OROP Blues

As I write this I am in an environment filled with patriotic fervour. Songs lauding our country and reminiscing the “heroes” of freedom struggle ring out loud, blaring from loudspeakers, and the colours of the day are Saffron, white and green. Some people carry it in their hands, some have in pinned to their chest. It’s on car windscreens, motorcycles and the really trendy ones even choose to wear it. By evening this biannual event would be over, to be repeated twice next year, the year after and so on. By evening the paper tricolours would have found their way to dustbins, the clothes to the closet, to be worn next year or handed over to younger cousins. But there are certain things which won’t.

The soldier who ensures you the freedom whose Independence Day celebration was a couple of laddoos handed over to him in an old newspaper while he ensures his weapon doesn’t move an inch. It is the assurance that, no matter what happens, that man will never let his guard down because of which we can continue our celebrations without any worries.

It is precisely this assurance from the men in olive green, white and blue, khaki, which is taken for granted in this country, which brings me to the other thing that will remain unchanged on 16 Aug 2015, the woes of the veteran soldiers, who for the best part of their youth provided this nation the same assurance. A majority of them also put their lives on the line, some more than once only to be forced to sit on agitation in the dusk of their lives asking for their pension to be made meaningful. How can a soldier who retired in 1985 with 50% of his last drawn salary as pension (a couple of thousand rupees) make two ends meet in an age when a site like zomato lists a meal with drinks for two people for one evening at Rs 2500, that too in an average suburban Mumbai pub, not a five star hotel. Before the critics of this article pounce on me saying why an eighty year old would want to go to a pub in Mumbai, I’d like to point out that, the money is for the old man and his wife to live for a month. That surely is difficult. What’s more, the administrators of the land have no qualms about letting loose the police to “control” 70 and 80 year olds, some of them being physically and all of them being verbally assaulted. It is the same nation where the death of three men in their 20s because they physically broke three security barriers in a troubled area, being fully aware of the conditions prevailing caused an upheaval and shouts of Human Rights violation. I would like to ask this nation which is an upholder of secularism and human rights, HOW IS BASHING UP UNARMED 70 AND 80 YEAR OLDS NOT A HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATION?

DEAR COAS, HOW ABOUT A DAY’S SALARY FROM EVERY SERVING PERSON OF THE INDIAN ARMY  FOR OUR VETERANS INSTEAD OF THE PRIME MINISTER’S FUND.

There are two prime reasons for this degradation in the lives and standard of the armed forces. The first is the highly unconstitutional terms of service.

 How is it Unconstitutional?

Let me explain. Every constituency in this country has an elected representative in the Lok Sabha. He puts forth the concerns of his area and his people and he addresses their problems. He knows the problems intricately, interacts with the local leadership of the smaller administrative units in his constituency and has the knowledge to stand up and argue his case forcefully in the house, for the benefit of his people. That is the REPRESENTATION in parliament, which every citizen of India is guaranteed constitutionally.

The soldier, on the other hand remains away from his house and hometown for atleast 275 days in a year i.e. three-quarters of a year. When he retires he gets a pension, which is directly given by the central government over which his local representative neither has any control, nor any interest, justifiably so, because it only affects a small percentage of people in his constituency. But when we see all these small percentages in the country it adds up to a lot. The issues concerning a serving and veteran soldier, alike, are very different from the local population that he may be a part of, just as his work during his hey-day was. As a result these large number of retired soldiers are without any parliamentary representation, yet liable to pay taxes at the same rate to the government, which is TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION (The American Revolution was to abolish this very thing), a highly unconstitutional act.

The solution to this is to have an ELECTED REPRESENTATIVE FROM THE VETERAN COMMUNITY, to address their issues, with a term coinciding with the government of the land (To prevent passing the buck, between govts when they change and between elected representatives when they change).

The second reason that has led to this degradation of the armed forces, not only of veterans but also of serving soldiers (that includes everyone from the chiefs to the junior most cadre, for they are all soldiers first) is the obsolete and currently unsuitable moral fibre which the soldiers are made to imbibe during their training. “No”, apparently, is not a valid answer, amounting to insubordinate (unbecoming of a subordinate) behaviour. Refusing to carry out a task, even verbally conveyed is disobedience of orders and en masse revolt is termed mutiny and an offence for which any number of people, even if all of them are revolting against one person can be tried and released from service.

The services have a habit of following traditions blindly, often without taking into considerations the circumstances and reasons why these were put in place. Add to that an “I know everything” attitude, “an officer can never be wrong” myth and top it up with the “never question your senior”  teaching and what you have is a perfect recipe for disaster. It is these that have led to the degradation of our forces to what it is today, for while we refuse to budge from century and a half old teachings, in the garb of tradition, the environment surrounding us has no such anchor. They learn from everyday follies and adapt themselves better to the present situation, which is why our bureaucrats and politicians are able to “legally” control a one million strong force by ensuring that just one man is willing to do whatever they want him to. A million voices, or realistically, even three-quarters of a million, a definite majority falling weak in front of a small minority. The greatest irony, is that the small minority, which is supposed to be the “voices in the capital” of the majority which they should stand for, not only turns a deaf ear to the subordinates, but regularly RIDICULES them, tells them they are wrong in asking for their rights, misguides them and INDOCTRINATES THEM INTO SUBMISSION making them incapable of standing for themselves even when they are right and have no rules holding them back after retirement, sometimes denies them their rights taking for themselves, what belongs to their subordinates and occasionally even EXPLOITS them for personal benefits.

These rules that we hold so dear and so scared were formulated by out colonial masters, The British, (who by the way have evolved into a far more contemporary force). They taught us that to say “No” is a punishable offence so that we could be used to fight against our own countrymen struggling for freedom.

The insubordinate behaviour is the best way to quell even a reasonable argument against an unreasonable order. It surely doesn’t benefit any organisation, military or otherwise, to not have checks and balances against unreasonable or sub-optimal decisions. We on the other hand take pride in it.

The mutiny clause came in after the 1857 war of independence, which the British chose to put down as a minor mutiny. If a majority of people raise their voices against a minority decision, whether it is right or wrong, deserves to be given a fair and impartial hearing. In this country, even a bunch of bhel-puri vendors can unionise and ensure that the administration hears them. They can put a spoke in the administrative wheel and bring it to a halt just by  blocking the road at whose corner they sell their snack, but a one million strong standing army which guards the borders, fights against anti-national elements (which is a police task), carries out flood and earthquake relief (National Disaster Management Authority task in conjunction with local administration and paramilitary forces task), pulls out children from bore wells (Parents job to see that the child doesn’t end up there and local police / fire brigade task to pull the child out), Builds bridges to save the nation’s face (CPWD task), all at no extra cost to the government can neither voice it’s opinions to its own higher ups nor represent it’s case through any unions, courtesy the army act, which was enacted in 1950, about 65 years ago and large parts of which were borrowed directly from the British version . All the funds allocated to these respective organisations who do not do their mandated tasks, all the expenses for the running of parliamentary affairs, whose entire session is washed out without a single legislation being discussed or passed (most recently Monsoon session 2015) are not a burden to the exchequer, but the revision of pay for veterans, who are frail and can barely fend for themselves appears to be a huge burden to the government.

These rules which the armed forces had been following worked all these years because they were based on solid foundations of moral standing and camaraderie. All these rules are based on the initial condition that no senior officer will ask his subordinate to do anything which is below the man’s dignity, which is illegal or immoral or which furthers the senior’s own interest at the cost of his subordinate. There is only a clause for actions unbecoming of a subordinate, nothing to counter the actions unbecoming of a senior because it was assumed that the senior would, in the interest of his own dignity or for other reasons, not behave unjustly, unfairly, partially, or inappropriately with a subordinate. The moment these basic grounds are violated by anyone, the rules which follow become null and void and very difficult to live upto.

There may be many ways out of this situation, but a few suggested ways could be as follows :-

(a)    “No” is a valid answer, to be used more with people senior to one, and sparingly with the subordinates.

(b)   All non-mandated work performed by the forces from flood relief to flying ballot boxes into naxalite areas to be charged extra, with cost being worked out for extra man-hours and additional charges for the hazard involved.

(c)    An elected representative of the armed forces in the parliament. Online access to be provided to his staff to all serving and retired personnel of the armed forces, without any channel. Admissiblity of grievance limited to those not reasonably addressable by respective organisations (unit/sub unit).

(d)   Pay commissions to permanently include pensions of ex-servicemen. To reduce the burden on exchequer, fewer people to be recruited on long service engagements and majority of personnel to have a service liability of only 5-6 years with golden handshake (courses on retirement/ lateral placement).

(e)   Defence proposals to be dealt with directly by the representatives of the government, not the bureaucracy. Alternately bureaucrats to be posted to same locations as the defence, to assess their requirement on ground. (eg. If lightweight BPJ has to be bought, a team of bureaucrats to accompany a company of petrol wearing the BPJs worn by troops, for better judgement and an accurate assessment).   

(f)     Mandated peace-time working hours and for all extra hours overtime to be paid at the same rate as applicable to other central government employees.

(g)    All retired chiefs to be barred from holding government appointments.

None of these things really would be necessary if only “Selected” people stop behaving like “Elected” people.

As a last word to people reading this article, as I have said earlier 70 and 80 year old veteran soldiers have been beaten up by policemen during a rightful protest citing that they are a security threat to Independence Day celebrations (shame on you, police and administration). Most news channel and newspapers have just chosen to ignore it, maybe under pressure from the government or maybe it’s just not sensational enough for them. I request every Indian, whether you have someone in the forces or not to spread this news through social media, upload photographs/ videos of the protest and raise public awareness and public support for the veterans fighting for OROP (One Rank One Pension). Lest we may not have the assurance from our forces, which we take so much for granted today.  

HE to HUMANITY

It is said that every spoken word reverberates for some amount of time depending upon what it conveys and more often who said them. The words of great men tend to last longer, often across centuries, repeated and thus kept alive by admirers, followers and critics alike. We never know how or when a statement made centuries ago may change our lives or at least make a minor change in the course of our lives.

It happened to me!

It was the front verandah of WB 191 Berchha Enclave AKA South Block.

“Virtue deserts a man who through lack of wisdom drinks alcohol. ‘He’ is a scorn to all ‘Humanity’”. The statement was made by the ‘infamous’ guru of the Kauravas, Shukracharya more than 2000 years ago and found its way to me, the last repeater of the statement being my coursemate Hari. It wasn’t the first time that I, a fairly regular face at the bar, had heard someone scorn at alcohol. But this time for some mysterious reason decided to linger on for a little.. actually much longer than usual. The biochemical reactions controlling flashbacks in the complex human brain fired and I started thinking of a time, not so long ago, when alcohol wasn’t an everyday affair. The effects of the drinking binges and the regular drinking began to show by way of an ever bulging belly and seemingly shrinking clothes. Even the short run in the evenings began to seem like never ending voyages.

There was definitely something wrong. I began to think of things I never thought I would. Things like weight, my performance in physical tests and other things which were never a concern. I definitely had to get out of this. I took a decision which I had never imagined would come so soon. I have to jump to the other side of the fence, from “he” (who drinks alcohol) to the “humanity” (to which it is a scorn). So far so good. Hope I can make a change for the better.

P.S. I don’t plan to quit alcohol. Just want to bring it to less harmful limits.

Shanky

People and most importantly Shanky i don't have to tell you whom this blog is dedicated to. The title says it all. It's dedicated to one of my closest friends (words can't describe how close he is to me). A person who has had a very deep impact on my life and one whom i hold very dear to me.

The story started off in Vasu's as i like to call it, what a place that was. I was casually drinking tea and having a garam when this guy, till that moment a total stranger walks upto me and asks if I am from the same battalion as he in IMA. I answer in the affirmative and thus starts a friendship which i hope even time can't weather away and weaken and i firmly believe that it won't. We realise that we are just what each other is looking for, a friend without boundaries of course, seniority-juniority, and all that jazz. Over the next six months we develop a relationship and a bond that far surpasses the one shared even by brothers.

We spend almost the entire day either talking to each other and the evenings with each other, at times partying at times brooding but in each others' company nevertheless. We realise what the so-called divine connection really is. I can now vouch that it really does exist.

The next six months pass in a blur and we realise that it's time for us to temperorily part ways. It was as painful a thing as I had ever known. But helpless in the situation we did part ways, but the connection remains till date and i pray that it remains the same, unadulterated, pure and true forever. I have written someting on my blog after a long time because i have felt this way after a very long time. And as any regular reader of my blog would've realised this is the first time i've written about someone other than me and my experiences. This piece of literature (if at all it can be called that) isn't about me. It's for someone who is as close to my heart as the closest person i know today. Brother this is for you. Love you.

NAUKRI by chance

"So Mr. Bhup Singh(can't think of a better fictitious name), how much work experience do you have?"

This is the most common an stereotypical question in any interview. With the MBA fever catching people like the dotcom boom had people in its wraps about a decade ago and H1N1 had people last year, the number of underemployed MBA graduates is increasing almost at the same rate as the population. While there was a time when as soon as you had finished your MBA you were the toast of the town(read neighbourhood) and all of a sudden the prodigal son or daughter became the pride of the family. And in a typical indian environment hit the headlines, if not of the national newspaper, atleast, of the matrimonial column of the local newspaper. Suddenly there were marriage proposals pouring in like the fan mail in Amitabh Bachhan's mail box n aunties who had eligible (or even not so eligible) children would all of a sudden remember that she went to school with your mother on the same rickshaw or some such weird relation with the proud mother of the MBA graduate.

That was the scene "Once upon a time in India". I was recently talking to a friend (read Bhup Singh)who had just finished the "prestigious" MBA degree. The moment he went for a job interview he was tormented by the question which makes up the first piece of the satire (if i may call it so). As soon as he answered in the negative he saw the colour fade away from his prospective employer's face and needless to say he couldn't really bring it back and came back as free as he had walked in. No tension, no hassles and no job either. Not to be fazed by these minor impediments he bashes on regardless.

By the third day he realises that he's got determination, academic qualification, fresh ideas, a zeal to work but no experience and so no job. Whoever spoke of bright young faces with fresh new ideas was obviously delivering one of those high flying fancy sounding annd morally upright lectures and didn't mean much of the script his seceratary had typed out while he was giving his office boy a mouth-full for the cold and tasteless coffee that he had only brought into the boss, in this case the self righteous speaker's room. Coming back to my inexperienced friend he carries on and lo and behold he finally finds a job with an employer who expects him to churn out in an hour, the same work that he crawls through in a day. After quittting two jobs in three days my friend realises that life after an MBA isn't as rosy and cosy as he had imagined it to be. The bubble hath burst.

Having done my first bachelors degree from JNU (i am serious. Please don't laugh) and currently pursuing my second bachelors degree also from JNU (c'mon..i requested you not to laugh) i haven't had to go through the pain of doing an MBA or the worse ordeal of being an unemployed MBA graduate. All i can say to this highly educated and erstwhile terribly in demand race is, "Plough on. I am sure there is somebody out there who recognises fresh ideas and not just how may hours you've already spent in a box made from the cheapest possible plastic (read office cubicles). All the best. You will get you NAUKRI by chance."

Un viaje a Pondicherry

The cool breeze from the sea blowing through my hair, the rain pouring as it were the first in hundreds of years, sitting on a colonial style balcony and sipping a cup of hot coffee. Yes it did seem like a dream. But my heart was pounding as hard as i have ever known it to beat. Not what you'd expect given the setting but just being there was magical. Well, I wasn't woken up by anyone. It was true.
Some months back as i was going on endlessly about my biking trips and my "unfailing love" for my machine i had made a spur of the moment suggestion about a trip to Pondicherry - a place known for it's strong colonial connection with France. Months went by and i never realised when my first semester of engineering came to an end and it was time to go home. Well, to be very honest going home isn't my favourite part of my vacation majorly attributable to a lack of friends back home. So when i got home i started looking for getaways and holiday destinations not so close-by. It then struck me that there was Pondicherry, a place to which i had planned three trips in the past with none of materialising. So i spoke to the only friend with whom i wanted to do this trip and before i knew i got busy with reservations for the trip.
So one fine night i got the last bus to Madras, my pit stop enroute to Pondicherry. The next morning i woke up to a wet Madras smelling, pleasantly, of the sea. I saw the early morning rush at the bus stand and found a place, a rather unlikely one that i'd prefer not elaborating to freshen up. I then caught up with my fellow traveller and found the first bus to Pondicherry.

Though we intended to take a bus which took us via the famously scenic East Coast road which as the name suggests is all along the eastern coast we managed to board the bus which took us through some of the innermost villages of Tamil Nadu, another experience in itself. Nevertheless our incessant conversation kept us busy throughout the way and as we passed through some really small villages, saw some beautiful lush green fields (i also learnt that "paddy green" was a colour), quietly noticed the roadside idli vendor make idlis and i swore never to eat idlis at a wayside stall ever again.

In a few hours we reached Pondicherry and the moment we entered Pondicherry there was a paradigm shift in the fauna, not the variety but a thick foliage almost completely cut out the sunlight, a marked difference from hundred metres before. We reached our hotel and soon headed out to explore the place on foot. We wandered through the market and new pondicherry before entering old pondicherry which again was totally different from new pondicherry. The buildings were all colonial style buildings and the names of the streets suddenly changed from the likes of "pillaiyar koil theruvu" (ganesh temple street) to names like "Rue De St Peter" (St Peter street). The colour of the buildings had changed from vivid shades of green and pink to the more sombre white, off-white or ochre yellow with typical balconies and spiral staircases. We then sat on the edge of the beach seeing the waves crashing against the rocks, a very new and alien feeling for a hopeless romantic like me. But the rain Gods do seem to have an affinity for me for they showered me with their blessings once again when i was holidaying.
It was the rain which forced us to seek shelter and led us to the very dreamy colonial balcony that i have already described.
Thereafter we proceeded to a shop and picked up some souveneirs for friends and ourselves, some supposedly "peace offerings" for my mom , who wasn't particularly happy about this trip of mine. We also walked into a random book shop selling some random books and picked up one which talked of nomadic travellers much like us. The next day saw us going to a temple and an authentic french bakery and lots and lots of downpour. We however managed to get our bus back to Madras and this time we did pick the correct bus i.e. the bus which took the East Coast road back to Madras. The natural beauty "all around" me was at it's blooming best and i even saw a beach house i might contemplate buying someday if Godwilling i have that kind of money. We even had an imaginary beachside party there. (Thank God imaginations are free of cost). We then arrived at Madras and had our dinner co-incidentally at a restaurant called "French Loaf" thereby continuing our french connection. We also had an extremely heavy conversation on our way back very unlike our trip which had been quite light hearted and loads of fun. Heavy but necessary conversation it was. What the conversation was is anybody's guess. We then parted company, goodbyes were said thankfully with no tears or promises to make such a trip every year or every six months. Such promises never last anyway. All in all an unplanned and amazingly executed trips. So just two words to all the unplanned trippers. Bon Voyage !!

BUCHOO

There are any number of sayings about how the people around you influence your life. And here i was looking at six months and so had to decide whom i wanted to stay with, I had to decide on a roommate. So when I was faced with this decision on the commencement of my most important and longest course i decided to share my room with one of my coursemates. What i did not realise was that i would be sharing the room with two other people, one of whom would soon rise to status of the owner of the room. One as i have already told you was a coursemate of mine and the other was his dog Buchoo. A weird name, but i guess you can't expect too many better names from a bachelor. So there was this sweet little white labrador pup who could hardly cover a small basket fully and who had to be fed pieces of chapattis from your own hands and who could hardly finish a small cup of milk. We started living together and soon she started growing bigger graduating from a small cup of milk to a tiffin box full of milk and bread, outgrowing collar after collar and growing bigger and bigger. She even managed to overcome her vertigo which she had developed as a pup. But along with her, also grew her tantrums, her incessant barking in the afternoons, the time for our siesta, her dirtying the room with both the solid and liquid forms of excreta, and most of all her teething problems.
Sfe would chew at just about anything from clothes and shoes to the people who wore them and from pens to the notes which were months of hard work. All the menace apart she still managed to keep us captivated and till date remains the darling of the course.
She has grown much bigger now and has even managed to jump across the drain which was like the Grand Canyon that she could never jump across. And whenever her master has to go out of station or for the evening she is never short of people who are more than happy to take care of this little sweetheart.

SINHGAD

An idle mind, they say, is a devil's workshop. And ours is no exception with the slight difference that we tried the devilry on our own selves. As we saw the weekly schedule for the week we noticed a void on the friday which was Gandhi jayanti, the dry day which meant that half our avenues for the day were going to be under lock and key and of course strict supervision of the law enforcers, commonly referred to as "cops" or in more puneri language "mamoo". This did pose a stiff challenge to do something worthwhile. So we raked our brains and came up with the idea of running to the historic Sinhgad fort. Not a very abnormal thing for punekars except that we decided that we were going to run to the base of the fort from our room a distance measuring upto a little over 30 kms. Well, it was just a joke. But as the day progressed from morning to afternoon we found ourselves taking this absurd joke more and more seriously. And by evening the atmosphere around us was similar to the one just before our cross country championship in our academy days though it was much less intense (thankfully). Chocolates were bought to carry the following day and MLs were given. An unsuccessful attempt at buying at buying a i pod was also made by me. However the fancy of punekars for bright colours and the bling left me with just pink (totally out of question) and a bright blue to choose from because of which the whole i pod plan found it's way out of the window. Anyway we returned to our beds relatively early. The next morning saw three of us leave the room at 0630 hrs just one hour later than we had planned. Some of the other guys who stay in the neighbouring rooms got up to see us off. The start was more promising than most runs i can think of. The weather, the rhythm of running et all was just perfect. Nothing more beautiful than being outdoor early in the morning. We reached Pune university comfortably from where we started our climb to Pashan. By the time we reached Pashan we felt lighter by a few kilograms and we knew that running to the base wouldn't be possible. We however continued our run till the NDA gate by which time we had run a little more than 20 kms. It was then that reality dawned on us that it had been almost two and a half years since we left the academy and that we weren't as fit anymore. Sad but true. We entered the academy and it was like entering the "gates of yesterday". I felt as if i had found a door into my past. I was filled with nostalgia. I decided that we would walk through the academy and once again breathe the same pristine air that I had for three lovely years at this place. Throughout the route things kindled memories, some fond and some not so fond, of our academy days. As soon as we left the academy gates we tried to run and almost at once we realised that walking had been a mistake. We couldn't run for as much as ten steps. So we continued walking. Enroute we crossed the Khadakwasla dam and some other places all of which we had seen as cadets. As we reached the base, our friends who were to join us at the base pulled up next to us much to our relief. We then drove to the top in the car. But at the end of the day inspite of the painful legs and the burning sun we enjoyed thoroughly at the same time vowing never to repeat our mistakes this being one of them...Long live Sinhgad, the lion's fort