What is your laughter Threshold

Have you ever been forced to walk to a washroom to vent out your laughter? Today while having lunch with Jeet at a restaurant in Delhi, she had to rush to the washroom because she had tough time controlling her laughter. It so happened that a gentleman came and sat on the next table. He had grey hair and beard flowing free up to his waist and chest level respectively in the style of some great philosopher or artist. His complexion was extra fair. I asked Jeet to make a guess that what nationality he could belong. She started making guesses and named quite a few, like European, Russian, Irani or an Afghan. But i had a hunch that he was non of those. I proved right when i saw the back of his hand while he was scanning the menu card. It had a tattoo of  'IKK ONKAR'. He was a sardarjee (a sikh gentleman) who must have come out on a holiday after having a good shampoo and wanted to dry his long hair before tying them up. When i signaled that silently to Jeet, she had no option but to rush to the washroom as her laughter threshold is very low.

How i Learnt Cycling and Swimming

While i learnt cycling when i had entered college, my swimming bouts started much later ie., only after joining Indian Army, because Shimla, where i was born and brought up, neither had many swimming pools during those days nor many places where one could cycle, except a two kilometers long stretch of road between Lakkar Bazaar and Sanjauli where cycles were available for hire and one could hire a cycle at one end and deposit the same at the other or even come back and deposit it at the starting end. This side of the end was near our school and some of my school mates, who knew cycling, used to hire cycles during lunch breaks and cycle between two ends as mentioned above. But that was not the place where one could learn cycling for the fear of hitting people, walking on the road.

 I had learnt cycling  over a period of approximately one month when i visited my 'naankey' (maternal grand parent's village) in Punjab during winter holidays of our college at Shimla. I used to sit behind on the carrier whenever my cousins would go around on their cycles for various daily chores. It was only when one day i picked up my cousin's cycle, pulled it up to  a lonely stretch of the village road, sat on the carrier, spreading both my legs on either side of the cycle and tried to pedal. To my great delight i could ride for small stretches without loosing balance. And if i lost balance I would not fall because i would immediately rest my feet on the ground since i sat on the carrier from where the ground was easily accessible as compared to 'Kathi' (the main seat) and would resume peddling again. In the bargain at one occasion i had also banged the front wheel of my cycle into the ankles of an old lady who was walking in front of me with small load on her head. When i apologized and told her that i was learning, she retorted "kaka ajey hor wadhna" (" boy, do you have to grow any more") She was right in expressing her surprise because no boy of my age would be seen learning cycling in a Punjab village. I continued my self -learning sessions in cycling and graduated from carrier to the 'Kaathi' and by the time i left for Shimla after a month of winter holidays, i could cycle fairly well. At Shimla i would some times join my friends to enjoy cycling by hiring one and riding it from Lakkar Bazar to Sanjauli and back.

My cycling spree came to an abrupt end when once during such cycling practice between the two ends as mentioned above i lost control of my cycle and hit a girl of a different college walking on the road along with her friends. (There were only two co-educational colleges in Shimla that time. I studied in RPCSDB college which now has become girls college and the other one was Govt college which is now boys college. This group of girls was from Govt college which was located in the mid distance of this stretch of the road from Lakkar Bazaar to Sanjauli)   It was raining and the road as well as the brakes were wet. The girls were holding umbrellas and were also chatting. Suddenly i realised that the front wheel of my cycle was heading straight behind one of the girls. I tried very hard to brake, or turn away and rang the bell continuously but the neither the girls listened to the warning bell nor the cycle slowed down or drifted away from the direction that it was destined to go. Before i could even shout any verbal warning, the inevitable had happened. My cycle had hit the girl from behind between both the legs. The result was disastrous. The girl fell down with me and my cycle on top of her. My friends accompanying me stopped and lifted both of us and the cycle. We all were expecting a scene but the girls were too nice and instead of raising hue and cry they simply complained that i should have checked the brakes of my cycle before riding it on that rainy day. Had there been boys from the college of those girls, this incident or accident would have erupted into a full fledged rioting between the students of the two rival colleges. Alternately had it happened in Punjab or for that matter in any other part of the country i would have been thrashed nice and proper, not only by the girls but also by the passers by. But thankfully this had happened in Shimla. We apologized to the girls and took to our heels on our cycles and after depositing the same at the Lakkar Bazaar we headed straight to our college which was ten minutes walk from there. Never again i dared to go on that stretch of the road to enjoy cycling.     

This much about cycling. I will write about swimming in a new blog.

Sting Operation

This episode occurred during my Army tenure at Jalandhar sometime between 1984 and1986. I was supervising the training of our troops in the training area of our unit. It was a vast grassy field spread over a few acres with lots of trees providing adequate shade. There were a number of squad posts where the troops got their daily training in various skills as per the operational role of their sub units. 

There is a famous saying that the busiest troops are the happiest ones. Therefore, when they are not fighting, they are training, which not only keeps them busy, but also sharpens their skills in their respective fields. And one has to sweat more in peace, to bleed less in war.

After visiting a number of training squad posts, I decided to sit near one of them under the shade of a big 'sheesham' tree, around which a platform made of bricks had been built by jawans of the unit. As I was watching the actions of the Havildar Instructor who was taking a class of jawans on how to dismantle and re-assemble a particular weapon, a bright yellow colored wasp came and started hovering over one of the toes of my DMS boot. There are some insects that one will always like to keep away from and as the wasp falls in that category so, I jerked it away and as it fell on the soft muddy ground, I stumped it with my boots and forgot about it. Just then two more officers from our unit joined me and we all got busy in observing the training session.

After a while, suddenly, I felt as if some one had hit me at inner side of my thigh with a sharp knife. I jumped up with pain. The other officers were taken aback and rushed to my help. As I held my thigh at that spot, I could feel the presence of some small little object inside my pants sticking to the flesh on my inner thigh. I pressed it hard with between my fingers and thumb and there was a sound of something getting crushed. I jerked my leg hard so that the crushed object could fall out. Yes, it fell out from the bottom of my trousers and lo and behold, there it was, the same wasp that I had stumped some time back under my boots.

The Army DMS (directly molded sole) boots have deep grooves in the rubber sole which help to maintain grip while running or walking on difficult terrains, even in adverse weather conditions. It so happened that when I stumped the wasp it got stuck in one of the grooves which saved its life. It came out from under the sole and silently crept up in side my trousers and climbed as high as it could. It might have been heading for the 'ultimate target', where it would have hurt me the most but luckily due to the tightness of the pants at the thigh level it could not advance further and decided to strike with full force at that spot. Though the insect ultimately sacrificed its life, but not before carrying out a silent sting operation on me. That day in the unit training area, I learnt a great lesson that "if you leave your enemy injured, keep an eye on him, it may strike deeper than the previous target". So better kill your enemy than merely leaving him injured.

This post also forms part of the series of posts on my life's journey. To read all the psots in that series please click here.

Naughty Greetings

In the Army we, the bachelor officers, used to coin naughty phrases while sending out greetings to other officers on various occasions. There are many such one liners, but the ones that merit mention here, are those, that we sent out to the officers on their weddings or wedding anniversaries. For example :-

  "HIT THE IRON, WHEN HOT" (on wedding)

  "WELL DONE and KEEP IT UP" (on wedding anniversaries, particularly to the older officers)

On my own marriage in 1983, i received a joint greeting message from the officers of my unit. I knew that this time i was at the receiving end of the naughty message. Let me share it here.

This was a full fledged Operational Order for Attack on the enemy forces. I reproduce the extracts below, though, I have hidden or modified some text, which contained battlefield terminology or some hard core adult material.

OPERATIONAL ORDER FOR ATTACK

Enemy Force: - Consists of a beautiful, young girl, escorted by a number of hostile females in the age group of sixteen to sixty years. However, the enemy forces are likely to include some male members too.

Own Force:- Consists of veterans of various age groups, led by a budding young officer of the Indian Army, who is capable of achieving any assigned task. Friends will accompany only for moral support. The objective remains to be captured single handed.

Flanking Forces:- One male, younger in age to the leader of the mission, from his own family, will march on the left flank and one heavy weight and an experienced male member from the leader’s friends’ circle will march on the right flank, however the final assault will be undertaken by the leader of the mission himself.

Attachments and Detachments:- All the bridal attires and ornaments will be detached from both the forces at the right movement.

Topography of the Objective:- The coordinates of the General Area are 36-24-36. The area has various curves and slopes which have to be delicately negotiated during the operation. Use of supporting arms is restricted. The objective will have to be captured with the help of personal weapon only.

Weather:- Expected to be hot and humid, owing to the heat and perspiration generated during the encounter of opposing forces.

Likely Pattern of Operation:- To be decided by the leader of the mission in accordance with development of final situation.MISSION
To capture the objective 'Jeet' as early as possible, but other small objectives en route, to be neutralized with due care and delicacy.EXECUTION
Attack will be in two phases

(a) Phase one: - To cut off the enemy from all sides and deny reinforcements.

(b) Phase two:- To force the enemy for an unconditional surrender.

Force Multiplier:- Perfumes, and soft music.

Air Support :- Since the operation is taking place in the month of May, Air Conditioning of the battle field will be ensured by the supporting arms.

Coordinating Instructions:- The battlefield will be decked up with flowers etc., to achieve desired ambiance for the operation.

Target Illumination :- No direct light to fall on the target. Only diffused lamps will be used during the whole operation till the capture of the objective.

Logistic Support :- Hot milk and dry fruits will be dropped in advance at the area of operation. No supplies will be made during the operation.

Success Signal :- Full lights off in the battle field after the capture of final objective, however, no other success signal will be fired as hundred percent success is expected.

Gallantry Awards :- Citation for award of a male or a female child  will be immediately forwarded to the Highest Headquarters, once the mission is accomplished.

Wish you a happy wedded life.

-- Officers of the 'Mighty Third'

This post also forms part of series on my life journey. To read all the posts in this series, please click here.

An Ode to ND Tiwari

I got it in my mail, and about the author i am not aware,
This kind of a wit should not be deleted without being shared.

So let me share it with you all (with due credit to its unknown author) :- 

Your Sexcellency Mr. Ex- Gov
Your name has become a joke because of your act of 'love'. 

Sordid details of your nocturnal capers 
Have appeared in all the national newspapers.

I see no reason why you, they so berate, 
When you were just conducting the 'affairs' of state.

Alas the Gov's post, with its proppery and pomp
Strictly forbids even a clandestine romp.

And you so carelessly went on a spree,
Not with one or two, but an unforgivable three!

Night watchman in cricket , 'tis all part of the game,
At your age your deed is hardly a matter of shame.

(Other guvs, so dull, their posts they doth mock, 
Most cannot hear, some can barely walk.) 

In fairness, all should give you a big hand,
But your bosses took an uncompromising stand.

'Tis unfair when your performance so grand,
Should merit an applause and not a reprimand.

Unfortunately, the high command took a strong line,
When you should have got away with just a small fine.

Yes old man, despite the taunts and the jeers,
I applaud you expansively and say "three cheers" 

Rohit Shekhar now says that he is your son,
I know, I know, 'tis easier said than done.

Say it proudly, old man, or would you rather
Deny that you are his biological father?

Videos! - crass weapons, capturing the morbid sleaze,
Just 'cause you went back on a promised mining lease,

And the women, thus cheated, did a harsh sting,

And got you filmed in an un-governor-like fling.

Cameras are deadly weapons - an undisputed fact,
They aim, they shoot each and every act.

Defamation charges, rightly, you declined to press,
I understand, why further stir that mess?

Cheers your 'high'- ness, to you I raise a toast:
They will soon fit you in some other suitable post.

Welcome Back to Water

Life started in water.

If we put a little water in a container, undisturbed for a few days, we will find some organism breeding in it.

That is life.

Our life also started like that. We bred and lived in water first and then graduated to become amphibians and finally came out and started living on Earth's surface. Initially we lived as animals, walking on all fours, playing in the lap of Nature and gradually became erect and called ourselves human beings. Of course, the process took millions of years.

The Nature had put every thing in place for us to live comfortably. There was water, there was air, there was vegetation to sustain the oxygen that we inhaled and cleanse the carbon di oxide that we exhaled. The Earth had fertile soil to produce various foods for us. We had days for us to work and nights for taking rest. We also had different seasons.

The summers dried up some of the water from the oceans to form enough clouds, which would then float away in the sky to far off places and come down in the form of rain. This filled up our rivers, reservoirs and irrigated our crops. Then there were winters which ensured that there was enough snow on the mountains and ice on the glaciers to sustain the flow of water in the rivers all throughout the year. There were beautiful flora and fauna on the Earth which was called a 'paradise'.

We, the human beings were different from other animals as we were endowed with a very powerful organ called brain. With the help of our brain we made many discoveries and inventions to make ourselves more comfortable. We discovered fire to cook our food and to keep ourselves warm during nights and winters. We invented wheel for easy and quick movement and to transport our load from one place to the other. We invented wings to fly in the sky as well as space. We discovered radio waves for easy communication between far off places. We produced electricity to augment or replace fire and then we discovered nuclear energy to augment or replace electricity.

But, alas !!

We were not satisfied with all that. We wanted more comforts and modified the Nature for that purpose ruthlessly. We, dug up the earth, blasted the mountains, cut down the forests, opened up factories and manufactured plethora of goods for our comfort. We constructed concrete jungles and lived and worked in them. We emptied out the fossil fuel from the crest of the earth and burnt it recklessly and spewed the smoke and other poisonous gases up in the air. We also extracted plastic from that oil and threw it around carelessly after use which got mixed with the soil, choking and turning it infertile.

We artificially cooled our homes, offices, cars, shops and other places and threw out the hot and poisonous air into the atmosphere.

Instead of using our legs for movement even for short distances, we used the wheels running on the fossil fuel. This not only resulted in jamming our own limbs but also in clogging the roads and polluting the air that was required for us to breath.

Instead of working and enjoying during day and taking rest during nights, we extended our work and play into the night, driven by the greed to earn more money and the urge to enjoy more. For this we burnt electricity which we had produced either by burning coal, oil or by using the force of the flow of the river waters. This not only resulted into nights warming up against the design of the Nature but also disrupted our body clocks by our remaining awake during nights, thus ruining our health.

We invented religions, and divided the society on caste, class and cultural lines. We did not stop at that and killed each other in the name of God. We also produced weapons of mass destruction.

We called it 'development', but actually it was 'destruction'. The more developed a part of civilisation was, the more destruction it had caused to the Nature and to the humankind. We had not only polluted our soil, air and water but also the space.

Slowly the contents of oxygen in the air started reducing and that of carbon -di-oxide (CO2) and other harmful gases started to increase.

We slowly found it more and more difficult to breath and suffered many ailments.

Over a period of time, the CO2 gave way to carbon monoxide. That resulted in spread of more diseases. Many unknown and incurable diseases started to spread.

Also as the atmosphere was gradually warming up, the snow and ice on the mountains and glaciers started melting, the ocean levels rose and the beautiful surface of the 'Paradise' got submerged in the water.

The Earth became a revolving ball of water.

That is it.

We are back where we belonged in the first place -- the water-- breathing with our gills instead of lungs.

We have become water animals again.

Now, while swimming around in the water world, we bump into those monstrous structures made of metal and concrete and tell our youngsters that once our ancestors lived in those and that they walked on their legs, had lungs and breathed air.

We swim over the objects which were called cars, buses, and other vehicles, found lined up for miles and miles together. We tell our young ones that these were called traffic jams. There are human skeletons inside those iron coffins which have turned black, perhaps, owing to the smoke pollution due to which they had died.

We also find human skeletons holding necks of each other as they died fighting one another in caste and civil wars or perhaps fighting for food, drinking water and other amenities as well as from epidemics and endemics.

Thus we find the signs of life which had existed on the surface of the Earth, many millenniums ago and also the signs of its ultimate destruction.

But thank God !! All that is a thing of past.

Here in the water world there is no pollution, no fights for food, no wars over religion, caste or class.

There is no race for development, hence no destruction taking place here .

Welcome back to the water world.

Dedicated to Men

8th March is celebrated as International Women's Day. I had written a post on 4th March, 2006 which was dedicated to that special day. I had never heard of International Men's Day till I looked at my blogroll today and found IHM's post. International Men's Day had come and gone on the 19th November like any other day and i did not feel any different on this day. Did any one else do? No one made me feel special. So i on my part decided to dedicate a post to us blokes.
Cheer up men. Here it is :-
The big film hoarding stared down at me on a busy traffic island. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. No, there were no mistakes. It was there in bold letters . Last film by Amitabh Bhaduri, Dharmendra Malini and Rajesh Kapadia together. A multi starer. As I stopped to read the full details of the movie, a passer by, impressed by my bewildered gaze, suggested that I should not miss the film as it was the last one by the trio. On my asking, he explained that the three super stars had decided to quit movies as it was so desired by their wives and they would act as true house husbands thenceforth. However they could now and then be dropped at the handsomeness parlor or attend an occasional kitty party.
Before I could pinch myself in the arm to ensure that I was not dreaming , I heard some noise. A group of three four young men were beating a woman with their shoes. A spark of chivalry ran through me and as I prepared myself to leap to the rescue of the lady, I heard some one shouting, "hand her over to anti-adam-teasing-squad". People were discussing that she was a great maniser and often indulged in adam-teasing as a pass time. She was employed as a fore-woman in a nearby factory and her better half was working as a mid- husband in a nursing home.
By now I had forgotten the purpose of coming out on that bright Sunday morning. I bumped into a newspaper vendor and promptly handed him some coins in exchange of a newspaper. The headlines again glared at me, "Shri So and So elected as Rashtrapatni of our country. I quickly scanned through other news items. "Police had launched a woman hunt in search of a criminal who had shot down a station mistress of certain railway station". The business page carried items on 'woman management' for optimum use of 'woman hours'. A car company was continuously making efforts in improving the mare power of their new car and the sports page described how the new coach of our national team was trying hard to imbibe in the players the sportswoman spirit etc., etc.
And then I heard some one complaining that he could not find a gentleman doctor in that part of the market. Before I could ask him that whether the doctors that he found were behaving in un-gentlemanly fashion, I suddenly remembered the purpose of my coming out doors.
I had to visit my friend in a hospital. I rushed to the near by bus stop and boarded a bus. The bus was not much crowded but there were no vacant seats available. As I advanced forward through the aisle of the bus, a woman got up and offered seat to me. Before I could question her offer I saw an instruction written on the side wall of the bus. It said, "Please offer seat to men and children". I quietly occupied the vacated seat. After getting down at my destination I went straight to the hospital that I was to visit.
While looking for the ward where my friend was admitted I passed along a corridor where a patient was being wheeled out of the labour room and a nurse was holding a newborn baby. Every thing else was all right except, that, the person sitting in the wheel chair, wearing the patient's gown, was a young man with a pale face. The nurse was smiling and told me that he was the father of the newborn.
It was enough for me. I rushed towards the nearest person and asked him to pinch my arm. He obliged and I suddenly woke up with a start, panting and sweating.
Thank god, it was a dream.

मेरा मुझ में कुछ नहीं (I Have Nothing of My Own)

My hair belonged to my parents. Having been born in a Sikh family, i had to compulsorily keep long hair. But i always fancied keeping short ones. Once during college days i attempted to cut them short and there was a big ruckus in the family. I had hurt my parents with this act of sacrilege. I had to grow my hair back again. However it was many years of my constant persuasion with my parents, that i was able to convince them to allow me to keep short hair. Please click here to read the whole episode.
For next many years, though, i kept short hair but continued sporting nicely trimmed beard. As i have a bad habit of experimenting with my appearance, so once when i shaved my beard, i was jeered at not only by my wife and kids at home but also by friends at office, particularly the lady friends who did not approve of my clean shaven face. So i silently concluded that my beard is also not my own as it belonged to my family and friends. I grew my beard again. My beard became such inseparable part of me that some colleagues started addressing me as 'daadhee walah sahib'. I hate being stamped with an image. So i got rid of my beard one day. But then again i preserved a small piece of facial hair in the form of moustaches.
It was not until a few days back that i found out that whom did my moustaches belong to. It is none other than my dear wife. I dare not shave off this piece of salt and pepper contraption on my face. Once i did the same, i had to suffer her sarcastic and scornful looks for one whole week, until the poor thing grew back again under my nose.
Let me share a secret here that since now a days my better half is away in a different city to take care of the kids, so i have taken the liberty to get rid of the moustaches but i know that i will have to stop shaving my upper lip one full week before i move to meet her and the kids during Diwali holidays.
( I have put up some photos of different stages of my skull and facial hair later in the next post. Click here to see those)

The Pony Race

In the Indian Army, whenever the raising day or the battle honour day of a unit is celebrated, it is marked with a few functions, like Sainik Sammelan (the senior most officer of the Unit or the Regiment addresses all Ranks), Bara Khana ( lunch or dinner with the troops combined with some cultural programmes presented by them), Lunch or Dinner in the JCO's Mess and Dinner in the officers' Mess. But one of the most interesting events of the celebration is the 'Pagal Gymkhana'. This consists of various games and sports by officers JCOs and other Ranks and their families. Some of them are really crazy like sack race, three leg race or potato race etc hence the prefix 'pagal'.

It was the raising day of my unit in Ladakh which was also attended by the locals from the nearby villages in large number. We had planned a pony race by officers of the unit for the 'Pagal Gymkhana'. Since the Animal Transport was the integral part of the unit, we had our favorite ponies. We had to take two rounds of the perimeter of a ground equal to the foot ball field to complete our race. Another interesting part of any Army function is that there is always a full dress rehearsal a day or two in advance to ensure the precision of timings (there is a story about a Subedar Major who had taken his son's marriage procession to the bride's village a day in advance sending the bride's family into panic, only to be relieved when the ' Barat' turned back from the border of the village and told that they were conducting full dress rehearsal for the marriage procession).

On the day of the full dress rehearsal, as our race started, I found that after completing one round of the field I was leading the race by almost half the length of the perimeter. My nearest competitor was left far behind and every body in the spectators' gallery was cheering me up. The race finished and I was the cynosure of all the eyes during the tea break. I told the Nunnu (the young boys of Ladakh are called so) looking after my pony to take care of it properly so that it would repeat the performance on the final day of the race which was the next day.

During the final events of the 'pagal gymkhana' when the pony race was announced the participating officers came to the start point and our respective ponies were handed over to us. All the ponies were looking great but mine was the centre of attraction as it had shown great performance the previous day. The race started and as expected I took the lead and left the nearest follower far behind. But after completing one round of the field my pony suddenly changed its direction and cut across the field diagonally and made a beeline for the stable which was at a little distance from the ground. I tried all types of stunts to bring it back to the racing track but all in vain. It crossed the cheering crowd and went and stopped inside the stable. There it started defecating. I came back to the field leaving the pony in the stable. Now the crowd was jeering at me as I walked across the field with the thin flexible stick in my hand. I joined the spectators in the officers' enclosure who consoled me and told me to take that sportingly. Later the Nunnu told me that he had fed some energy food to the pony to boost its strength. Perhaps he gave it an over doze.

This post also forms part of series on my life journey. To read all the posts in this series please click here.

The Drifting Parachute

That was the northern most post of the Indian Army and I had the proud privilege of being its post commander in 1982. The post was entirely air maintained, implying, that rations were air dropped and the mail was delivered by the helicopters, which were also used for evacuation of personnel due to ill health or otherwise. The nearest habitation or vegitation was about eighteen days foot journey or pony ride away. So the sight of the aircraft high up in the air and of the chopper at the helipad were the most pleasant ones for the troops. However, clear skies were the biggest precondition for both such sights.

That day was a bright one, which meant, that the air drop was possible. As expected we heard the sound of the aircraft and in a short while it could be seen orbiting on top of our post. The dropping zone was always kept marked, yet, the aircraft took some rounds over the post giving ample time to alert the troops below to clear the dropping zone, as also, for lighting smoke candle there to indicate to the pilot the wind direction at the DZ. We came out of the bunkers to look at the parachutes with the payload swinging in the air, coming down slowly and finally settling on the ground with a thud. Some times some parachutes did not open properly and came down swiftly crashing their contents on the dropping zone. These were called candled parachutes owing to their resemblance to a burning candle (the payload and the strings representing the body of the candle and the white cloth of the unopen parachute wavering in the air like its flame while coming down at a great speed).

That day also the drop was normal with some parachutes not opening and hence crashing down on the DZ. But to our surprise one parachute despite having opened fully did not show any sign of coming down and instead, was drifting away from our location. As I got curious I told the Company JCO to get the horses immediately. We followed the flight of the drifting parachute and found it at a distance of about two to three kilometers from our post. It had ultimately dropped down and had settled in the middle of a small dry lake. On closer examination we found that there were some cans of kerosene oil kept in a wooden crate but the same were empty. Since the load was not enough to pull down the fully open parachute it had drifted away from the dropping zone.

Later I found out from the reliable sources that a small group of personnel in the supply unit responsible for packing and loading the rations in the aircraft indulged in regular pilferage of rations. Their modus operandi was to partially empty the contents of some of the cans/boxes containing mostly attractive items in a particular parachute and give it some faulty knot so that it would not open and would crash its half filled contents on the dropping zone, thus not raising suspicion about any malpractice. But in the case of our drifting parachute firstly, they must have emptied the contents of all the cans of the crate as was evident from the empty cans and secondly, they also forgot to give the wrong knot to the parachute, as a result of which it opened normally but refused to come down at the designated place. I had also observed that the crashing parachutes invariably contained items like condensed milk, eggs, liquor or oil etc. Never did a parachute carrying the grass fodder for the horses and mules crash.

The group was caught and punished severely as they were not only indulging in pilferage in one of the cleanest organizations of the country but were also being cruel by stealing the kerosene oil of those troops who had to warm their bunkers with that oil at a place where the temperature dropped down to minus 50 degree Celsius.

This post also forms part of series on my life journey. To read all the posts in this series please click here.

Faux pas at Trivandrum

Our unit was located in the Cantonment area at Trivandrum, popularly known as Pangode Camp. Though, normally, the cantonments are located away from the main city and most of the times the civilians are not allowed to enter that area, unless for a specific purpose, but in this case a very busy city road passed through Pangode. Our Battalion Headquarters and the Unit Quarter Guard were located bang on that road opposite each other. There is a tradition in the Army that whenever an officer passes in front of the quarter guard on foot, on a two wheeler or in a vehicle, the guard commander brings the guard to attention by shouting the word of command in a loud voice (as heard during the Republic Day Parade). This is to pay respect to the officer, regardless of the unit that he may belong to.

During our initial days at Trivandrum while the unit was still in the process of settling down, we realized that our guard commander was shouting the word of command and was bringing the guard to attention a little too frequently during the day. One of our officers went out to check the reason and came back laughing from ear to ear. When he explained to us the reason for the same, we all were in splits. The reason was actually amusing. The officers are identified by the guard commander by the pips that they wear on the shoulders when they are in uniform. But when they are in their games rig which is half sleeves white shirt/tea shirt and white shorts with PT shoes and white socks, they are recognized from the same dress. In the southern India the men generally wear half sleeves shirt and a dhoti and whenever they are seated on a two wheeler their dhoti remains folded above thigh level. In case the shirt and the dhoti are white, the same look like white shirt and shorts from a distance. Well for our Dogra soldiers, who had come to the southern part of the country for the first time, it was natural to mistake the white shirt and the dhoti of a civilian riding a two wheeler for an officer's games rig. Hence they came to attention every time that someone passed in front of our quarter guard wearing that attire. It was only after all the jawans were familiarized with the dress of the locals that the frequent saluting stopped in our quarter guard.
Another very interesting incident that I wish to share here is when I once accompanied Major Dongre, our battalion Second –In - Command to visit a patient in a local hospital. After entering the hospital we enquired about the direction to the special ward that the patient was admitted to. To our utter disappointment everyone that we met, spoke such chaste Malyalam that we could not make any head and tail of the directions that he or she gave to us for reaching the ward and we kept moving in circles in that big multi storied hospital before we could locate the correct ward.

Major Dongre had also to visit the collector’s office for some work. After entering the collectorate building we went to the concerned section. Having been bitten once by the lingua franca of Trivandrum, we asked an official sitting on a desk that if we could converse with someone who could speak English. Hearing this, the whole section stood up in protest. One of them probably a union leader, took us around the section and introduced us to each and every employee spelling out his or her educational qualifications. Most of them were holding masters degrees. It was only after we explained to the gentleman about our experience in the hospital that we had visited in the morning, that he let us go but not before we apologized for the faux pas.

This post also forms part of series on my life journey. To read all the posts in this series, please click here.

Blue Beaches of Trivandrum

Trivandrum -- (1979-1982) : When the Army is not fighting a war , it is supposed to be training itself for the same. And if one sweats more in peace, one will bleed less in war. And that dictum came true at Trivandrum as our battalion was put through a rigorous regimen of training, which was conducted either in the unit training area, on the sea shores of Kerala and Tamil Nadu, or in the jungles of Karnataka. We also traveled to the hot and dry deserts of Rajasthan once a year for taking part in the battle simulation exercises. Once again traveling by Military Special trains from Trivandrum to Rajasthan and back which took ten days either way. Apart from training, our battalion also played host to number of visiting dignitaries who would go around visiting temples, beaches and other places of tourist interest in and around Trivandrum.

After we had spent some time at Trivandrum, our Army Commander [this time the actual one], Lieutenant General RD Heera, expressed his desire to visit our location. It is a common practice that whenever a very high ranking dignitary is scheduled to visit a unit or a formation, his or her protocol file is forwarded there a few days in advance. The file mentions all the likes and dislikes of the visiting dignitary. It specifically indicates the food habits. The Army Commander was our biggest boss, next only to the Army Chief. Naturally, the whole cantonment was in a spin. The file, containing the likes and dislikes of the GOC - in- C and his wife, had reached our immediate higher headquarters at Trivandrum well in advance and we had gone through it many times over, so as not to miss out on any thing. There was an item mentioned as shower curtain. I was part of the group of officers deputed to see the arrangements in the MES Inspection Bungalow (army equivalent of a VIP guest house) where the visiting couple was to stay. Everything else was in order, except for that damn shower curtain, which was not available anywhere in the market (now of course those are available, dime a dozen, even on some of the pavement bazaars). We hunted for the shower curtain in every nook and corner of Trivandrum city but could not lay hands on one. We were about to give report of the same to the Commanding Officer, that suddenly, a thought crossed my mind. I had a friend from Shimla, Ashok Sood, who worked at a five star hotel located at Kovalam Beach near Trivandrum, as Front Desk Manager. While we used to visit the Kovalam beach quite often for our picnics, we also used to organise there small parties on the occasion of dining in or dining out for the incoming and out going officers of the unit respectively. More often than not the winding up coffee used to be at the Beach Resort, the five star hotel as mentioned above, courtesy Ashok Sood. I contacted my friend on telephone and sure enough, he provided us with a shower curtain, which we got duly fixed in the bathroom of the VIP suite of the Inspection Bungalow.

During the course of General Heera's stay, a dinner was hosted by our unit in his honour in our Officers' Mess. Once again different arrangements were entrusted to a number of officers of the unit. An officer was specially deputed in the bar to see the drinks arrangements. Our Battalion, which was raised in the year 1900, had the proud privilege of being in possession of some of the choicest of wines, which were preserved for special occasions. Once again a final inspection was carried out by the Commanding Officer. Everything was in order. The General and his wife were escorted from the MES IB to the Officers' Mess at the designated time. The CO welcomed them and asked the General for a drink. He spelt out his poison. When the lady was asked for her drink, she said that she would prefer tender coconut water. Hearing this, our CO's face fell for a moment. He signalled to the nearest officer and asked him to arrange for Mrs Heera's drink. Immediately the Subedar Adjutant (the JCO in charge of administration) was telephoned. Fortunately our unit area had a number of coconut trees. A working party of a few jawans was organised who climbed the coconut trees and chopped off some fruit. The lady was served with fresh tender coconut water, though, with a slight delay. While she took the first sip of her drink, I noticed our CO wiping away a tiny droplet of sweat off his brow with his index finger tip.

This post also forms part of series on my life journey. To read all the posts in this series, please click here.

Bare Beauty of Nagaland

Nagaland (1978)-- As our stay at Faizabad came to an end, we dispersed to proceed to our respective battalion locations in different parts of the country. My battalion was located in Nagaland. I boarded the train heading north east and after three days' journey, got down at Mariani junction in Assam which was the nearest rail head. This was the first time i was travelling to north eastern region of India where the night falls at four in the evening and the day breaks at three, the wee hours for the western part of the country. It was another two days' journey by road from Mariani to the place where my battalion was located. Two small towns fell on the way -- Mokokchung and Tuensang. At Mokokchung the scene was just out of this world. The boys having shoulder length hair, with guitars slung on their shoulders and girls wearing skirts and tops dancing and singing merrily at public places, gave me the impression as if i had come to some country located in the far east. But the signs of modernity could not be seen beyond Mokokchung. As i advanced further into the interiors of Nagaland the tribal culture got more and more visible in the dress, food and the life style of the inhabitants.


I reached the battalion headquarters only after night fall, so next morning when i came out of my room and had a look around, i was left speechless. Lush green mountain ranges all around, offered a breathtaking view. The sub units of our battalion were deployed on those hills across the valley, on the Indo -- Burma border, to prevent movement of hostiles across the international border. Though, I was posted in the battalion headquarters, my desire was to go around the country side and explore the unknown regions of Nagaland about which i had heard or read so many stories. One day i requested my Commanding Officer Col Ashok Bhan, to send me across to the posts. Though, our Adjutant Capt Baleshwar Khanna did not approve of my having volunteered in that manner, (the Adjutant in his initial briefing had told me that young officers are only to be seen and not to be heard, so he took it as defiance of his advice) but the Commanding Officer readily agreed and asked me to proceed to the posts the very next day.


The first company location which i visited was near a village. Though the visual distance from one hill top to the other looked very close but while actually travelling between the two, it took one's breath out. One had to first walk deep down into the valley and then climb up the same distance to reach the top. The jungles of Nagaland are very thick and tricky and at some places even the sunlight does not penetrate the thick foliage. The group of jawans who accompanied me had warned me to save my self from two dangers while walking in those jungles. Firstly from the leeches which may fall from the tree tops on the back of the neck and start sucking the blood by the time one came to know of their presence. These had to be separated from the skin by either putting salt on them or else touching them with the end of the burning cigarette. Second danger that i was put on alert was against the ambush by the hostiles. One never knew that from where a poisonous arrow or a bullet would come and pierce ones' chest while walking through the thick forests. The Naga hostilities were at its peak during that period.

By the time we reached our destination, it was dark. Next day the company commander Capt PK Narula took me around the village. Army was required to keep a very close liaison with the villagers to get the intelligence about the movement of the hostiles. Before proceeding, he had briefed me that villagers would offer me 'madhu', a local wine brewed out of barley, which most of the Nagas were seen drinking from large wooden jar shaped cups with wooden straws while basking in the sun in front of their huts. And once offered something to eat or drink by a Naga one could not refuse for the fear of antagonising them One just had to say "gaan christhaan", meaning that i was a Christian.

Every village had Christian and non Christian population. There was a small church and a pastor in every village. The Christians were more civilised, not used to drinking liquor or eating meat etc. Another major difference between the two classes was that while the Christians wore normal dresses like pants and shirts for males and skirts and tops for females, the non-Christians remained topless. The men wore only a loincloth and the females wrapped just a shawl below their waists. The women folk of all ages were seen working in the fields, carrying fire wood or hay for the animals, pounding barley, washing clothes at village water points, knitting on hand looms (almost every house had a hand loom where the women would knit shawls etc) or attending to other such daily chores of life, wearing nothing on top.

While a small cleavage visible under the thin dupatta or through the pallu of a woman's saree is certainly a pleasant sight for any man worth his salt, without harbouring any malafide thoughts in the mind, but there in the villages of Nagaland it was an anti climax to see the dangling pairs of bare boobs, available to look at in abundance in all shapes and sizes. Initially they were a cause of some excitement, which was natural , but gradually the excitement turned into monotony. I was reminded of the words of a famous poet that the 'beauty that is veiled looks more beautiful'.

Let me narrate two very interesting incidents here. When the Company Commander took me around the village and introduced me to the 'Gaon Buda' -- the village head, he took us to his house. On the gate of the house he had displayed a number of human skulls which indicated as to how many men he had killed. He made us sit in the big hall around a fire place where the fire wood was burning. On the ceiling above the fire place, small pieces of meat were hung with help of metal hooks. That process was called smoking. It was to preserve the meat for longer periods without cooking. 'Gaon buda's wife and daughter were sitting across the fire place wearing nothing on top. He said something in his lingo sounding like "pesha khaibi" which meant "have tea" and told his wife to prepare tea for us. While the tea was on the fire and the company commander and the 'gaon buda ' were busy discussing about the activities of the hostiles, i heard some sound behind me. I looked back and saw that a small pig was drinking water from a large pot lying behind me. The tea was served to both of us. The company commander was too busy in talking. While he merrily sipped his tea, i could not do so because i had seen the pig drinking water and was in doubt whether it was the same pot from which the water for the tea was filled. So taking advantage of the low light inside the room (the only light in the room was that of the flames of the fire place), i threw the tea in to the ash accumulated around the fire place and merely made actions of sipping the tea from the cup. After coming out i told the officer about the pig. He smiled and said that the water got purified after boiling.

At another occasion, when i took over as a post commander of a small village named Wenshoi, which was bang on Indo --Burma border, a villager came to ask my permission to go for hunting into the jungle. It was mandatory for them to seek permission if they wanted to use fire arms for hunting. Their fire arms were improvised ones, though, they hunted mostly with help of bows and arrows. I came out and found him sitting in a crouching position in front of the gate, holding his gun between his knees. As i walked towards him, a small beetle type of insect flew in and rested on his bare shoulder. He was wearing only a loincloth. He immediately slapped his shoulder and killed the insect. Instead of throwing it away he put it in his mouth and chewed it like a child enjoys a chocolate. I asked him that why did he do so. He signalled to me by touching his stomach and said something in his lingo which meant that it was good for the stomach.

What is in a Surname ?

What is in a surname? Everything for some or may be nothing for some others. The opinion will differ from person to person. In my case i don't give a damn to a surname. Neither i use my surname, nor do i call my close friends by theirs.

The reason for my not using my surname is that even my parents never used it. My father was of a very strong opinion that Guru Gobind Singh, the tenth Sikh guru had established a classless society and had given the second name as "Singh" to all the Sikhs to put after their names. Even the Guru had replaced his own second name "Rai" with "Singh" and became Gobind Singh from Gobind Rai after getting baptized. However, it is another matter that many Sikhs today, use their surnames after or in place of Singh. Some Sikh married ladies use two surnames -- one their maiden and the other of their in-laws' whereas, for a Sikh female the second name is 'Kaur' instead of 'Singh', regardless of her marital status.

Another reason for me not to use my surname is that i love my first name and want people to know that and be called by the same. Instead of being called by my surname ie., Nagra or Mr. Nagra i will certainly prefer to be called Balvinder or Balli.

The story behind my decision not to address my close friends by their surname is very interesting which actually had caused me some embarrassment too. I had a class mate named Maheshwar Pal Singh Chaudhary. His father was a Colonel in the Army. All the friends in the college used to call him Chaudhary and so did i. Once, when i went to his house and rang the doorbell, his sister opened the door. Though, i had visited their place a number of times earlier, but i had not met her because she was putting up in a hostel. I told her that i was Chaudhary's friend and would like to meet him. She very politely asked me that which Chaudhary i wanted to meet, "Colonel" or "Mahesh". I realized my mistake and promptly corrected myself and told her that, i wanted to see Mahesh. She ushered me in and though, she sheepishly tried to hide her grin for having pointed out my mistake intentionally, (as she could have very well guessed that a boy of her brother's age could not be calling her father as just "Chaudhary"), i could not hide the embarrassment which was writ large on my face. That was the last time i addressed any of my close friends by their surnames.

Second incident, when the surname (this time my own) had caused me some embarrassment, is in fact more interesting. One of my girlfriends from my college days met me on the mall at Shimla and we went to have a cup of coffee together. We had finished our graduation and i was pursuing my post graduation in English literature and was also waiting for the call letter to join the Officers' Training Academy, as i had been selected for the commission in the Indian Army. She, perhaps, was looking for a match for getting married. During our chat over coffee she directly proposed to me. Though, i was not prepared for the same but i did not show any signs of negative feelings either. While departing, she asked me my surname in a matter of fact manner. I told her my surname. She laughed aloud. When i asked her the reason for doing so she said that her family also had the same surname (she was also from a Nagra family). After a few days when we met again on the mall, she told me that she desired to take her proposal back as she was like a sister to me, since our families shared the same surname. Though, I had not taken her marriage proposal very seriously in the first place yet, there was some feeling of embarrassment, which again, i could not hide, but nevertheless, we had a great laugh after that. Few years later during my visit to Shimla i saw her roaming on the mall road, wearing vermilion in the hair and a 'choora' -- the red and white wedding bangle-set which is worn by a newly wedded Punjabi bride for a number of days after marriage.

I wished her a happy married life and we, once again, had a great laugh in the memory of the day when we had discovered our common surname.

This post also forms part of my life journey. To read all the posts in this series, please click here.

Sticker Story --2

To day i read a news item in Times Of India about some commotion which took place at Kolkata airport due to a missing security sticker from the bag of a passenger. While the passenger was insisting that he had duly got his bag scanned through the X-ray baggage scanner at the airport, the security officials were not allowing him to go ahead to board the aircraft unless his bag carried the security sticker.

This news gave me the feeling of Déjà vu , as I was witness to an exactly similar incident in March 2007 at Mumbai airport about which i have written in my blog earlier (hence the current title " Sticker Story --2"). Though at Kolkata the incident led to a major showdown between the passenger and the security officials, resulting into heated exchanges and also scuffle between both the parties, nothing of that sort had happened at Mumbai , except for causing a little embarrassment to the concerned passenger and some amusement amongst the crowd around the counter at his cost. But then Kolkata has its lion's share of 'Argumentative Indians', (as Amratya Sen calls us).

The Mumbai incident was actually amusing one as the sticker was found stuck on the trousers of the passenger instead of his bag. To read the Mumbai episode please click HERE

Murphy's Law

Lots of definitions have been given about Murphy's law. One such definition as given in Wikipedia is that "Whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way." There are many examples to explain the same but the most common and appropriate one i found is that " No sooner one's body comes in contact with the bath water, than one's phone bell starts ringing". Another one is that "The moment one's both hands are smeared with some mud, grease, dish washing soap, wet flour (atta dough) or any other such slimy material, the tip of one's nose is bound to itch".

Now let me share with you that how the Murphy's Law applies to me.

1. The day i forget to keep my driving license in the pocket, i would certainly drive into a no entry lane and bump into a traffic cop.

2. I always keep a small booklet in my pocket in which i have noted down many references, in addition to telephone numbers, like PIN, pass words, driving licence, passport, bank account numbers etc, etc and most of the times i don't need to refer to them. The day i forget to put the booklet in my pocket, some situation will definitely crop up that the booklet will be badly required for a reference.

3. During rainy season if i walk out, not bothering to take the umbrella, it will certainly rain and very heavily at that.

4. I generally keep some loose coins and small denomination notes in my wallet. Only on the days when i don't carry any loose change on me that the taxi driver or the shopkeeper simply won't break my hundred or five hundred rupee note.

5. Some time back my computer was placed a little away from my table in my office cabin and the telephones are lying on my main table. The moment i went and sat on the computer chair to do some work on my PC, one of the telephones would invariably start ringing. I have brought the computer table closer now.

6. I am bound to get a sneezing fit or catch cold the day i forget to put my handkerchief in my pocket. I would have to rush one of the office boys to buy one from the nearest pavement vendor or do that myself if not in the office.

7. I keep my pen in my breast pocket most of times. It's dire need will only arise when i forget to take the same and there is no one in sight possessing any. I have started keeping a pen in the glove compartment of my car.

8. While waiting on the traffic red light, the moment i turn off the engine to save fuel, the traffic lights will turn green.

9. Some colleague will always walk into my cabin, the moment i open my blog or some other such site. No one will ever bother to drop in when i work on Microsoft word, PowerPoint or Excel.

There are many more such examples and i may add them later, as and when i remember. But meanwhile let us find out from our blogger friends that what is their experience. No tags here. I believe in voluntary exercise which is always more fruitful.

My Quirky Side

I was tagged by Renu some time back and as per the rules i have to post my quirky side on my blog. I have taken some time to think of my quirks worth posting here, because it was difficult to make a choice to post some of the many which i have. So i decided to post the ones for which i have been regularly inviting the nags of my wife and kids. I may be able to get rid of them if i publish them here, perhaps. Because they say that if something is troubling you , just write your heart out. And what better place to write than one's blog. So here we go :-

1. Off late i have started following 'Gandhigiri' (you can read the post in my blog by the same title) and as a result, finding some one doing something wrong at a public place like asking for a bribe, throwing garbage, spitting, peeing etc i am tempted to deliver an instant moral lecture to the culprit on the disadvantages of such bad habits, while my folks try to pull me away from the spot.

2. Whenever my sons drive and i am sitting in the co-driver's seat, my left hand remains half risen from my lap, as a mark of a signal for him to drive slow, to which he hardly pays attention.

3. If i am asked to iron some dress by any one in the family who is getting late for some engagement, i take my own time doing it properly, crease by crease, sending the would be user of the garment into a fit of anxiety. My wife taunts me that i must have been a presswalah dhobi in my previous birth. "No", i tell her "i am a Virgo who are supposed to be near perfectionists" (though i am nowhere near perfection in any other field of work).

4. In a party of close like minded friends, i cannot stay without singing, regardless of the fact that my vocal chords are totally out of tune now. My kids later take me to task for doing that.

I will add more quirks later.

Edited to add

5. On the days of journey with the family members, I always insist on leaving home well in time to reach at least one hour in advance at the railway station and two hours at the airport just to keep enough cushion time to take care of traffic disruptions or vehicle breakdowns en route. That habit of mine really bugs my family members.

The Most Loved Sibling

A post by a fellow blogger brought back some memories of my mother's peculiar habit of calling out the name of my eldest sister before actually pronouncing the name she wanted the attention of, out of four of us siblings. And i always got the impression that she loved her the most. After having grown up with that habit of my mom, i could only console myself with the thought that since she had already spent few years, calling my sister's name, before the rest of us blokes arrived in this world and in her life, so she was more habituated to calling the eldest one's name first. But on the other hand, my dad always called out the name of my youngest sister (darling of all of us) whenever he wanted something.

The Recipe Gang

Recently a friend sent me a mail which was also addresed to all her contacts. She asked all of us to suggest some recipe and share it with the group. Very nice idea. She gave out a lip smacking one herself. After that some other recipes were also circulated and the chain is building up. While i thank her for considering me good cook but i could think of nothing else but the following. I have sent it to the recipe gang (the group who are sharing their recipes with one another). I thought of sharing it with the readers of my blog too.

Name of the dish:-

Sizzling Hot Glass of Water

Ingredients:-

200 ml of purified water of ambient temperature

Method:-

Take a pan. Pour water in it. Light the heating appliance. Put the pan on the heat. Let the water come to a boil. Switch off the heat. Take off the pan. Pour the water back into the glass.

Your 'sizzling hot glass of water' is ready. This can be served in the following variants.

· Add some black tea leaves with milk and sugar (optional) and serve hot . It will have a rejuvenating effect

OR
· Add some green tea leaves with a dash of fresh lime and sugar to taste and serve hot . Effect will be same as above with added benefit to the heart patients if used regularly for prolonged periods

OR
· Add some coffee crystals with sugar and milk (optional) and serve hot . In addition to driving away the drowsiness, it will also sooth the nerves when your boss/spouse/children or any other creature in flesh and blood mount some kind of pressure on you.

OR
· Add some honey and lime and serve hot. In addition to having refreshing effect it will also result into weight loss, if taken first thing in the morning for prolonged periods

OR
· Add some coco powder with sugar and milk and serve hot. It will provide instant energy

OR
· Add some brandy (cognac)and take after meals preferably at night. It is the best medical comfort used in cold areas. (We used to keep our medical officer in good humor to get regular 'medical comfort' prescriptions from him while serving at a remote post in Ladakh)

OR
· Add some rum and jaggery/sugar and take before evening meals. (It is called a grog). It will clear the dust and pollution from your throat, particularly for the ones who are working or traveling in open dusty atmosphere. (During our winter exercises in the deserts of Barmer and Jaisalmer we had to traverse the inhospitable and immeasurable sand dunes whole day long and in the evenings we would have our throats choked with dust. Our Commanding Officer recommended that we should have a grog each before the meals. The officers started downing the grogs so regularly in the make shift officers mess set up in an EPIP tent, that the CO had to put a ban on officers taking more than one grog a day).

· Or just sip the hot water any time during day or night particularly half an hour before or after the meals. It will drain all the toxins from the system, dissolve the fat contents in the body and also act as laxative without any side effects.

Relish and enjoy.

Good Conduct

Sanjay Dutt, the Indian actor, who has been handed down six years rigorous imprisonment, can not complain as much against the sentence, as against the time of pronouncing the same. He is being punished today for having acted as a 'khal nayak' (villain) fifteen years back while all these years he has proved his credentials as a 'nayak' (hero). It is like slapping or canning a post graduate student, who is now well disciplined and bright in studies, but had committed some mistake in his second or third standard when he was a brat. The delayed punishment, meted out to a person who has reformed himself after having been caught in the act, can have reverse effect on his behaviour. He can throw the discipline to the winds and become a criminal again.

I myself have been rewarded for my good conduct by the Police of different states at many occasions. Well, please do not get alarmed. I am not a fugitive or a criminal, but I have been getting caught for minor traffic violations from time to time, (most of the time for the fault of others) right since the time that I have been driving on the Indian roads. Initially I used to argue with traffic cops trying to explain my position to them which never produced any favourable results. Therefore, I decided never to argue with them or not even requesting them to reduce or wave the fine. And believe me, this strategy has helped because more often than not, the cops let me go away without paying any fine.

Though, there have been many such incidents, but let me share two of them here. The first time I entered Bombay in my car, in which I drove down with my family from Valsad ( Gujarat), I violated the very first traffic signal at Dahisar, the entry point of Bombay by road from north. I had stopped at the red light in the right most lane and when the lights turned green I drove away straight in the front direction. No sooner I had moved a few yards, than I heard a few shriek whistles. My wife told me, that perhaps the whistles were aimed at our car. Sure enough, a cop in white shirt was rushing towards us. I pulled up to the left of the road and stopped. As he was taking out the charge slip book from his pocket I got down, handed him my driving licence without his asking and told him that it was the first time that I was driving into Bombay city. He looked at the family siting in the car and luggage loaded on top carrier. My car had the Gujarat registration number. Instead of signing the charge slip, he took out a small paper from his pocket, drew a sketch on it and explained to me the rules of lane driving. If you stop in the right most lane at any traffic signal, you are not supposed to drive straight but have to turn right and if you have to go straight then you have to stop in the middle lane. I had learnt the first traffic lesson of lane driving of busy Bombay city, thanked him and proceeded without paying any fine.

At another occasion, I was driving down on the Aurangzeb Road in Delhi after having dropped a friend at the railway station. Dr. Manmohan Singh had just taken over as Prime Minister, but had not shifted from his earlier residence to the official one at Race Course Road. The Delhi Police had cordoned off the entire stretch of the by lane on which his residence was located. Naturally that area, including some part of Aurangzeb Road was declared a zero tolerance zone by the traffic police. I was driving well within the speed limits. Suddenly, an auto rickshaw driving in front of me applied brakes to pick up some passenger who had waved at him from other side of the road. Had I applied brakes at that juncture, I sure would have banged into his rear. To avoid that, I swung my car to the right and steered clear of him. In the bargain, I crossed the centre line and digressed briefly on the other half of the road. It was early morning, so there was no vehicle coming from the opposite direction. The autorickshaw had meanwhile picked up his passenger, taken a U turn and had disappeared. Lo and behold, a traffic constable appeared in front of me from no where and signalled me to stop. Sometimes while driving, if you are desparate to see the face of a traffic cop then just violate some traffic rule. The guy will appear from thin air. In such situations the first thing he will ask you is for your driving licence. He asked for mine and I handed him the same which I had obtained in 1981. It is the old booklet type, as against today's laminated cards. The cop, a burly looking Haryanvi , looked at it with doubt writ large on his face. He saw my photograph which was in turban and then again looked at me. (I have been getting my licence renewed every five years and always submit my recent photographs but the RTO authorities do not insist on changing the original photograph and just extend the validity date). He asked me whose licence it was. I told him it was mine. He turned the pages and saw other details which were in order. He asked me to pay Rs. 1100/-. He said that I had violated the yellow line. Yellow line is the center line on the road where there are no structural road dividers. He told me that the fine for yellow line violation was Rs 1100/-. Luckily I had the dough on me. I dutifully took out two crisp five hundred rupee notes along with another hundred rupee one from my wallet and gave it to him. He looked at me with disbelief. I kept smiling at him while extending my hand holding the money. I could make out that it must have been the first time that some one was paying him the fine on the spot, without offering him bribe or trying to get the fine reduced or getting into argument with him. He asked me for my introduction. I told him my present occupation. He did not take money from me and asked me to proceed. I asked him the reason for his mercy. He said "saahb, yeh aapke gudd kandakt ke liye, darasal galtee toh otto wale kee thee." (this for your good conduct sir, in fact the fault was that of the auto wallah). I thanked him and proceeded on without paying any fine, the reward of good conduct.