A NASTY GUST BLEW MY COVER. I WAS CAUGHT PANTS DOWN. HAVALDAR NATHU WITH A BEEDI BETWEEN HIS LIPS HAD A STRICKEN LOOK. THE JAWANS STOOD LIKE ZOMBIES IN ‘SAVDHAAN’

I wistfully recall my early years in the Indian Army. Life was tough but wholesome.

Since the past four years, the armed forces have been in the news for all the wrong reasons. Sparring generals, the age rigmarole, murky defence deals and more. The one rank one pension (OROP) disquiet was beginning to settle when the 7th central pay commission raised hackles again and then, the unseemly controversy regarding the selection of the army chief. There was a time when the army did its job quietly, and then retreated into its cocoon, the cantonments where it trained and honed its skills unobtrusively for the next kill. No political capital surgically milked the outcome of such operations.

Some years ago, a routine training move by a parachute and a mechanised infantry battalion had the then beleaguered government seeing ghosts where none existed. As if this was not comic enough, an artillery regiment in Nyoma, Ladakh, also ran amok. Reason: A woman bathing in a tent got exposed. I’m certain by accident not design. Such accidents have occurred earlier also, but we dismissed these as minor hazards of military service.

In 1979, I was posted to a unit in Nagrota, which was in tents. Tucked in one corner was the Officers Mess, I was billeted in a tent. An attached smaller tent served as a toilet. The place was given to stormy weather. Often nights were spent retrieving tents and equipment blown away by the wind. By daybreak it was business as usual.

The soldier’s routine from reveille to retreat was tough. It’s during small interludes that one takes life easy. After early lunch, army units are broken up into small groups. Each group is allotted a task for general maintenance of the unit. These tasks are often repetitive and sometimes allotted to keep the jawans busy and out of mischief. One such group under the command of a havaldar used to be sent to the Officers Mess. Its task was to repair the fencing, prune the hedges, and shear the grass.

Officers broke off for lunch around 2pm. After a quick bite I would head towards my tent. The havaldar in charge on seeing me would adopt a suitably industrious demeanor. He would bark ‘savdhaan (attention)’ to the group flailing scythes to cut non-existent grass. I would mutter ‘at ease’ and disappear inside the tent. The jawans outside thought this was Lt Sahib’s siesta time. The only instructions I ever heard the diligent havaldar whisper to the men under his command was ‘talk softly, if sahib hears us we will have it’. Inside the tent I would tiptoe to the toilet and squat on the pot from where I could hear their hushed banter. The earthy humour regaled me. Often officers were the butt of their jokes, but with no malice or disrespect.

One fateful afternoon, a nasty gust blew my cover. I was caught pants down. Havaldar Nathu with a beedi between his lips had a stricken look. The jawans stood like zombies in ‘savdhaan’. I look back in amusement and thank my stars that it was a different age. Today’s evolved jawan, besides a soldier’s paraphernalia, also carries a telltale smart phone. No prizes for guessing that it is one clip that would certainly have gone viral.