The workshop was a great place to extract revenge. All one had to do was spoil the other one’s job. Of course, there were some cadets who were quite serious about the workshop, and spent their time creating and crafting exclusive items quite sincerely. Maachh, who was never interested in anything laborious, loitered around looking for cadets who had irritated him in some manner. Once he drilled a large hole in the box Rocky was making. It was his act of revenge against the cadet for not lending him a fag during the break.
News travelled to Ferreira that quite a few cadets frequently skipped their classes by hiding in the library. The Führer, infuriated by the intelligence, decided to raid the library. His umpteen attempts at catching the cadets red-handed failed to yield a satisfactory result. The smarter ones always managed to elude him, the cadets pitting their wits against those of the Führer. Ultimately, things reached such a stage that it became a challenge for the deputy to trap at least a couple of offenders, to salvage his reputation of being a stern disciplinarian.
After having tried all kinds of tricks, the Führer devised a novel technique to catch the offenders. He came up to the first floor, stamping his foot, and creating a din near the library door, as if he was entering the library. The moment they heard him arriving, the cadets inside tried to escape by jumping through the library windows. Changing his tracks, the deputy quickly ran down the stairs to the cycle stand, and hid himself. His manoeuvre resulted in netting a few fellows who had jumped off the first floor. As the news of his modus operandi spread through the Academy, even the veteran sixth-termers ran shy of hiding in the library to skip classes.
At the time, it was the height of cricket fever, and every cadet wanted to keep himself updated by listening to the commentary on the radio. The library was the favourite haunt of the cadets during such times too. One could easily lose oneself behind the racks of books and listen to the commentary, undisturbed by the instructors. It was also the time when the Führer decided to trap the offenders and set an example by doling out severe punishments to them.
One day, while passing the library, Ferreira heard a transistor playing inside. He cocked his ears and listened; sure enough someone was listening to the cricket commentary. Although he managed to sneak in quietly, the cadet turned out a tad quicker, and by the time the deputy entered, silence reigned in the library. Not a person to give up easily, Ferreira rounded all the cadets present inside the library and barked, ’Out with the transistor, or I will punish the whole lot of you.’
He raved and ranted and hunted everywhere for the transistor set, but to no avail. After a fruitless search of an hour, he finally gave up.
Tired, he announced, ’Gentlemen, I give up. I would like to shake hands with the guy who has beaten me in the battle of wits. Hats off to him!’
But the cadets were no fools. They didn’t trust the Führer. In front of almost sixty cadets that he had rounded up, the deputy declared, ‘I promise that no action will be taken against the culprit. It is a gentleman’s word. I just want to know where the wretched transistor has been hidden.’
When a guy as senior as the deputy promises and gives a gentleman’s word, he can no longer be ignored. Rana, a fourth-term cadet, quietly walked out of the library, and went to the ground floor. Walking up to the huge bougainvillea tree that bloomed just under the library window, he brought out a satchel in which the transistor was neatly wrapped. He had hurled it from the first floor window when he saw the deputy entering the library. Tension mounted amongst the cadets in the library as they waited for the deputy’s reaction with bated breath. And then Ferreira began to clap. After waiting for a tense minute, the entire lot joined him in clapping. The ovation was meant as an appreciation for Rana’s quick thinking.
After the applause died down, the deputy spoke up. ‘Boy,’he thundered, ’now you have had it.’
Without batting an eyelid Rana reminded him, ‘Sir, you are a gentleman.’
The meaning was clear. A gentleman did not break his word. Sixty pairs of eyes looked unblinkingly at the Führer, their silent stares announcing their solidarity. Defeated, Ferreira shook hands with Rana and walked out without a word. The cheer that went up as he departed was thunderous.
eighteen
p
The end of the term was comparatively free. The tests had finished, and we were more relaxed. To celebrate the relaxed flow of life, a fancy dress competition was planned for the first weekend. Since the first fancy dress had been a super hit, the attendance for this one was supposed to go up by several notches.
As usual, the fancy dress competition generated a lot of enthusiasm in the Academy. It was an event that brought in the entire lot of cadets both as participants and audience.
Popular events generally caused hierarchical problems, since every individual of some importance wanted to hog the limelight. And assertion of importance could find no better means than being invited as the chief guest. For the first fancy dress, the deputy had been the chief guest. When the commandant heard about the thumping success of the event, he also wanted to attend the show. Naturally, then, he would attend it as the chief guest. The family members of the officers and the civilian instructors were also supposed to attend the show.
Rehearsals were on in earnest. As it turned out, the cadets were not an imaginative lot. It was a repetition of the same old ideas and the same old stunts. The young sardars let their hair down and dressed up as popular actresses, sadhus or hippies, while the others decked up as Rommel, Montgomery, Hitler and Patton, as earlier. It went without saying that those who dressed up as actresses preferred to perform a cabaret, and dance to a Hindi number, while the war heroes delivered famous speeches.
On the final day, it was Manjeet Singh, a cute first-term sardar, dressed up as Zeenat Aman, who carried the day. He swayed and gyrated like the film star, to a hit number, sending the cadets into raptures. His perfect imitation of the star got him the first prize and the title of ‘Academy Chick’was conferred upon him.
It was Navy Ball time in Bombay and the Führer, being from the navy, seemed to miss the much-hyped Navy Ball. Inspired, he hit upon the brilliant idea of arranging a jam session for the cadets.
The excitement his idea generated was unprecedented. A jam session had never happened in the Academy. And when Ferreira announced that the cadets could bring their girlfriends from town and entertain them in the mess, the cadets went berserk. For once, his excesses were forgotten as well as forgiven.
‘Man, the deputy is a great guy,‘announced Maachh. ’Imagine allowing the cadets to dance with girls!’
He was thrilled at the prospect of meeting some girls, as was every other cadet.
‘God bless the Führer for his great ideas,’seconded Bertie, excited that he could now dance with Lizzie without any fear. With the deputy sanctioning the event, even her parents would not object.
The problem most cadets faced was that they didn’t have girlfriends. A dance party could not happen without dance partners, it was as simple as that. So the deputy invited the girls who were studying medicine at the Armed ForcesMedical College.
When my cousin, a local from Poona, heard that guests were being invited for the party, he decided to attend the party.
‘I can bring a few girls along,’he told me over the phone. ‘My classmates will be glad to attend the event.’
The news thrilled my girl-starved friends.
On the appointed day my cousin turned up with his friends, three boys and five girls, all from the same college. There was still some time before the jam session began, so I showed them around the Academy, after which we landed up in the squadron anteroom.
The cadets were dressed in their best togs to go to the mess for the jam session. The air was thick with the smell of cologne and aftershave lotions.
As soon as I entered the anteroom with my friends, the cadets noticed the five girls in our gr
oup. Soon, the entire squadron trickled in into the anteroom. I introduced everyone and the ice was broken. Someone put the music on, and the room vibrated with chatter. The atmosphere was right for a jam session right there in the anteroom.
Initially, the music was soft, and then, someone asked one of the girls to dance. Thereafter, there was no stopping the cadets. The floor was full of gyrating bodies, and the music steadily got louder. A few cadets who had brought their girlfriends joined in, and everyone let their hair down. With the music at its peak, it overpowered the one originating from the mess. The crowd grew in proportion to the decibels.
The mess wore a deserted look. Although the music was playing, and all arrangements had been made, barely a few cadets loitered around the place. A few seniors who had gone to the mess, did not find company, and hearing the loud music in the G squadron, they made a beeline towards the anteroom.
The lights were dimmed, the music turned up, and the floor filled up with dancing pairs. Oblivious of the time and the happenings around, our party continued well past the allotted time of 6.00 p.m.. Bertie, with his skill in dancing, was much in demand and flirted with finesse.
On the other hand, Maachh, with his two left feet, found not a single girl who was willing to risk her toes by dancing with him. Not to be disheartened, the poor chap continued to do his stumbling act on one side of the hall. It was Randy, tall and debonair, who attracted girls by the drove. Too shy to ask any of the girls for a dance, Natty was happy watching them from a distance.
Lavish snacks had been laid out for the party at the mess. Since there was no arrangement for eats in the squadron, the cadets had their fill of snacks at the mess, and returned to the squadron to enjoy themselves. Some even dared to carry liberal amounts of snacks back to the squadron. Despite the arrang-ements at the mess, there was a bigger crowd at the squadron.
Wondering where all the cadets had disappeared, the deputy decided to investigate. As he crossed the G squadron, he heard loud music blaring from it. The moment his car came to a screeching halt in front of the squadron, all the cadets vanished from the anteroom. The music ceased, and all that remained were ten girls and their civilian escorts. Pin-drop silence greeted the Führer as he entered the anteroom.
‘What happened to the music? Who put it off?’ he asked the girls. ‘Come on, play some music. Let’s dance.’ Music and cheer filled the hall once again, and the dancing resumed. Ferreira joined in the revelry. The cadets who were peeping from the windows were taken aback to see the Führer dancing with abandon. Cautiously, they trickled back, relieved that the deputy was not on warpath.
After about fifteen minutes, Ferreira switched off the music and announced, ‘The party is over, gentlemen, now off to work.’ And he drove off.
There was nothing more to be done, so we dispersed reluctantly. It was great while it lasted.
The much-awaited cricket test series between India and West Indies had begun, and listening to the commentary was a big craze, especially on the sly since the cadets were not allowed to possess transistors. Many sixth-termers would skip their classes to listen to the commentary. They would get their cabins locked from outside by some junior or civilian orderlies, and listen to the commentary undisturbed.
The civilian orderlies continued to work in the squadrons much after the cadets left for their classes. They would collect the leather and canvas items from the allotted rooms, take them to a corner, and polish them. Some cadets left the cabin keys with the orderlies for them to do up the rooms.
One fine afternoon, Ferreira was on the prowl. No deputy had ever strolled the vacant squadrons during the parade hours, but the Führer didn’t abide by any rules other than those set by him. Although he had banned transistors from the squadron, he carried his set with him wherever he went, to keep abreast with the latest score.
As Ferreira passed through the corridor on the top floor, Dey, a sixth-termer who was locked up in his room heard the commentary emanating from Ferreira’s transistor. Presuming it to be another sixth-termer, Dey shouted ‘Kya score hai, yaar (What is the score, buddy)?’
Ferreira was taken aback.
‘Come out you scoundrel, I will tell you the score,’roared the Führer banging on the Dey’s cabin door.
The dialogue that ensued after Dey emerged from his room is not known; in all probability, it was a monologue. All we got to know was that the poor man got relegated. Cadets were normally relegated for academics, outdoor performance, or on medical grounds. But sometimes, they also got relegated due to their misconduct. In the Academy, as in other facets of life, it did not matter if you broke the rules, but it was important not to get caught.
While Dey got caught, Moga missed getting caught by a whisker. He was already a brigadier (having been relegated for a term), and getting caught would have made him a general.
It so happened that Moga was also listening to the transistor at the very moment when Ferreira was relegating Dey.
Hari, the civilian orderly, had accumulated the shoes to polish, and left them in a corner of the corridor before going down for a cup of tea. Dressed in his vest and shorts, Moga was standing near the heap of shoes with his transistor. On hearing the Führer’s steps, he quickly hid the transistor, sat down near the shoes, and began polishing them. ‘Ram, Ram, sahib (Good morning, sir),’he greeted the deputy as he passed by. For good measure, the cheeky chap also offered to polish the Führer’s shoes. ‘Joota chamka doon, sahib (Shall I polish your shoes, sir)?’
The deputy looked down at his shoes and realized that they could do with a shine. He put his foot forward for the shoes to be polished. Moga had a tough time camouflaging his grin while he polished them
That day Moga missed becoming a general, but he definitely achieved the distinction of having hoodwinked the Führer.
nineteen
p
The word that Gary, Girish Chopra, had visited Budhwar Peth was doing the rounds of the squadron. It was considered a great feat. The film on STD (Sexually Transmitted Diseases), shown to us in the first term, had its effect for a long time and managed to keep us away from the red light area. But as time went by, the lessons were forgotten, and the cadets became more adventurous. Although everyone would have liked to experience the delights of Budhwar Peth, not many had the guts to visit the place.
Gary enjoyed bragging. When he told us of his visit to the restricted zone, we took it with a pinch of salt.
‘He is just fooling around,’said Randy. ‘He wouldn’t dare to step anywhere close to it.’
But the rumours of his exploits continued. So we decided to confront him. In the Academy, a guy who had managed such exploits was in great demand. Everyone wanted to hear the story from the horse’s mouth.
We flocked to his room to glean the details from him, but he circumvented our questions and changed the topic.
We tried to reach the truth several times, and failed.
One night, he finally decided to bare his heart. As usual, we had gathered in his room after dinner.
‘Come on, you moron,’needled Bertie. ‘Share the experience with us guys.’
‘It was heavenly, yaar,’said Gary closing his eyes and throwing his hands up as if he had experienced nirvana. ‘I didn’t feel like coming back,’he continued. ‘You can’t imagine the size of her ***.’
Goggle-eyed, Randy, Maachh and I prodded him for more, while Bertie stared sceptically at him.
‘What was her name?’
‘What did she look like?’
‘How old was she?’
‘What was the room like?’
‘What exactly did you do?’
‘Was she clean?’
‘How much did you pay?’
‘How long did you stay?’
We flooded him with hundreds of questions.
‘Hold it, guys,’he said. ’Let
me tell you the way it was.’
He then went on to describe the entire experience ingreat detail.
Gary’s description went exactly the way I had seen in a Hindi movie, the previous weekend. There were kinks in his narration. I did not want to throw a spanner into his imagination, so I let him continue. He spun yards of yarn, and finally got entangled in them.
‘Buddy, did you go to see a movie last weekend?’ I asked, at the end of his narrative.
The question surprised him, and he creased his brows thoughtfully, wondering where all this was leading to.
‘Yes, I did,’he admitted.
‘And was that movie called Ek Nazar?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘There you are, guys. Gary is narrating the story of that movie,‘I told the gang. ‘He hasn’t stepped anywhere near Budhwar Peth.’
Gary never boasted about his visit again. But the bragging didn’t end with him; there were many others in the ring. Next weekend, while on their way to the town, Tushar and Natty showed us the condoms they were carrying in their pockets. The same evening at dinner, after their return from the outing, Tushar sat by my side. Over a bowlful of steaming chicken soup, his soul screaming to be purged, he confessed that they had not stepped anywhere near Budhwar Peth.
‘Don’t tell the others,‘he hesitated. ’When we set out from the Academy, Natty and I were absolutely confident about making a visit to the place, but once we reached the city, we chickened out,‘he said, unburdening his heart.
Unaware that Tushar had already spilled the beans, Natty carried on the charade. After dinner, over a few fags inside the battle tank, Natty provided vivid details about the imaginary tryst they had with females in the forbidden lanes of Budhwar Peth.
Boots Belts Berets Page 18