through his teeth.

  ‘Let him enjoy himself,’ I responded, defending Randy.

  ‘That guy is overconfident. Just because he is good at cross-country, he thinks he can make it in time to the top.’

  He never did. Coming down last, Randy invited the ustaad’s wrath, and earned an extra visit to the fort.

  ‘Have fun. I am sure you will enjoy the extra hike,’ Maachh said sarcastically when Randy informed us about his punishment. We didn’t envy him the extra trip; our experience of conquering Singhad had been anything but pleasurable.

  After our first hike, we became smarter.

  ‘We have to find a way to cut the trip short. There’s got to be a simpler way to do it,’ said Maachh, his brain cells working furiously.

  I agreed. It wasn’t worth spending that kind of time and energy.

  Maachh and Bertie put their brains together and devised an innovative method of cheating.

  ‘Here’s what we do,’ said Maachh. After much deliberation, they had come up with a feasible plan. ‘On our next hike, we will take our
bikes.’

  ‘Forget it,’ I decided to prick his balloon. ‘If we are caught riding the bikes, we will have to do the hike every day.’

  ‘You are an idiot, Pessi.’ He scorned my concerns. ‘At 5.00 in the morning, who do you think will be watching us in the darkness?’

  ‘Okay, and where will we keep the bikes?’ I persisted.

  At this stage, Bertie took over from Maachh. ‘We will ride under the cover of darkness up to the lake at the foothills, and leave them there.’

  ‘Leave them in the open, near the lake?’ I was incredulous.

  Bertie threw me a pitying look. ‘Sometimes, just sometimes, I have this strong urge to club you on your head.’ Bertie’s voice was hard.’We will submerge them at an isolated spot of the lake. After that, we shall continue the trek to the top of the hill. It will save us a good hour or so. On the way back, all we have to do is retrieve the bikes and pedal back to the Academy.’

  Their plan took the wind out of my sails. It was stupid but workable. We tried it out several times with fantastic results. Soon, many cadets were sharing the subterfuge, and the edge of the lake was packed with submerged bicycles.

  six

  p

  The ragging was too much to bear. A sense of depression gripped us the moment we were alone in our rooms. The days passed in a whirl of activities, but the nights seemed to haunt us. Despite all the tiredness, there were nights when I couldn’t sleep. Homesickness gripped me like an anaconda, asphyxiating me and draining my life juices surely and slowly.

  Written on the right-hand top corner of our classroom blackboard were a few enigmatic alphabets: DLTGH. To an outsider, they would mean nothing, but to the homesick cadets, they meant liberation from difficult days. The letters were an acronym for Days Left to Go Home. Our excitement rose in direct proportion to the reduction of DLTGH.

  One night, as we escaped into our favourite T-55 tank in front of the Sudan Block for our fags, I was in a state of dark depression. The day had been unusually tough, packed as it had been with classes and punishments. Maachh was still under the grip of the CSM, and we wondered about his fate. Just then, Maachh burst into the battle tank. Gnashing his teeth, he declared that he wanted to murder the CSM. The poor chap’s fingers were swollen and bruised. He had been hanging on the seventh heaven for a minor offence, and the effect was quite visible.