I RECALL the days when, as a young man, I was carefree. Today, I see those days as the wheel of fate that turned for me.My first posting, in 1963, was to a field unit in the East. The long journey from Secunderabad to NEFA, first by train and then by road, was not eventful, as most of the time I was concerned about the safety of my personal weapon, a Sten gun, which was an essential inventory of an Army officer posted in the East then. My unit had two young officers like me and was commanded by a Major. Except for the Officer Commanding (OC), who had his basha near the Officer’s Mess at the foot of a hillock, the rest of us were put up on the hilltop. Young officers consider their first posting as a two-year ‘honeymoon’ which they try to make the best of. One evening, a friend was waiting for me in my basha so we could go for an exciting outing we had planned days earlier. After some aborted attempts to tie the turban, I, abetted by my friend, was convinced that the only way I could leave on time for any engagement was to change my head-gear permanently and start wearing the jungle hat. The next morning, the OC did not recognise me at the breakfast table and when he learnt from others about the change of my identity, he asked me in a stern voice to report immediately to him in his office. In the Army, any change in identity is possible only after taking prior permission from the higher authorities. Furious, the OC ordered me to get back to the original me as early as possible, failing which disciplinary action would be initiated against me. There was no way I could obey his order, and so, after a few days, I was handed a confidential envelope containing a show-cause notice. Though it scared me, I did not understand the gravity of the situation and wrote back, well before the deadline, to be forgiven for the mistake committed. Two days passed off peacefully, during which the OC did not interact with me, except nodding in response to formal greetings. However, the very next day, I learnt that I would be marched to the Commander (a Lt Col) for necessary action. It came as a bolt from the blue. In those days, the gap between a barsati Captain (which I was) and a Lt Col was very wide. After interviewing me, the Commander thought it a fit case to be forwarded to the higher authorities, in this case, the Corps HQ.When I reached the Corps HQ on the fateful day, I felt as if everyone there had come to know of my misconduct and were looking at me with contemptuous amusement. I was marched to a Brigadier who barked a few unprintable, harmless abuses and dismissed me in just a minute or so. I later learnt that immediately after dealing with me, he called the Lt Col who was waiting in the next room and admonished him for not being able to handle the problem at his level. I felt happy to know that the Commander had received more dressing down than me! I applied for a new identity card and the matter was settled once for all. A few years later, I regained my identity due to another interesting turn of events.