
Having cleared the interview for the National Defence Academy, all that remained was the medical test before I could adorn the military uniform. There is many a slip between the cup and the lip; a problem was detected in my eyes and I was referred for a review. The next day, as we sat in the waiting hall, I heard my name being called out. Before I could gather my medical documents and move in, another candidate walked up briskly to the doctor for his check-up. We had the same name though his ‘chest number’ (numerical identity given to all candidates), was senior to mine. Perhaps it was his turn, so I thought.
The doctor spent considerable time examining his eyes, but couldn’t find the problem mentioned in the medical papers. He then enquired if there was someone else by the same name, to which I answered in the affirmative. He lambasted me for not being attentive that led to wasting of his precious time on a wrong person instead. There was laughter in the hall and I too managed to grin. The doctor was visibly agitated; it was no coincidence that I was rejected ‘temporarily’ on medical grounds. I had to undergo the agony of a medical re-examination four weeks later before being declared ‘fit for combat’.
As luck would have it, both of us namesakes were allotted the same battalion in the academy. While dealing with a multitude of cadets, matching names to faces was a big enough challenge for instructors; two identical names, both ‘turbaned gentry’, further added to the confusion.
As if this was not enough, both of us joined the regiment of artillery and went for ‘Young Officers’ course soon after commissioning. One day in the middle of the course, my senior subaltern came over looking for me. He had been sent by our commanding officer to enquire about my wellbeing. Presumably, a report had been sent to the regiment of my having gone missing from the course. Those were the days of no cell phones and telegrams which at times caused confusion.
While he was relieved seeing me enjoying my weekend drink in the mess, I was perplexed as to why the commanding officer was so concerned about my health. He had a hearty laugh when he learnt that it was the ‘other one’ who had been declared ‘absent without leave’, as per the Army parlance. Perhaps the dispatcher, in his exuberance, sent the signal to the regiment about the first namesake he saw on the list, little realising that the ‘same spellings’ figured again further down in the nominal roll of officers.
‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,’ said Shakespeare in Romeo and Juliet. Well, there is a lot of scope for ‘comedy of errors’, I would have answered. Now, when I colloquially write my name as ‘EchPee’, there is a compelling reason behind it.