Reminiscing - Under the White Ensign

THIS BAND OF BROTHERS

It's been exactly a month, that I retired from the Indian Navy, and I'm already feeling nostalgic. Part of me is like, in the brig - what do you do with all this time. And part of me is, to tell you the truth, having a chill out time. I mean I never realized that so much can be done, whilst doing nothing.  The perverse  pleasure of going out for leisurely walks when others are scrambling to launch and reach office in time. Actually falling asleep while doing yoga. My canine kiddo is loving her daily perambulations too. Letting your dog sniff every nook and mark every corner (I guess that's her version of Social networking). No hurry to get back within a time frame. Bliss!  Hey I could get used to this! Hmmm! Anyway the sabbatical continues for a month or so, till I step onto the fast lane again. Till then snooze away. 26 years, man,  I've earned this break.

The reactions to my last blog (Au Revoir on Swallowing the Anchor) has left me overwhelmed. Farewells are wonderful. They make the people in your extended universe say the most wonderful things to you. On a serious note. Overwhelmed by the mails, phone calls, texts. Thank you.  The journey has indeed been awesome.

Talking of  journey's and Extended Universe's ( EU's are in vogue, what with Marvel and DC leading the charge - even  Thor  can make money before launch, ably assisted by my fav Hulk. And Bman v Sman move over, Wonder woman rocks. Even the bad guys in the fantasy EU rock, aka Suicide Squad). Nope! This post is not about movies or comic book Heroes. It's about the Extended and Parallel universe (s) that I have inhabited for the last 26 years. It's a tribute to the many who have made my memories beautiful.

At the center of this EU is a Band of Brothers we like to call coursemates.  Concentric and overlapping circles and elipses (and squares and whatever weird geometric and freeform figures you can think of). Some join you around the volatile times when you're just 18 years old, others at 21. Other inhabitants include Squadron types, Ship types, place types, Cadre types, Branch types, gym types - seniors juniors - you-think-of-a-link types. Maybe even a loose nut here and there -  psycho types (the ultra marathoner gang, the cycling to the far corners of the world gang etc - not me for sure), - et all types. Anything for a reason to affiliate and bond, to build a family beyond your family. Not surprisingly, matters of  faith remain strictly restricted to the Flag, the  Country and the Men you command . For the uninitiated, living the Chetwode Motto. (Aptly enunciated here) 

So, as a  tribute, I'll step back in time, ramble some more and play hopscotch with reminiscences. (For those who know of what I say - Guys! Mundane Musings needs to be reborn).

It's a dawgs world : Chaggu the Cadet.
At the Naval Academy cadets are allocated squadron's. These are not merely a home away from home for 3 years. These are the epicenter of your universe. Naturally fierce loyalties and rivalries, spawn forth. The NAVAC of our times was at Goa with just about two Squadrons, Destroyers and Frigates. It was - Us/Me of the - Mighty Destroyers aka Daggers vs the (flimsy excuse called) Frigates aka Falcons (really? You think?)       Chaggu, the puppy, burst forth into our lives in the midst of a fierce war during the dramatics competition. That is, he had a  (ok, well 2 sec) role, in our skit and the foolish Falcons were hell bent on kidnapping him and presenting him as their mascot. What followed were secret maritime operations that can't be put in the public domain. Needless to say, Chaggu was repeatedly kidnapped and rescued. But the daggers prevailed. It ended on a slightly tragic and painful note. Not used to constant change of habitat and stardom he lodged his vehement protest. He bit and pee'd all over yours truly at the grand finale. That he did that on stage in full view of the academy was just another little issue. But there is a silver lining, I got a chance to visit heaven/resort, viz the MI room (as the local medical facilities are known). And in true naval tradition, I,  was sentenced to a full course of anti-rabies shots. This meant  periodic visits to the free world as the main hospital was located in the heart of civilization, away from the walls of the academy.

Fire 🔥 Fire :
One of the eventualities, that every man or woman in the navy, is drilled to an inch of their lives, is to combat  fire, and structural damage. Imagine a fire on a steel building floating out at Sea - I mean really- Float???? (despite all these years I'm still not fully in agreement with Mr Archimedes ). With scores of little compartments made of steel. And zillions of of things that are naturally combustible. I mean they are meant to catch fire at some time. Like Fuel and ammunition among others. (My faith in these drills  was reinforced time and again, especially  as a Midshipman, when we had an accident on board leading to a major fire. This is the first time I saw actual metal on fire). Among the first reactions on sighting a fire is to bellow , with full lung power that you can muster, FIRE FIRE FIRE. This reminds me of an incident during our ab initio courses as  Sub Lieutenants. After a fruitful liberty out-pass, a coursemate and I, returned late into the night. Our steed of metal, a contraption that bore the Number Plate and moniker 'GAS'. An argument on the Indian obsession of 'Kitna deti hai' (Miles to a liter of fuel) hinged on the owner proving that the tank was still half full, ending, with a peek-a-boo with a cigarette lighter. Gas exploded with full gusto. Whether we were ejected or bailed out, I do not remember. It was violent and with a lot of force. But I do remember, that years of  Training (of some other nearby SLts - who shall not be named) kicked in. While GAS stoically burned the shouts of FIRE FIRE FIRE rang across the officers mess. Later we realized that one guy was shouting F F F and another was running behind him shouting - "Stop! Thats bloody 'GAS', not my blanket, not my bucket you F F F". Gas doused in a dignified manner, my claim-for lack of combustible material, and the owners claim - due to proper use of "F" Fighting equipment. Anyway one thing was ensured for the rest of our stay. Parking was never an issue - GAS always got right of way. Many years later GAS got a ceremonial burial at Sea. (Some say it was driven off the Jetty.....But..... That's another story for another time.)

A Penny  Lid for your Thoughts (or a Kick on your Posterior:)
Have you ever wondered why the men and women of the uniform are so stoic? Stand endlessly, face extreme hardships face fire - all without expressing emotions! Training training training, and well, lessons well learnt, sometimes with a 'kick' on the posterior. An anecdote here of a senior (who shall again, not be named) a firebrand and my Training Commander at one of the training schools where I was an 'under trainee' officer. A farewell dinner is usually brought to a close by presenting the departing officer and his wife with mementos. Followed by the Commanding officer speaking  a few (very very kind) words and rounded up with a thank-you speech by the departing officer. Now everything, even spontaneous, has protocols and timing. This senior often gives vent to his poetic side. After thanking the CO for his kind words he wound up with in a lighter vien - "Yaaroon mujhe ye mat pucho ke main yahan kya karta tha! Main Andhoon ke shehar mein aaeena becha karta tha" (Literally, loosely translates to - Friends don't ask me what I did here, In effect it was like selling a looking glass in a town of blind people) (now  those blind men were my clueless kind of trainees or someone else, I'll reserve judgement). So naturally the whole audience broke into a wild applause. Or so I thought, till I realized that it was only me who was cheering at full steam. Imagine the pin drop silence, that could be cut with a knife. Well I got a "NICE",  cup of tea with the incoming and outgoing Training Cdrs and loads of time on the Drill Square to fine tune my "sense of timing."
Then there was this maverick who also went onto wear double brass. Our first encounter. Shortly after I had met with an accident. All banged up, saved by a Helmet. Broken jaw, maxilla busted. He loped over to me, menacingly. Glared fiercely and said -"Yeah! So You're Jairath!" I managed to squeak a puzzled "Yes Sir!" . He glared me down for a minute burst into a smile struck out his hand and beamed through his beard "Bloody chap,  B#$%, Welcome to the headbangers club." This Naval Diver, remained mentally and physically fit despite a near death experience in his younger years. Always quick with joke and a sharp wit, in the most stressful times. His stories range from - kicking his course mate (in jest of course) in full public view at the customary  mess function, on attaining  double brass, and saying - "Its been my life long ambition to kick an admiral - fortunately he's my course mate." Years later when I missed a crucial board, he was the only one, and THE one in fact, to give me the sanest advice. Again I was down and out and he picked me up with his firm hand shake and drawled -"Cheers and congratulations! Look at the brighter side! Baldy, You're free now!"

Me No Speak English :
Travels and ports of call are a part of Naval Life. It happened in Sydney,Australia. A hectic liberty, a visit to Chinatown and Paddy's  Market for some cheap souvenirs. Now Australia is one place where we least expect to see panhandlers. A peer and I were waiting for our transport back to the ship. We noticed a petite young woman, well dressed, walking our way. Any guy, especially a 40 plus, balding guy, weighed down with loads of packages, would be surprised when a woman walks up to you stops in half stride and addresses you. That my friend was a "homely" type with an absolutely-married-man-look added to the unexpectedness of the encounter. What confounded us more was that she stuck out a manicured hand (Yes! Men do notice!!) and said "Can you give me some money". My idea of a beggar was a bedraggled look! An unwashed faced. Not top of the line Nike's and manicured fingers! And she did not look distressed in any way! We were so stunned that a half lit cigarette fell from my lips!  The lady might have had some genuine reasons for her actions, not being judgmental here, but we were dumbfounded! It was like lightning had struck ! After a minute my married-look-man friend recovered and said in a deliberate broken English "Me-me no speak English." I continued to gawk! Speechless! She tried her level best to mime her words but we were too stunned for words! The pantomime continued for what seemed ages! My friend repeating endlessly "No English! No English!" , me nodding my head vigorously and the lady getting more exasperated by the minute. Ultimately she gave up on us and moved on! I think she half reached into her pockets to lend us a few cents! Thankfully.... or maybe embarrassingly, our car drove up to save the penniless from the speechless!

I can go on an on. And perhaps will in my next. But for now let me say that  this Extended Universe shall remain Inviolable. Its difficult to put mere words to terms like course mates or Pal. Like when your wife asks you, (even after 10-15-20-??? years of marriage and in the system) "But how can you tolerate this guy, I mean you obviously don't like him" or "I can't stick him"- the only words that you have "Yes, Ya, I know, Hmmm, But .... He's my coursemate Ya...!" or "We're Squadron Types" or "We're Ship types"    Comprehendo?

As I move on in life all I can say is - "I may be out of touch but you will never be out of my mind". 

Au Revoir on Swallowing the Anchor

Tacking to new Shores

14th of July 1991, Goa. As the train slowly rumbled into Vasco-da-Gama Railway station, 3 young 18 year olds, took in the sights of the sea for the first time. Monsoon seas, swollen and bursting forth with the unbridled energy of youth . Now 15 Sep 17. A/N. Clear blue skies, calm glassy oceans.  The wheel has turned full circle. Feeling just as overwhelmed. Ironic but my last day in whites, was quite in the blues.

Like Hanging up my Second Skin

I have been waiting a while for this moment. It's been building up like a slow moving storm front. Invisible, but all around me. For the past few months,  I have seen a plethora of posts, on Social Media, marking "that" moment.  Posts on "a glorious life well lived", "hanging the uniform for the last time", "done and dusted", "let go Number 1", and so on. Well,  not really every instant, I have to admit the churn rate is low, but then it's human nature to notice, what one wants to notice.  

Now, it's that time for me too. Time to say my final goodbyes. Time to move on. Break open the bubbly. I guess I need to bring out the Thesaurus, or rather speak out, with a twang, a crisp - "Ok Google" . Dish out the poetry. Lay it on thick. Count the myriad "likes" and the comments - "Anchor's aweigh buddy", "we'll remember you", "best of luck", 😄 etcetera etcetera. 

The emotional split is much more than mere words can harness. (Hey, all you folks reading this - that's a hint 😉😉. I need, the after parties, beyond the farewells). I search for words in this tempest in my mind, clutching dearly at the memories that flood my thoughts. I look at how famous people verbalised in such times. Somehow, no quote seems to fit the bill.

The problem with quotations is that they are rarely in context. Take for example -

"Nothing in his life. Became him like the leaving it.." sounds good here?  

Ok I'll do the full quote "A deep repentance. Nothing in his life. Became him like the leaving it." Macbeth Act 1, scene 4, 1–8.  LOL. You don't have to be Shakespeare to answer that. Do you?

Yes it is, an emotional moment.   And there are no regrets. Twentysix years in white is a long time. Some do longer, but I've done my time. Paid my debts. To my country and to myself. Four years as, a cadet, at the Naval Academy and at Sea, and then as a Midshipman in the Fleet and then, on earning my stripes, 22 years plus, as an officer. Long enough for this "way of life" to be embedded in my DNA, my very core. A life well lived. A life of honour, a life with a purpose , every moment, a moment of Pride. Now, I do agree that everyone is unique, and God (or Nature if you please) made us all different, but there is that underlying thread. You cannot touch it, yet, it's so palpable. This is my life, a way of life. But when the time comes, and mind you sooner or later it comes for everyone, you have to move on. The reminiscences remain, the good times, the bittersweet moments but the invisible umbilical cord needs to be cut. Even Billy Joel's - 'Davy', who's, ostensibly,  still in the Navy, And probably will be for life - will need to move on one day. La la la, di da da, La la, di da da da dum; I wish had my very own Pianoman, who'd, Sing me a song. Sing me a song tonight.

The past month has been consumed with waves of nostalgia. As the clock ticked. Each day brought forth a deluge of emotions and memories. Trepidation and anticipation of new adventures beyond the life in whites. Farewell parties and Godspeed messages. After/Noon 15 Sep 2017. What's in a day you say! So many have passed that fairway buoy at the mouth of a channel; onto the great beyond. These Indelible Milestones! Just a date in the calendar? Only a sailor can tell the importance of each light house, a charted reef, a shoal, a star or a navigational mark. For the romantics, the sun arcs across the sky  on it's blazing journey every day, and the stars  and constellations that  light up the night have fanciful names and tell intriguing tales. But then, only a sailor can claim - "my ship", "she runs on these celestial paths".

It has been the best of times and I have seen worst of times. Cities and harbours, bays and anchorages, near and far. From Parades, miles under the keel and showing the Flag, to nature's furies of storms and cyclones, earthquakes and a Tsunami . Every turn of the wheel brought forth new harbours, new dwellings. Not just for me, for my family too. A fresh lick of paint  here and a new school there. A new set of adventures a new set of friends. Waves breaking over the hull leaving frothing memories in its wake. Every moment brought forth a new challenge, a new bonding and reaffirmed a faith, faith in your country, your team and your men. Faith, that the only things that last forever are commitment, human values and professionalism. And, the invisible umbilical cord.

I have a lot to be thankful for. The pillar of my strength, my wife who took each new day as a vagabond, in her stride. Who kept the homefires burning and made each new billet a home.  My daughter who changed schools faster than she probably flipped pages in her Math textbook. My family that extended beyond my parents, sibling, wife, daughter, course mates, friends, various dogs, cats  and creatures that made our life beautiful and interesting. People who I never knew, but could safely entrust my near and dear ones too, just because they were related to me by the colour white. Those who taught me, led me. Those fine men and women who followed me. Those who supported me. Faces, some emblazoned in my memory palace, as anchors, safe harbours and beacons, others a blur. Each one a part of this big family that we call the Indian Navy. Names, names, names. Humans look for names. A family is more than a name, a faceless all encompassing blanket.   The family that made me strong and secure. Who helped me get up each time I felt weak and beaten, who held me back when I was pulling too strong at the rope, who were the wind in my sails. Too many names to spell out. All I can say is thank you. I am, therefore I am. I am, wherefore my extended family, I'll always be indebted. It's been an overwhelming journey.Thankyou

Yet this is just one chapter from a book of life, waiting for me to turn the pages. Just reaching the cusp of middle ages and civvy street beckons. Yet , still, every time I hear the naval band strike up the tunes of  "Jai Bharti", I feel like  stepping out to a march. Just like my first term as a cadet, the adventures have just begun. I pick up the oars again. Shano Varuna . Jai Hind

It all began here - Naval Academy Ist term -I'm second from right - Dec 1991

Naval academy IInd Term - with 10+2 X Flag - Champs -Standing 3rd from left - Early 1992

Naval Academy IVth Term - Mid 1993

Naval Academy VIth Term Destroyer Squadron - Last row 2nd from right - Mid 1994

Naval Academy VIth Term - At the back standing - Early 1994

Parajump Course - Reach for the skies and fall with a thump - Mid 1994

Cadet Training Ship - Me - Forever Hungry - 1994

Sub Courses - Bikers gang - Me third from Left - Jan 1996

Sub Courses - Korula and Me - 'GAS' the super bike - en route Mahabaleshwar

At last my own bike - Jamnagar to Mumbai  Mid 1996 

Cabin of Chaos - The Seas were always kind -  End 1997

Tsunami Relief - Jan 2005

Mother Natures Fury - after the Tsunami - Galle, Sri Lanka The famous cricket stadium - Jan 2005

Kankesanthurai, After the Tsunami - Jan 2005

Mother Nature - At its beautiful best  - Lakshwadweep

2006

Freemantle, Australia - Mid 2013

Jarvis Bay - 2013

Sydney Harbour - 2013

HMAS Kuttabul , Sydney - 2013

Darling Harbour Sydney

Harry's Cafe De Wheels, Woolloomooloo, Sydney

Surabaya 2013

Mitchel Street, Darwin 2014

Mamala Bay Golf Course, Hickam, Ohau, Hawaii

Pearl Harbour -Battleship Memorial - USS Missouri

Mokolii,Chinaman’s Hat, Oahu, Hawaii

In the Belly of the beast - USS Ronald Regan - RIMPAC

In the Eye of a storm - Cyclone Hudhud -Visakhapatnam 2014

All blown away - Hudud 2014

4-8-6         20 years     - 1995 to 2015

2016

My Family my strength

Sambhar on my Jeans

TRAVELS AND TRAVAILS OF THE BALD AND THE BEAUTIFUL 

Sannidhanam Mini Breakfast Thali

   As I write this, myriad fragrances, including Sambhar, waft around me. Smells of Indian Railways. Smell of Sambhar. I'm so fed up, quite literally, that I'm off any sort of South Indian cuisine  - well, at least for a week. Now don't get me wrong. I love Food. And Sambhar-rice ranks right up there, right next to peanut-butter-jelly sandwiches and khichdi with curds.  Soul food. Yes, you guessed right, my eating habits are pretty  eclectic. Eclectic but not repetitive. That's my point. I can't eat the same stuff. Particularly not the same stuff for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And I, definitely, do mind, dollops of it on my jeans. Hmm overstated?! So what! I mind food droppings on my jeans. Period! But we'll get to that part soon.

   The year 2017 has been a year of travel for the bald and the beautiful. That's yours truly and my better half. I know, you put the donkey before the cart. But for health and safety reasons, I, the donkey, am mentioned first. And Indian English demands the correct sequence to be "me and my wife"  not " my wife and me". See -  the donkey  before the cart!

Alipiri Tirupati

   Travelled a lot. Together as Fire and Ice and separately as Hot and Cool. (Here also, the sequence is not relevant. Again for marital health and safety reasons). Travelled Far and Near. Let's see. Lucknow, Delhi, Guruyavur, Kochi, Bangalore, Udaipur, Tirupati, Tirumala, Shri Kalahasti, Sadum, Hyderabad, Port Blair and in and around Visakhapatnam. Many a great circle paths (and before my naval navigators jump up to point out and hair split the anomaly) and as the crow flies and walks. To think of it, not even three-fourths of the year has gone by. Still more travels beckon.

   The main purpose of these travels were varied. Some for work, some for family functions, marriages, some for fun and some for the sheer cussedness of blowing a hole in our monthly budget. The highlight has always been FOOD. Food of all varieties. And officially my wife is vegetarian. I'll, ahem, stand by that, officially. Both of us are pretty adventurous about our gastronomic exploits. My wife's weakness is NOT a requirement of having a least one rice based meal a day. My weakness, age, a stomach which is no longer made of cast iron and need for a spoon. For the latter, I must submit, that, my objections to eating with bare hands, or to be more precise without a spoon, was more about hygiene. It had nothing  to do with any deficiency in fine motor skills or any North Indian haughtiness. Hey I've been eating roti (Indian  flat bread) all my life with my hands. And.... and..... sandwiches. Though, in my wife's, South Indian opinion, I have evolved in the 18 years of marriage. In short I have been kind of, tamed.  

   To put things in perspective,  of now and then. I do remember a 'Mellu' wedding sadhya (feast) at Calicut (pronounced: Kozhikode : with a lot of marbles in your mouth). Well, yes this wedding. In a crowd of about a hundred or thousand or millions (depending on who is telling the tale) eating the sumptuous itsy bitsy, but numerous, malayali delicacies, off a banana leaf, dexterously with bare hands. I did something worse than our man Oliver Twist. I asked for a spoon. Suddenly, there was pin drop silence. The calm before the Tidal wave. And then the Tsunami of whispers grew into an incredulous gasp. Spoon. Punjabi. (For the uninitiated - for all Madrasi's, as the people South of the Vindhyas are referred to, all people north of the the Vindhya mountains are Punjabi's). That my roots can be traced to both sides of the Punjab and I am domicile of Lucknow, a UPite, and was born in Jammu (and grew up around Kannadiga's, Malayali's and  Tamilians) is an altogether different story. Anyway, I scandalised the entire kudumbam (family / clan / khandan), and  that I am alive to tell the tale, is because I was issued a small ladle. But that could at least be used to scoop the liquid curries. (Curry - in Mallu land, any cooked food other than rice bread etc). In my defense - I did not ask for a bowl. 

   Today I am proud to say that of all my North-South-East-West Indian friends, I alone can squat comfortably on the floor and eat with my bare (cleaned and washed) hands. A trifle exaggerated, but then the focal point being - comfortably. Though rasam still gets to me. That tasty preparation is the devil's device to denigrate evolved-equitable-non-prejudiced guys like me  (you get the idea? Not racist? BTW haven't found the antonym of racist - there is a word miscegenist ! But that tends more to amorous than prejudice). Rasams revenge, that's what did the jeans in. My jeans. And to add insult to injury, we are traveling and I lost the keys. So I have no change till we reach back home and am able to break into our luggage.   

View of Tirupati from Tirumala

   This particular trip we landed up early morning at 0530 at Tirupati. Now any morning that does not involve golf should not begin before 10 o'clock. But then that's another story. Any trip to Tirupati and around is a tale begging to be told. The sheer aura the passion that Sri Venkateswara temple evokes is beyond words. And the stories of the devoted (husband, a lamb called me, who has never ever walked barefoot for hours in pouring rain for any other cause, Marital Bliss). But this fable is about Sambhar on my Jeans. Anyway, so we grab a cab. Not an Ola/Uber, but, dunno why, got lured by a smiling and courteous cab driver into his antique ambassador. I love the people here. Anyone who rides an Amby has to have a heart of gold. That wonderful car, that was, maybe, the only car actually designed for India. Anyway breakfast at Tirumala (at a must eat place called Sannidhanam) awesome Dosa Upma Chutney(s) and SAMBHAR. I'll skip further details but must submit that lunch was a South indian buffet with oodles of Sambhar and a few South Indian dishes masquerading as North Indian and (the Lord be merciful) Chinese (at an over hyped avoidable place called Saarangi). Dinner again at Sannidhanam - Sambhar something. Next morning started with Breakfast - Sambhar Upma.  Lunch after Darshan, Annaprasadam (free food from the God's abode) also, mind you, predominantly Sambhar Rice. Snacks at the market around the temple. (In my memory, so overwhelmed  with one predominant flavour, even veg Manchurian nuggets or Samosas tasted of Curry leaves  and Sambhar). Dinner - called Tiffins ( Dosa Sambhar). Roll over to Breakfast on the go, a mini breakfast thali (an assortment of Upma pongal idli vada dosa coconut Chutney peanut Chutney and Sambhar). 

   

   Lunch at my daughter's school ( a nutritious meal of organic red rice, organic vegetable curries and Sambhar). Back to the Hotel and Dinner, biryani with a side dish that looked like some curry but tasted like ...... Sambhar. Complimentary Breakfast - guess ? This and that and, Sambhar. 

   The hotel kicked us out at noon. So we planned a trip to Shri Kalahasti. The architecture is awe inspiring. Shiva Shakti and the story of the staunch devotees of Lord Shiva - Sri (the Spider), Kala (the serpent) and Hasti (the Elephant). The numerous other stories engraved in stone. Each mural each Shiva Lingum a fascinating story in itsef. That is another Blogworthy account, but for now Lunch. My wife and I decided (notice the sequence), that we must savour the local cuisine, as the locals do. The cab driver suggests a local roadside dhaba or  Mess (named something something some God's name, Mess). The "Meals" are served on a Banana leaf (as the) plate. NO SCOPE of a SPOON here. Excellent food. Now, point to note is that, I have become quite proficient in using my hand to eat. But have yet to conquer the final frontier. Liquids. I mean absolute water consistency. The real McCoy Quick Gun Murugun, can fashion his palm into a scoop and, well scoop up the liquid in one fluent dexterous  motion, that will put the legendary wrist spinner Chandrashekhar to shame. (And as some - some not me - North Indians would say -  Lick his hands to the tips of his/her fingers). And it's done so fast that you don't even have time to say GROSS.

   That's when the Adventure happened. No matter how tasty the grub, the local Mess has to optimise, if has to serve unlimited food at 60 bucks a pop. Water the universal solvent comes to the rescue. The meal is served hot. Hot steaming rice is piled  onto the leaf. And in quick succession the veg and other accompaniments  are loaded onto the rice. So before I could say GROSS, some mixture of dal, rasam and Sambhar flowed downstream. My comical efforts to form walls of hot rice failed miserably and it dribbled along the banana leaf onto my lap. And "All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this" pair of jeans. "Out damn spot, Out."    

   Dinner at Tirupati railway station, veg pulao with a liquid that strongly resembles  watered down - Sambhar. And maybe for the one and only time in my life, I skipped breakfast. Breakfast on the train back home. I steadfastly pretended to be fast asleep. No screams of Chai, Idli, Dosai, Vadai - from the vendors could shake the giant. My wifes prods and pokes were rebuffed equally stoically. Vizag beckons, the train has a agenda of its own, delayed by over 2 hours. Playing mind games. Vendors pass pass by redolent of Sambhar. Friends call, fix a movie date. Lunch - "How about a South Indian Thali Meal". (The correct term is meals:pronounced Mills). Noooo. every inch of my body quakes.  Anything but Sambhar. "We will, ahem, freshen up and have food at the Punjabi Dhaba. Never mind the Curry leaves".  

Punjabi Dhaba Vizag - Manna from the heavens

   Ladies and Gentlemen it's not just my jeans that smell of Sambhar, my entire being, my soul, is Sambhar drenched. This will take some washing.

View from our Hotel at Tirupati

Srikalahasti - Unfortunately Camera's not allowed beyond this point

Colourful Markets that dot the temple towns

The carving on the right is a wooden piece due for restoration - more than 50 years old

Verdant Hills

IIM ELL - Back to school & Other L& G - Part III - Hasta La Vista

So Long Farewell  I hate to go and leave this pretty sight

(Every Story must have a beginning here's where we started this chapter:

IIM Lucknow Part I - Back to school after 27 Years and associated Ladies and Gentlemen

IIM ELL - Back to school & Other L&G - Part II)

Bear up dear reader, being the last of this particular series, this post will be a wee bit long on the tail 

The clock tells a tale of times gone by.
At this hour, for the first six months of 2017, CR 1 at Manthan would be abuzz 

"There's a sad sort of clanking, From the clock in the hall,  And the bells in the steeple too. 

And up in the nursery an absurd little bird Is popping up to say cukoo!   Cukoo! Cukoo!

Regretfully they tell us  But firmly they compel us - To say goodbye to you"

- Sound of Music

   Farewells and goodbyes immediately evoke the musical notes of “Sound of Music” and “Auld Lang Syne”. At once childlike and somber. Maybe, it's “that” stage of life and the deeply embedded Navy DNA. As we stepped out of the portals of IIM-L the reality began to dawn on us. THIS WAS THE FINAL STEP. A childlike curiosity, trepidation, and wonder of opening of new doors. Reaching out to new horizons - a new way of life. Yet in a somber sense, passing of an era, marching on with time and age. 
`

"For auld lang syne, my dear                        For auld lang syne, 

We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet                    For auld lang syne!

               And surely you will pay for your pint,           And surely I will pay for mine! 

And we will take a cup of kindness yet      For times gone by"

`

Artwork - Tanmaya

   Yet that part was still to fully sink in. A journey that began from Lucknow at the the age of 18, was on its final leg, and the conclusion, was being scripted at Lucknow. It has been for me,  a quarter of a century and more in whites. It was time to start dusting out the Mufti (Civvies for the uninitiated - yes, the clothes that you call normal - a 'pant-shirt').    New adventures! 
   
   But I must admit, leaving IIM (H)ell after a rigorous Six months was definitely a welcome milestone. Back to family, and, familiarity. Back to home cooked food and bigger living spaces. To all the modern visages of civilisation like TV, cable, X Box, paying Electricity/ Phone/ Rent/ Kids bills. Pleasant everyday  rituals like grocery/clothes/shoe/etc shopping with the spouse. Routine chores and household errands like chasing plumbers, gardeners..... et all. . Spreading cheer, exchanging verbal volleys, duels and such like love and affection to near and dear ones, including, family, friends, joneses and foes. The daily fight for the TV remote, grumbling and gnashing of teeth all the way.     Oh Yes, the mountain of paperwork and medical formalities before I could let go all lines! Bring it on! Oh Yes! Oh Yes! We were so eager to get back to it all. Can't say we were jumping with joy, yet there was that sense of relief and elation. O M G "Oye yaa, Pappu pass ho Gaya" - "Iss umr mein" ( Literally - Phew! Finally cleared the exams and all that nasty stuff, despite our age - PS: References to any persons living or dead are purely unintentional - Pappu is not a copyrighted/proprietary name.)

    But there was part of us that we left behind. A part of us in each of the men and women of of DGMP 15 , a part of us in the classrooms at Manthan, a part of us in the sundry exam halls, computer labs, library, Messes, dining halls, gym, swimming pool, and every place we haunted.  A Part of us in each of the cluster of shops around the social hub/hotspot around Gupta-ji's Shop(s). A part of us in that effervescent bubbly bunch of, to be, MBA grads of IIM Hell. And most definitely yes, definitely a part of us in the Professors (who tried their - damndest and hardest to - teach, so as to say,  old dogs new tricks ). Point to note, the faculty were always there to answer the millionth+n query but they were elusively-camera shy. Here's a few snapshots of those we could corner. (If the link doesn't work, make your life easy and just scroll down)

 

Annapoorna Mess

The social hub became all the more important when IIM emptied itself out , in end March, for the annual term break of the PGP. And the Students Mess, Annapoorna, in a brutal and cruel, body blow, downed its shutters. The shock of missing the daily highlight(s) - (Afternoon Tea snacks and night Mess, the couple of lil' student run eating shops, the web based "In your reach" (food pickup-delivery-from-remote-corners-of-lucknow) student initiative) - and the onset of the searing Lucknow summer, was more than the bravest could bear. That we survived, is testimony to our military training, but tribute must be paid to -  ..... 

Farewell to PGP 31 and the last bash at the Mess

(Continuing with the vernacular protocol of respectfully suffixing every noun with a Ji). Guptaji’s Shop(s) within and without Hell. (Nope - outside is not the only antonym - Remember the Beatles song "Within You And Without You".) Gupta-ji and his myriad family and boys ever willing to run.. err errands..... (Still haven't figured out the family tree or the employe-r/e relationship, except that Gupta-ji was Boss man. 3 names come to mind  - Gopal, Mithilesh, and Uday - ji) Lifeline. From street noodles to Juice, service just like the hindi Song - Eh Ganpat Zara Soda La...   

Goodbye Annapoorna

   Vikas ji, of Sreeji, the mini-something-hyper-mart, loaded with myriad varieties of  biscuits and snacks MAGGI and heat-and-serve MRE. Sonu Sardar ji the Houdini shop and his neighbour, the meek stationery walla ji who let Sonuji steal his thunder. The manna from culinary heaven, Dosa Aunty ji, who's fan following, especially post March, would rival any Michelin Star Chef. The Barber ji clan (Nandkishore ji, Ghanshyam ji and more), eveready with the local hot n juicy gossip, a hack and chop with the scissors and (for the brave ones) a oriental martial arts type massage.

   Hmmm...... in that flow, a few other ji's including Chemist ji, State Bank ji and  Post Office Ji. (Though the Post Office guys were unceremoniously shunted off to a solitary life near the main gate, they were still a part of the life support HUB, as they and the Post Van guys, regularly took their morning, mid-morning, afternoon and  mid noon siesta(s) at their old haunt. Sometimes I used to wonder if the Post Van was a decoy. But to give them credit,  it did trundle off and disappear for a few score minutes in a day) 

  On a serious note I like this 'Ji' business. Respect has no shades of class. So a brit can stiffen his upper lip n address his superior as - "Dear Sir" or his errant subordinate with a haughty  - "And you Sir....". I'll say "Ji". Hey! "Ji" is super cool. 

Revanta welcome Party for DGMP15

One of the corny props at Revanta

   Yes. Lest I forget.  Special Mention in dispatches to Revanta - the Hotel on the Sitapur Highway, which served late night meals. Sleepy staff, woken out of their slumber ever willing to wait/wake up for us well past midnight  and then, make us wait way way way past cinderella time. Garish and loud, for all reasons, it should have spelt shady with a capital S. But to us, forever hungry souls, it was an Oasis. Also, maybe, the Court enforced, ban on Liquor Vends near Highways, made them opt for a not-shady-family tag. That's just my guess. The food, in that context, was good.

  

The beer is chilled and the moustaches twirled.

Hostel life is all about innovation. Now that we're talking about my favourite, ok second favorite, topic, food. We innovated and did we. If a washing machine can be used to churn out Lassi (Butter milk) then what did we may sound pretty pedestrian.   Like the water dispenser / cooler was used to chill beer and the Iron to reheat Pizzas and toast bread. A note here, for the record, the gang that did have a kitchen, (fridge, hot plate, utensils etc combo spread across three rooms) lets be polite and just say, had limited freezer space. We'll not refer euphemistically, or otherwise, to the Indian obsession with the size of the heart - Dil. After all what happened in Hell, stays in Hell. But again before I get brickbats from Hyderabad and beyond, I did enjoy their hospitality once in awhile. The most valued invention, after electricity and Air Conditioners is  that awesome appliance - the electric kettle. Just add water and presto you have - HOT WATER. Now don't scoff. Put yourself in our shoes. Picture a bunch of 40 plus blokes used to having all amenities on call. Pack them in a microscopic hostel room on the 3rd floor with no elevators and by some architectural wizardry ensure you add another two flight of stairs to reach the landing. Hot water is the elixir of life. You can't even imagine the stuff that can be conjured up with hot water, not just the run of the mill Tea/coffee and Maggi. 

   As I said this will be long on the tail and I can't jump from 6th week to the 26th without filling in the details. But to tell you the truth it's all a blur now. That the aforesaid Pappu(s) graduated was no mean miracle. But.....They do every year and will continue to do so till eternity. Amen. So lets just blur it and put random thoughts, well, randomly. 

   Summers at Lucknow are searingly hot and the winters bitterly cold. We had the distinction of seeing off the worst of the bone chilling cold and molten lava heat. It was also a rude reminder to me of the coming of age (and softening of resolve and the midriff). For god's sake some 30 years back I used to cycle to school and all over Lucknow in such like  weather. Blame it on Global warming. Yep. But February is truly awesome in Lucknow.The campus blossomed . Seeing is believing - a few glimpses:

Near the convocation lawns

BodhiGraha - PGP Block

Manthan - MDP Management Development Prog Block

   One of the highlights was the disbanding-banding-branding-rebranding of the placement committee and the brochure committee. We suddenly realised, holy Smokes; we need to get cracking with the job hunt.!!! This is when we realised that Snowden was dealing with Kid stuff - Bah ...CIA FBI? The most secretive database in the world is the PCom (Placement committee) database. Purportedly unknown to even the Director, or even batchmates, it's a fiercely guarded info set, passed on by word of mouth, for centuries, from the memory of the sacred monks of the order of ell. LOL! Kidding, in short, nope we don't share. But we made good friends. (Some of us more than the others! Zip! Even I can practice Omerta. What happens in Hell stays in Hell! Right?). 

Disha 31-32

   Another student initiative called DISHA or direction, came to our rescue. These guys mentor their peers and juniors (and never-even-made-a-cv-oldies like us) on the various aspects of the Job Hunt. From resume writing to interview management to company research. Yes old dogs can learn new tricks. I will always cherish that interaction ( again some will do so more than others). Disha was the first real outreach that bridged us - literally the lost generation - with the Gen X of IIM L. What these guys lacked in age, they more than made up in wisdom and gumption. Was I this smart in my early-mid twenties? We were was too busy stamping our feet about learning to march and do utterly illogical feats like dancing with the wolves, swimming with the sharks and hunting with the hawks. {Pretty heavy duty romantic stuff Huh? Thats a solider, sailor or air warrior for you. Gimme 5}. Disha thanks a ton guys. You guys rock. That Whatsapp / Google group is still pending. A special thanks to Nehaarikaa, Harsh and Mridul. 

Let sleeping Mellus lie

  I can go on and on and fill in many embarrassing and funny anecdotes (don't they go hand in hand - especially from the latter's perspective). But all folks have reached back home and have spouses, children and, in my case, a menagerie of dogs and cats, to answer to. So I'll let that pass.  We of the DGMP-15 are at the crossroads. A transition from a life well lived,  literally into the wild blue yonder. A life steeped in tradition, honour and pride, a roller coaster of emotions. New adventures, the next innings beckon.

   On a lighter note  I would like to thank each person who made our stay at IIM-(H)ell as warm and hellish as could be, but that would be another Blog in itself. Where would I start? My school type Prof Payal Mehra? Prof Madhumita? Prof Nishant Uppal? Prof Pankaj? Prof Vaidya? The list is endless and I will still miss many names...... (Scroll down : A Fauji never forgets to say thank you . The List is at the end of the post)

The MDP rep - suitably releived

   But it would only be apt to remember those who made our life comfortable at Hostel 17 and the MDP. Ever smiling, quick to respond - Dibakar ji the head-smiley, Pradeep ji the reception guy (who bore the brunt of us having to climb so many stairs). The house keeping smiley Prem ji. The staff at MDP harassed  to exhaustion by us, especially in the exam halls. Shruti ji, Heena Ji. Always on the ball, with a smile- Lakhan Bhaiya ji. Baptised by fire Maruti nandan Ji. Much hassled Murli ji. Again, apologies if I missed a few names.

 Not to forget, a special to thanks to the MDP Chair Prof Rajesh Aithal and the Programme Directors Prof BK Mohanti and Prof Prem Prakash Dewani and Prof OS Vaidya. 

 So long farewell. 

I'LL SIGN OFF WITH A FEW MEMORIES

My favourite hangout in Lucknow

Sheroes

Men Persons in Black

Discovering Hidden Talent

A cooking experiment gone wrong?

Project Study - Business Environment & Sustainability - Banks of River Gomti

The glass is half Full (of Vodka?)

Yup Thats Me

With the Brainiac of the course - My school type at that 

Yes Sir I had lots of hair in January.
(Prof Prem Prakash Dewani smiling and Prof Rajesh Aithal reading up on it)

Dandapani - Corporate strategy - Bahubali v Sholay

Late night study group

Project Study - Boots on ground - Marketing Management

Three Men in a Boat - Is this what JKJ meant?

 

Farewell Good bye - Underdoggs

Disha

The Faculty

The faculty are a camera shy bunch, otherwise would've put more snaps. Here are a few snapshots. 

THANK YOU DEAR PROF

Term I
Prof Shailendra Singh   Prof Pradeep Kumar Prof D.S. Sengar   Prof Madhumita Chakraborthy   Prof Sanjay Kumar Singh   Prof. Debdatta Pal   Prof. Rajesh Aithal   Prof Gaurav Garg
Term II
Prof Alok Dixit and Prof Vipul   Prof Pushpendra Priyadarshi    Prof Rajeev Kr Srivastava and Prof K. N. Singh    Prof Ajay Garg and Prof  Madhusudan Karmakar   Prof Payal Mehra  Prof B K Mohanty  Prof Ashish Dubey
Term III
Prof Vikas Srivastava  Prof O. S. Vaidya and Prof Sushil Kumar (OM) Prof Amit Agrahari  Prof Ashwani Kumar Prof Krishna Chandra Balodi   Prof Abhijit Bhattacharya  Prof Somdeep Chatterjee  Prof Nishant Uppal  Prof Himanshu Rai
Term IV
Prof Anirban Chakraborthy Prof Prem P. Dewani Prof BS Sushil Kumar   Prof Sabyasachi Sinha   Prof Pradeep Kumar  Prof Samir Srivastava  Prof  K N Singh  Prof Sushil Kumar  Prof O S Vaidya
Term V
Prof Prakash Singh   Prof Rajesh Aithal Prof BS Sushil Kumar   Prof Ajit Prasad  Prof Sushil Kumar  Prof. O S Vaidya  Prof Pankaj Kumar

The Boss takes centre stage - The Director - Prof Ajit Prasad

Prof BK Mohanty - Do you get it or not?
Strict in class, warm and hospitable at home

Amongst the Coolest - Prof Himanshu Rai

We lov laa - Prof. D S Sengar

Rocky - packs a punch. Respect . Prof RK Srivastava

Prof Ashish Dubey

Prof Ashvini Kumar we MIS-sed the way to Vegas

Chill Guys at "your age" you just need to understand the concepts - Prof Vikas Srivastava

And so this leg of my journey ends