Boots Belts Berets

by Tanushree Podder

  Bertie returned from his next visit to the church grinning like a Cheshire cat, and performed a superb somersault right before us. He floated around the squadron perched on cloud nine.

  ‘She spoke to me,’ he waltzed around us with his imaginary partner.

  ‘Tell us the details,’ ordered Randy. The starry-eyed lover boy went on to pour the entire episode into our eager ears. ‘I am happy that the Bulldog insulted me that day,’ he said mysteriously. ’… because it made Lizzie feel sorry for me. And guess what! She apologized for her father’s boorish behaviour.’

  ‘Really!’ We were all agog. ‘What else did she say?’

  At that critical moment, our pal clammed up, and began floating like a friendly ghost around the squadron, greeting everyone with unprecedented zest.

  ‘It is funny what a guy in love will do,’ muttered Randy.

  Mid-term break was round the corner, and there was excitement all around. Amidst the flurry of activities and preparations to go home, Bertie and his romance took a back seat.

  thirteen

  p

  The short mid-term break provided the breather we required after the fast-paced weeks of training. Barely had we settled down after the short respite when life shifted into a higher gear. It was time for Camp Greenhorn.

  ‘This is what I joined NDA for,’ exclaimed Maachh enthusiastically.’ Camps are the best thing about our training.’

  Outdoor camps were held thrice during the six terms. In the second term it was Camp Greenhorn, Camp Rover in the fourth term, and Camp Torna, the toughest of the lot, in the sixth term.

  We grew excited as the days for Camp Greenhorn neared. We were to stay out for a couple of days in tents in the vicinity of a village called Pirangut. More than anything, it was the thought that we would be out of the clutches of the seniors that made it all the more exciting.

  We were in a boisterous mood as we pitched our 180-pounder tents on the slopes of a hill located about four kilometres from the village. The undulating hills, faraway forests, and the village lying beneath it, had a calming effect on our minds. There was no electricity or tap water, but we didn’t care. It was exhilarating to rough it out in the open.

  Since the tents housed eight cadets each, our gang, including Natty, had three second-termers for company. The first day was spent in hard labour as settling down was the first priority. Pitching the tents was a major task, and we were left with no energy to prowl around after the sun went down. Back inside the tent, we chatted about the coming day and its offers.

  On the second night, we decided to go to the village after we finished the fifteen-kilometre night march. Even though we were totally exhausted after the long march, our enthusiasm for an escapade remained undiminished.

  ‘We must taste the local brew,’ said Bertie. ‘The tharra (country liquor) is supposed to taste a bit like our Goan feni. And boy, does it have a kick!’

  Maachh was terribly excited at the prospect of getting drunk. Till now we had experimented with smaller things like fags and bidis. Drinks were taboo in the Academy, even for the sixth-termers. Cautiously, armed with a torch, we slunk into the night and made our way down the hill towards the village.

  Unfortunately, by the time we reached the village, only one country liquor shop was open. A few chaps in various stages of drunkenness sat on charpais (string cots). They threw curious looks at us. We decided to ignore the lot, and approached the counter, behind which sat a huge man. He looked intimidating.

  ‘That guy looks like a villain from the Bollywood movies,’ whispered Natty, his Adam’s apple bobbing apprehensively. ‘Are you guys sure you want to have the stuff?’

  ‘Don’t chicken out,’ scolded Bertie. ‘We have taken a decision and we will stick by it.’

  ‘Look, there is no point in drinking the stuff here. After we get drunk, we may not be able to find our way back to the camp.’ As usual, Randy offered sane advice.

  ‘Besides, I don’t like the look of the chap behind the counter. Once we are drunk, who knows what he would do!’ I muttered under my breath.

  ‘I have an idea,’ said Maachh.

  ‘Oh no, not another one,’ said Bertie dramatically, striking his forehead with his hand.

  ‘This time, it is a gem of an idea,’insisted Maachh.

  ‘Okay, shoot.’ said Randy.

  ‘Let us go back now and return with our water bottles tomorrow night. We could carry back the tharra in the bottles and drink it peacefully inside the tent.’

  For once, Maachh seemed to have an idea that appealed to everyone.

  ‘Kya hai (What is it)?’ roared the hulk behind the counter. ‘Lena hai ki nahin (Do you want it or not)?’

  ‘Kal lenge (We will take it tomorrow),’ replied Randy briefly, and we beat a hasty retreat before the guy could come up with a rejoinder. Hooting laughter followed us till we turned around the corner into the next lane. Bertie seemed disappointed at the shelving of the plan. ‘Wonder if we will be able to come back.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’consoled Natty. ‘I have another idea.’

  Till now, he had always been a satellite revolving around our gang, neither in it nor away from it. ‘One of my Sainik School classmates mentioned that there is a girl called Batti in this village. She likes cadets.’

  ‘How does your friend know about her?’ Maachh asked suspiciously, his antenna shooting up.

  ‘Most third-termers know about her. My friend, Anil, and his course mates visited her when they came here for a camp last year.’

  ‘You mean she is a prostitute,’ stated Randy.

  ‘No yaar, she is not a prostitute in that sense. Let’s call her an obliging female,’ Natty replied. True to his nature, his vocabulary was also mild.

  ‘Means the same thing,’ I muttered.

  ‘Well, I am game,’ said Bertie. ‘No harm in approaching her.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go,’ Maachh agreed. ‘Natty, kindly lead.’

  ‘Anil has drawn a map for me. He said her digs are a kilometre from the village school. We’ll have to locate the school first, and then work our way from there.’

  Natty led the way and we followed him.

  The moment we stepped into the dark lane, we were greeted by a couple of mangy dogs. They triggered their efficient alarm system, and were rewarded with an immediate response from their two dozen brethren scattered around the place. Getting braver, they began chasing us. It was nearing the witching hour and the entire village had gone to sleep. Not a soul could be seen on the streets. Save for the country liquor shop, all other shops had downed their shutters earlier in the evening.

  Bertie was our leader as we beat a hasty retreat. Mortally afraid of stray dogs, he outclassed all of us in sprinting towards the exit of the village, followed by the four of us, with the barking curs in tow. A few lights came up in the windows as we deserted the village. Finally, the dogs fell back, and we paused for a breather outside the camp.

  ‘Bloody unsuccessful mission,’ lamented Maachh. ‘First the country liquor, and then the girl. Nothing worked out.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we will come prepared tomorrow night,’ comforted Randy.

  Our entry and exit into the camp area was quite easy since we treated it as an enemy camp, and applied all the battle tactics we had learnt to avoid being caught. It was a challenge to get inside our tent undetected by the cadet on guard duty. During the camps, cadets manned the sentry post by turns. Even if the sentry on duty managed to catch us, he would let us off because the chap would most probably be going out himself when he was off duty. And one of us could be on duty the night he went out.

  The next night, the five of us ventured out once again. This time, we carried Natty’s water bottle with us.

  The hoodlum at the counter threw us an amused look and asked: ’Kya bhai, phir aa gaye
(So brother, you are back again)?’

  We pushed Randy to the front. At six feet one inch, he was the tallest and most impressive. He towered over the guy and smiled tolerantly, ‘Haan bhai phir aa gaye. Lekin aaj khalee haath nahin jayenge (Yes brother, we are back again. But today we’ll not leave empty-handed from your shop).’

  The guy seemed quite pleased with the reply, and offered us his best seats. Then he proceeded to point out his speciality, and eulogized the efficacy of each product. ‘Pehli baar hai kya (Is it the first time)?’ he asked.

  Randy reluctantly admitted that it was the first time we would be sampling country liquor.

  ‘To phir yeh theek rahega (Then this should be all right),’ the chap stated, handing over a bottle. We could barely discern the contents in the dim light of the lantern.

  Randy quickly grabbed the bottle, made the payment, and we scooted out of the shop followed by catcalls from the other customers. Once outside, we filled up the tharra in Natty’s water bottle.

  ‘What about Batti?’ asked Maachh. ‘Were we not supposed to find her house tonight?’

  ‘Not tonight,’ replied Bertie. ‘Let us sample the tharra tonight. Trying out two new things could be too much for us,’he ended meaningfully.

  So we abandoned our initial plan to hunt out Batti’s house, and made our way back to the tent.

  When we retuned to the camp, many of the cadets, dog-tired after the long and arduous march, had already gone to sleep. We could hear them snoring as we stealthily made our way into the tent. We entered the tent, sealed the flaps, put off the lamps, and slid into our beds. Bertie took out his shaded torch and opened the lid of the bottle. A burst of obnoxious and overpowering odour filled our noses. It spread quickly in the confines of the tent. He wrinkled his nose and took a valiant sip of the brew. Our friend then paused for effect, while the others watched him eagerly for any sign of drunkenness. Nothing happened to alter his disposition, so he took another swig with the arrogance of an ace, and passed the bottle to Randy. Randy feigned taking a big gulp and passed it to Natty. I was watching the entire performance closely. My observant eyes noticed that Randy had not swallowed the drink. Natty, in mock bravado, took two huge gulps and passed it to me. I hated the smell, so I also pretended to take a swig and passed it on to Maachh who was eagerly awaiting his turn.

  ‘It doesn’t taste half as bad as it smells,’ he declared through a mouthful of the brew.

  Meanwhile, Bertie declared that he was feeling tipsy. Natty wanted to puke. Everyone pretended to be tipsy. There was much play-acting as Rebello stood up, swaying, and fell heavily on his bed. One single bottle of liquor, which was still half full, and the whole lot of us were faking drunkenness. It was hilarious. The only guys who could be high were Natty and Maachh, because they had genuinely taken large swigs from the bottle.

  The next morning at 5.00 a.m., when we got up, everyone seemed to be normal. After classes and breakfast, a long march was scheduled at 9.00 a.m. It was a hot day, and the sun smiled unrelentingly. Natty did not throw away the liquor from his bottle.

  ‘We can’t risk it. The stink will definitely attract attention, and we will get into trouble,’ he whispered as we assembled in the open. ‘I will carry it along, and the moment there is an opportunity, I will dump the contents in some field.’

  Only those who have marched through a rough terrain, dressed in battle dress, with backpacks, will know what an ordeal it can be. Forget the heroes in movies who are shown as rough and tough guys enjoying their hikes. We were no Sylvester Stallones. With the sun beating down ferociously, a long march is anything but enjoyable. We literally had our tongues hanging out like dogs on a hot day. The moment a break was announced, we headed for the nearest shade, removed the backpacks, and lay down for a couple of minutes. Some of us even managed to catch a nap, and could be heard snoring.

  The breaks were few and far in between, and too short for our liking. Captain Sabharwal, who was accompanying us, was not carrying a water bottle. During the breaks, he would pick up a cadet’s bottle and drink from it. By noon, all the water bottles were empty, and our throats were parched like sandpaper.

  During a break, Sabharwal began hunting for a water bottle with some water in it. After going through several empty ones, he spotted Natty’s bottle, which was lying under a tree. He picked it up and shook it to check if it had water. It didn’t seem empty. He opened it to take a sip, and the smell of the liquor hit him immediately. Normally a cool guy, he yelled as though he had been attacked by a swarm of bees. The bottle had Natty’s number painted on it, so there was no doubt about the ownership of the bottle.

  ‘You ***buffoons, you’ve been carrying liquor in your water bottle!’he ranted. ‘Wait till we reach the camp. Get up, move!’

  Sabby cut the break short, and ordered us to front-roll all the way to the camp. Natty drew fourteen days of restriction.

  For once, Maachh was thrilled that the tragedy had not happened to him.

  Natty’s punishment put all our adventures into a spin. We had decided to visit the village by day, and follow the route given by Anil Bagaria to the girl ‘Batti’s’ house. Unfortunately, after the punishment, our buddy had to spend all his free time under Ustaad Waryam Singh, who ensured that the cadets sweated copiously under his watchful eyes. Ever since he had heard the saying, ‘The more you sweat in peace, the less you bleed in war’, the ustaad had adopted it as his lifeline.

  ‘Oh ***!’ Bertie threw his cap on the bed, and stood staring at it for a moment. ‘With Natty in a limbo, we can’t venture out to the village. He is the only guy who knows the route to the girl’s place.’

  ‘After what happened that night, do you still want to venture into the village?’ Randy joked, recollecting the chasing mongrels.

  Bertie seemed cowed by the reference.

  ‘Arre yaar, a couple of dogs shouldn’t deter brave cadets,’ said Maachh, thumping Bertie’s back. ‘Let us give it a try tonight.’

  Somehow no one seemed interested. The fear of dogs, and Natty’s punishment, had dampened our enthusiasm. Besides, all the marching had taken the wind off our sails. At the moment, the bed seemed more inviting than a girl’s charms. In any case, time was running out. We were scheduled to move back to the Academy the next morning.

  While we were busy trying our hands at different games and mastering none, Randy concentrated on his tennis. A player with potential, he was much in demand as a partner on the courts. So, the tennis court was his address on most evenings. There were five courts in the Academy, three of which were meant for the cadets, and the rest were reserved for the instructors and their families.

  We were surprised when Natty bought a tennis racquet, for he did not know a tennis racquet from a cricket bat. More surprises awaited us when the next evening, Maachh landed up at the tennis court, brandishing his brand new racquet, which he held like a rifle. Soon, the courts were swamped with new entrants like Dhillon, Harsh, Kalra, Gill, Chowdhary, and Roopinder. Everyone wanted to play tennis although no one knew how.

  We were surprised when cadets from other squadrons, who did not know how to hold a racquet, began arriving by the dozen. From then on, on most evenings, one could spot a horde of cadets patiently waiting for their turn at the net. Tennis became the most popular game. The reason for the popularity of the game was not far to seek. The tennis courts were the only place where the cadets could meet the daughters of officers and civilian instructors. The short skirts and tight shirts were lure enough. Girls frequented the courts, probably for the same reasons as the cadets.

  Randy’s troubles began at the tennis court. Not one of the superfluous players, he was serious about his game, and concentrated on his backhand rather than the girls in the adjoining courts. But his dashing looks, muscular arms, and adept game, drew the girls like flies to a sugarcane-juicing machine.

  ‘What is it about Randy that m
akes the girls swoon?’ blurted Maachh. He had been unsuccessful in his bid to find a place near the net. I could enumerate a dozen points, but I controlled myself and replied straightfacedly, ‘I guess it is his backhand.’

  ‘Backhand! My foot!’ Maachh fumed. ‘I wish I could get a chance at the net. I could prove myself to be as good a player as any.’

  ‘It is not just his play. Look at his biceps. They seem to move with a life of their own. The girls must find it real hot.’ Bertie added fuel to fire as Maachh stole a glance at his own puny biceps. It was true. Randy was getting more handsome with each passing term.

  I tried to suppress my smile. All of us knew how good Maachh was at his game. On the only occasion he had managed to have a go at the game, he had thrown the racquet instead of the ball.

  ‘There are lots of other games in the Academy,’ I consoled. ‘Why don’t you try swimming? You are pretty good at it.’

  ‘I will! The day they allow females into the pool!’ His voice dripped with venom.

  In the meantime, Randy was making good progress in the game. As I sat watching his strong strokes and winning streak, I couldn’t help noticing one attractive girl in the adjoining court who was desperately trying to catch his attention. Clad in a real short skirt, she bounced around, making the cadets drool. Her game was as bad as Maachh’s. They would make a good pair, I thought. Randy, concentrating on his adversary’s moves, failed to notice the girl.

  The bait dangled tantalizingly each evening, with the skirt getting more provocative, and the shirt getting tighter. Our hearts thumping madly, we stared at her without blinking.

  ‘She’s waving at Randy,’ exclaimed Bertie.

  ‘And he refuses to notice her,’ I added.

  ‘Oh boy, I wish she would wave at me,’ he sighed dramatically, his eyes enlarged to saucer dimensions.

  ‘Play like Randy and she might.’

  ‘I say guys, Randy’s abnormal. Imagine! Not reacting to the attention of such a bomb!’

  ‘If paying attention to your game is abnormal, then he is abnormal,’I defended Randy. ‘Depends on what your priorities are.’