CLOSED UP ON THE BRIDGE

Bridge is a very sacred place for the executive officers on a ship; this is the place from where the ship is controlled navigationally and to some extent for exercises and operations. At sea, Bridge is the place that is humming with activity. There is a swivel chair for the Commanding Officer; irrespective of the rank, he is called 'the Captain'. If the Fleet staff is embarked, there would be another swivel chair for the Fleet Commander who is of the rank of a Rear Admiral. The ship's routine is divided into 'Watches'; viz, Forenoon Watch, Afternoon Watch, Dog Watches, First Watch, Middle Watch, and Morning Watch. Each watch is of four hours duration (eg, 0800 to 1200 hrs is the Forenoon Watch) except for Dog Watches, which are of two hours each (First Dog and Last Dog) so that in a three-watch system (the normal system on board during peace time) people won't be doing the same watches over and over again. The one officer in whose charge the ship is at sea is called the OOW or the Officer of the Watch. He may have an assistant OOW with him, communication staff, navigation staff etc. The Bridge is invariably supported by an Operations Room, which is normally a few decks below, from where all the ship's operations are controlled (sensors, weapons and operations with other consort ships, submarines, helicopters and aircraft).


A Bridge is to a ship, what cockpit is to an aircraft (Pic courtesy: ww2db.com)

Bridge (Contract Bridge), as you know, is also a cards game. People are as passionately involved with Bridge, the game, as, say, golfers are with clubs, balls and holes. Indeed, Bridge is one game that competes with Golf over the number of jokes about the game and the players and of course their spouses.

As a young Lieutenant I served on a ship that had, by a curious coincidence, over a dozen officers (nearly the entire officer complement) passionate about the game Bridge; and that included the Commanding Officer. So, after our sea sorties, when we would return to harbour, we literally secured from one Bridge (the navigational Bridge) and closed up on the game of Bridge. We used to have as many as three foursomes in the wardroom.

On one such occasion, the Fleet Commander was embarked on a sister ship. We came alongside first on a naval berth in Cochin channel and the Fleet Commander's ship was still a distance off from coming alongside our ship. It is customary for the Captain to receive the Fleet Commander's ship but seeing that she would take some more time to make its approach, our CO suggested that we don't waste any time in closing up on our other Bridge in the wardroom. In our foursome, I was partnering the Captain. The first two games went one each between our opponents and us. In the third game, we got very good cards, and between the Captain and I we arrived at a contract of Seven Hearts, a grand-slam. Captain had to play the hand and I was the dummy.

It was very exciting for us since it is not everyday that you bid and make a grand-slam. It required a great deal of concentration on the CO's part; to make the bid at least two finesses were required, one each from the East and West players. In the meantime, there was an announcement from the gangway that the Fleet Commander's ship was approaching and berthing party was required to close-up to assist that ship in coming alongside us. The announcement was clearly heard in the wardroom too but our Captain who had just made two tricks only with eleven more to go was in no mood to rush up on the quarterdeck to receive the Fleet Commander.

Bridge game in progress (pic courtesy: en.wikipedia.org)

Imagining that the CO might not have heard the announcement, the Officer of the Day (In harbour, usually, the ship is in charge of an OOD as opposed to OOW at sea) sent a sailor down to tell him about the Fleet Commander's ship approaching. By this time the game and hence the CO had become very tense. It required a great deal of dexterity on his part to have made four tricks and the grand-slam was nowhere near sight. Sailors are not allowed to enter the wardroom and it was a steward who conveyed the message to the CO. CO told him to convey to the OOD that he was on his way to the quarterdeck.

Meanwhile, we could hear a series of announcements on the main broadcast about Fleet Commander's ship making its approach, throwing heaving line and eventually passing berthing hawsers. The Captain was also very close now; he had successfully made ten tricks despite the East and the West players trying to make his efforts abortive.

The Assistant OOD came running down to the wardroom that a brow (gangway plank) between the two ships had been secured and the Fleet Commander's Flag Lieutenant (the Navy equivalent of ADC) had sent a message that the Fleet Commander would be leaving for shore shortly; and, since he'd be crossing our ship to do so, not only that our CO should see him off (as is the custom) but, (seeing that our CO had made no attempt to receive his ship) the Fleet Commander had expressed a desire to see our CO.

The CO successfully made the eleventh trick and now a smile had started forming on his lips as he sighted the first grand-slam in our wardroom (the one that would, no doubt, be talked about for months). He dismissed the Asst. OOD with, "Just tell him I am on my way."

As the CO made the next two tricks, we heard the four pips (quartermaster's pipe being blown sharply four quick times) on the ship's broadcast indicating that CO was required urgently as the Fleet Commander was crossing our quarterdeck.

He had triumph on his face for a job really well done in securing the thirteenth trick as he rushed up and back to the quarterdeck. This was an experience not to be missed. So as the CO went down to quarterdeck from the starboard (right) side, I rushed from the Port side.

He reached the quarterdeck, took in a glance the about-to-burst Fleet Commander, saluted him and said: "Very sorry, Sir; we were still closed up on the Bridge."

I don't know whether that bridged the gap between them or not but the Fleet Commander responded coldly, "In any case, it was nothing very important" and left the ship.

I am sure our Captain would have liked to tell him how important a Grand-Slam was to us.

DIMINISHING DAD

It wasn't very long ago when I was big and rich; really big and rich. Less than three decades back.

I had a small telly, the best I could afford with my Navy pay. I didn't have a car since I couldn't afford it. My wife and I used to call our Yezdi 250 cc a donkey since the mobike could carry everything for us including gas cylinders that we used to carry on it from Navy Nagar in Colaba to Worli where, after I got married, the Navy had given me a one room house. It was a large room though. We put a double bed on one side of the room, had a kitchen slab on the other side with a dining table right in front of it. We became very fond of walks along Worli Sea Face since it used to cost nothing. At the end of the walk we used to sit at the breakwater and reward ourselves with two rupees of singdana (peanuts).

You must be wondering where do 'big' and 'rich' get into the description of me? Well, let me explain 'big' first. Immediately after marriage, until several years after that, my wife used to think I was the greatest man she had come across. And then, when the fact of my not being as big and as invincible as she had imagined started to sink in, our two sons were born. I was an instant hero with them until their teens. As an example, the telly was hardly ever switched on; my sons used to think that nothing could be more interesting than what they called Papa TV. After dinner, it was race with them to the bed or the carpet where I used to perch them on my tummy and tell them stories; the most serialised and longest one was the story of the animals in a jungle with such names as Georgie Porgie Lion, Richard Snake, Elizabeth Cow, Charlie Elephant, and Martin crow. They would be breathless to know what happened next when Georgie Porgie took all the animals for a picnic by the Jungle Train. Papa TV had everything: songs, poems, jokes and even commercial breaks when they'd run up to their mom and have milk and come back.



Arjun  & Arun enjoying Papa TV (the actual TV lies switched off)

Interestingly, they were fascinated by everything that I did or said and indeed some of my expressions are still prevalent in the family; for example, whenever I made a proposal, say, about a picnic or to have Kulfi at Punjabi Kulfi at Chowpatty, I'd ask them, "Yes? No? Maybe?" or after explaining something I'd look at their faces and ask, "Not understood?" Recently, Arun, our younger son explained something about what he does at his Animation job and ended up asking me, "Not understood?"

I was  their best toy. With whatever money I had, I had got them the best of toys but they were quiet content playing with me.


Their 'best toy'

 Also, both the children's future passions were nurtured in the childhood. Arjun, our elder son, has emerged as one of the leading critics of pop music in India. Below is a picture of Arjun listening to the first of the songs that he would have understood the tune of. It was on my Sony two-in-one that I got in 1975 on my first foreign cruise as a navy  officer.

Arun (the younger son), on the other 

Arjun's first exposure to music

hand, became adept at a Commodore 64 computer and I got him a few 'video games' to play on it. He had to put a magnetic cassette in a corder attached to the computer and type out 'Load' on the computer and then type out 'Play' and then race those speeding cars with the pointer keys on the keyboard. This he did when he was all of three years old. So, even before he learnt 'A for Apple, B for Bat', he learnt 'L for Load and P for Play' on the com. Arun, later, became the video-gaming champ in India for seven years and went abroad each time to take part in video gaming competitions. Arun, therefore, wants to design his own games and is presently a qualified Animator.

The best education that my wife and I gave them was to be good human beings and gentlemanly at all times. To be able to look themselves in the eye, at all times; to speak the truth even when it hurt them; to be bold and courageous even when the majority did wrong; and to know right from wrong. What about religion? My wife is a Catholic and I am a Sikh. We never forced the children to strictly follow any or both the religions. They are free to choose on their own. Arjun, therefore, believes in God without following any particular religion. Arun doesn't believe in God. Both of them, however, agree with me that organised religion is beginning to do more harm to our society and that religion should become more personal and private. It is better to be good and "irreligious" than to be "religious" but evil.

We never encouraged them to babble so as to look cute. Both could, therefore, express themselves well and freely. Also, both did not have to agree to our point of view. I have enumerated several incidents in this blog when I could learn things from them. For example, on one occasion we, as a family, went by our Maruti 800 (we could get a car in 1988; thank God for that) for a picnic at one of the beaches in Vizag. In my enthusiasm I had driven the car close to the beach on the sand. Being on the East coast, the sunset was fairly early and we later realised that dark was setting in fast. The only difficulty was that as I started to race forward, the right side rear wheel made a burrow in the sand, started digging deeper and panic set in with me since it was as a remote part of the beach with nobody around. The more I tried, the worse it became. Arun, in the meantime, kept telling me, "Try the jack, dad." How idiotic, I kept thinking. This boy of seven had no idea, I thought, that a jack was to be used on a static car and not whilst moving or trying to move. However, finally, after trying various things, I tried the jack for the right wheel. As the car lunged forward with the force of the left wheel, the right too came out of the burrow. The jack of course fell but now the car was out. We collected the jack and drove back without getting into any more panic.

All kids want to step into their dad's shoes

Incidents like these taught me a lesson: to have more trust in their abilities rather than choose the safe option of always trying to spoon-feed them. It took me some time to learn that a child when he steps out of his childhood and enters boyhood, wants to step into his dad's shoes. But then, that's only a transitory stage. Soon, he wants to step out of his dad's shoes and see the world with his own eyes, make mistakes and move on. In Arjun and Arun, the desire to do things on their own was probably more intense than most other children. They'd get very impatient if I would give them detailed instructions about anything. Here is Arjun on the right trying to learn to tie a necktie on his own. Arun too broke a few teeth but learnt to ride a bicycle without my holding the handle or steadying it for him. How did this absence of spoon-feeding help them? Initially, they used to read my poems and articles etc and marvel at how well I'd written these. Later, I found that they could write much better than me.

There were two big surprises for us: one, when Arjun appeared for his CBSE exam (12th std). Because of my frequent transfers, I thought he had not been able to study much and hence, when the results came; we sat around the computer to check these. I said a silent prayer to ensure he'd pass. Just before his mark-sheet flashed on the screen, I asked him what was his expectation? He said he expected to be amongst the top rankers. I made a mental note of his misplaced expectation and thought I must speak to him about it later sometime. But, lo and behold, Arjun with nearly 93 percent marks had stood first in all Naval Public Schools in India.

Arun too gave us a pleasant surprise. The first one was that he could order his computer accessories and parts on the computer at the age of ten. Only when the courier would come to deliver a part at home we'd realise that Arun had ordered it from thousands of miles away. Then one day he asked our permission to take part in a video gaming competition. We allowed him "as an encouragement" but never knew he'd win and would continue winning for the next seven years.

Arun learnt music entirely on his own. He'd sit for long hours in front of the computer and try to learn the basics from the net. A few years later, he could write his own music and play. With another friend of his he formed a band of his own. Nowadays when he plays and gets a fair amount of audience applause, no one believes that he had no trainer to teach him about music or how to play the guitar.

They finally grew very fast and very soon started rubbing shoulders with me. I had got substantially diminished by that time. But, then  I had to be content with the fact that my wife and I gave them values, told them what is good and bad, gave them means to discover their true potential and then left them on their own 

to make their lives the way they felt the lives should turn out to be. In the end, a diminished dad is not a question of parental ego being hurt. It is a recognition of the fact that life is unique and precious and parents ain't God who should, at all times control the lives of their children and mould these to produce clones of themselves. My mother still says, "Bachche tanh kaka bachche hi hunde ne." (Son, children will always be children). True, mom, but they have every right to live their own lives and not their parents' lives. A diminished father or diminished parents is not such a bad thing after all.

In so many different ways, they'd always be children. But, why should I impose my point of view all the times? I don't want them to step in my shoes. I want them to make their unique lives independent of me, whatever they choose. One of my friends, when I told him that Arjun has got into music and Arun into animation, told me about the courage that I had in allowing my sons to follow their passions, even when they ain't earning tons of money, which they would have if they had followed traditional fields.

That brings me to the question of money. At one time, in my childhood, I was very rich indeed. I owned ships, skies, clouds, stars. Here is one of my ships:

I continued being rich in my life; I always had enough. I never scrounged. On my Yezdi, when we travelled, with one son perched ahead on the fuel tank and another in my wife's arms on the backseat, I was rich. I was rich when, as a lieutenant, I took money out of my provident money and took my wife with me to a two week duty cum holiday to Italy, France and England. I was rich when I married my wife on my own and we didn't know how we'd run a household without any money between both of us.

My father too was rich when he earned all of Rupees 150 when I was small. His father once gave him advice, "Mani (my dad's name) I pray to God that you'd spend a lot of money." Dad, at that time thought of it as an idiotic advice since money would grow multifold if one'd save it rather than spend it. Many years later, he learnt the truth. Of course, you can't foolishly spend money. Dad never scrounged and somehow had enough. He passed on this richness to me and I, in turn, passed on this God given richness to my children.

Life is a dream, they say. But, I ask you, how many people have the courage to live that dream and.....allow their children to live their own?

Being diminished, as I said, is not a bad thing at all.

HAPPY SIXTIETH BIRTHDAY TO MY BEST FRIEND

Anyone who has seen the Hindi movie ‘Sholay’ would be familiar with the kind of enduring friendship that existed between Veeru and Jai. Of particular interest was the song, on the stolen mobike with a side-car, with the words, “Ye dosti hum nahin todenge; todenge dum magar tera saath na chhodenge" (This friendship, we shall never break; even after death do us apart, we shall still be together). People often feel that movies are just projections on the silver-screen and one can, in real life, rarely come across such far-fetched scenarios. Well, to an extent people are right; Jaya (My friend Amarjeet Bajwa's wife) didn’t have to dance in front of dacoits to keep Amar alive, nor did Lyn (my wife) have to wear a white saree. However, many of the other things happened between Amar and me….really. We swore by our dosti and we still do. As far as the mobike is concerned, it wasn’t a stolen one; it was Amar’s own and I wish we had preserved it in remembrance of all the fun we had over it….and in one particular case, with one of us over it and the other having fallen off somewhere in the wilderness.

I owe my life to Amar…well, almost. After a strenuous game of squash racquets (in which he’d invariably beat me) I developed severe chest pain and was to be rushed to the No. 6 Air Force Hospital in Coimbatore (South India) where both of us were posted in Navy's Leadership School named Agrani. A few days ago a sailor undergoing the Leadership CVourse had died of undetected Ischemic Heart Disease (ISD) and hence Flight Lieutenant Malse – the doctor on duty – didn’t want to take chances. I was promptly labeled a case of IHD and after the customary ECG etc, the doctor counseled me about stress-control (both physical and mental). Amar came to see me in the hospital with his usual ebullience. The seriousness of what the doctor had told me completely escaped his attention. He had bought a second-hand Standard car with a Citroen body. What better way to test the car than to take his best pal for a ride? As we took off from the hospital Amar explained to me that the car had taken part in some Malyalam movie. On the way back, I learnt that in addition to its uniqueness for having acted in the Mallu flick, it was one of the first cars equipped with “dual propulsion”; for, when the car engine and the passengers’ hearts would miss several beats, it had to be pushed until the engine would start again. So, there I was, a declared patient of IHD, with doctor’s instructions about tension, stress and the like fresh in my mind, pushing Bajwa’s car until the secondary way of propulsion, that is, one with the running engine would be restored. The doctor had planned some painful, expensive and time-consuming tests to confirm his diagnosis. But, Amar by a simple experiment conclusively proved that if I could push his Citroen in the middle of the night, I couldn’t be suffering from any Heart-Disease. Finally, after one year's of medical tests, Amar was proved right.

Bajwa had cure for most – if not all – of my problems; none of those fancy cures but highly effective and instantaneous ones; something like, “Have a headache? Well, hit yourself hard with a hammer on your toe and poof, the headache is gone”. We were sitting together in the Oberoi Sheraton at Bombay past midnight, just a few hours before Lyn was to join me after our secret marriage. I was going over all the things that I had collected for her: a fridge, gas, cutlery, plates etc. Suddenly I remembered and said aloud that I hadn’t got sugar even to make the first cup of tea with my newly wedded wife. Bajwa, with great fanfare took the sugar bowl from the table at the hotel and emptied the entire thing in my kerchief and for effect took out the rose from the vase and gave it to me to present to Lyn. Indeed, a few hours later, when we received Lyn at Bombay VT, I held on to the single rose as the most precious possession of my life. I never promised Lyn a rose garden after marriage but thanks to Bajwa she was received with a rose.

Today, at the stroke of midnight, Amar turned sixty. We had never dreamt that we’d reach that age. On that night, when we did our own version of “Ye Dosti” on Bajwa’s mobike on the Marine Drive with both of us as pissed as Veeru was atop the water tank in Sholay, with speeds well past the sound barrier (well, it was correct; because we couldn’t have heard each other and we didn’t hear at all the traffic cop’s whistle), just one small obstruction on the Marine Drive would have finished our lives some thirty years back.

Hence, the very first thing that I have to tell Amar today is: Dost, my best pal, we are lucky to have survived so long. In your case, it is sheer goodwill that you generate around you that doesn’t let you be anything but the life of the party. Do you remember when we climbed the temple hill at Maddukkarai from the tortuous and dangerous rocky side? One small slip and we would never have dreamt to be sixty. Also, do you remember how we went to Ooty etc by the official jeep that we thought had only one useful instrument, that is, the accelerator.

Bajwa, Sir; truly for us life during those days (and even now sometimes), was a happy chance, a one act play: Hamara Drama. For those not knowing the story of this play, I'd take a few minutes to explain that we wrote a play on the making of a play for participating in the Command Dramatic Championship. The play itself more daring than most of our feats: to pull the legs of all in authority and get away with it; most of them sitting in the audience. Other than a few characters who momentarily came on the stage, this full-length play had only Bajwa and me as the actors. We walked away with the Best Play award; with me getting the Best Actor award. As soon as we finished getting the awards we drove from Cochin to Coimbatore on Bajwa's mobike and celebrated till wee hours of the morning with countless bottles of beer. And then, after we were seeing a dozen of each other, we went for another "ye dosti" drives. This is when I fell off the bike and Bajwa kept relating his jokes to me rejoicing in not having me interrupt him to tell a better one. After nearly three hours we found each other again.

Anyone reading it so far would think that Amar and me were the most agreeable of the friends. Little would they know that the trick in keeping the lamp of friendship alive was to force a collective decision before the other could say “No”. However, after drinks, the mask of such geniality was invariably off and we were conscious of the fact that we have to make the other see reason, such as the way perceived by us. This invariably led to no holds barred fights between us and everyone would conclude that Bajwa and I had fallen apart like Humpty Dumpty. However, “ye dosti” sentiment would trouble us in the night to the extent that in the wee hours of the morning one or the other would tip-toe to the other’s room to check if all was well. There were occasions when we made up and went searching for dinner at about two in the morning.

Amar, Sir; you would always have the lead by a simple historical fact; that is, you were born two years before me; and hence you have beaten me to reaching sixty before me; and like I did in squash-racquets after having been beaten by you, I hold no grudge. I rejoice in your reaching the age of the metal: silver in your hair, gold in your teeth, iron in your diet and lead in your----you know where. What do I wish for you for having accomplished this grand feat? Well, the most precious thing that I can wish for you is: Stay the way you are. Many can claim love, liking, respect, friendship, other relationship with you: but, I know and you know: ‘Todenge dum magar, tera saath na chhodenge”.

God bless you for having been the most intense influence of my life. At every age of yours you have been unique. However, Sixty is the age to be…all others before this were just plain matters of dates on calendar; now is when the fun starts: no one can blame a senior citizen of having a heart as young as a teenager that you have always maintained, and hence, you can get away with everything.

And….if you disagree with me for some of the lurid details above, I can always guess that you already had your drink!

Amar turns sixty today
The starting speed of his bike,
We have all gathered to wish him well,
Friends and relatives alike.

Happy Sixtieth, my friend,
Here’s wishing you all the best,
Lets just have fun, the way we did,
Without worrying about the rest.

Lets say a little thanksgiving pal,
To God who kept us alive;
Though we tried our best to reach Him,
When we went on our nocturnal drive.

May God always preserve your smile,
That has won many a heart.
And should you feel the pangs of age,
Let me tell you: it is just the start.

FINALLY - MAN OVERBOARD

I was commanding the Fleet Tanker Aditya in the year 2001. I had a boss who was very understanding, kind and encouraging; but, I had my boss's boss who was a terror. The latter had made no secret of his desire to see me land squarely in the gooey stuff. So, he tried sending me into orbit at the slightest pretext. It would have given him immense satisfaction if I would make some blunder or the other so that he would feel vindicated that I didn't deserve to be given command of a catamaran let alone of a major warship. Therefore, throughout my tenure I had the Damocles sword hanging on my head and it made me very uncomfortable indeed. His spies were everywhere to give him the 'good news' of my failure so that he could finally rejoice and have his I-told-you-so smirk.

Aditya, the Fleet Tanker I commanded

In an earlier appointment, he had me punished for having complained about a Fire-fighting system not operational since its commissioning; he, through his minions, turned the tables on me by proving that actually the system became non-ops by my having done something to it. It was the kind of stuff that Franz Kafka became famous in depicting or Vijay Tendulkar tried to satirically bring out in the unforgettable movie 'Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro', in which the complainants suddenly found themselves behind bars as accused or convicts. But, this man was undeterred by such comparisons. After a Board of Inquiry a Show Cause Notice has to be issued within three months. His came to me more than six months later. He circumvented it by writing to me (I still have that letter), "It was issued six months back but due to a clerical lapse it didn't reach you." When it comes to respect for law, some of the senior officers in the armed forces have a simple tenet, "Hum God nahin hain; per God se kam bhi nahin hain." (I am not a God but I am no less than a God).

On another occasion he ordered an unlawful and unethical Board of Inquiry whose charge read, "To investigate lapses, if any, on the part of the officer". What was the trigger for this? Well, my successor had been guilty of wrongful destruction of classified documents. He felt that if he could somehow find something against me too, it would make his day. In short, he was gunning for me with vengeance.

The tales of his eccentricity and megalomania are legends in the Navy; he simply removed anyone - like a fly in his coffee - who made the unpardonable mistake of disagreeing with him on anything. In the inimitable Wodehouse style, he'd raze such a person to the ground and jump on his remains in hobnobbed boots. Now that we have a curious drama unfolding before our eyes about the date of birth of the Army Chief, I keep reminding myself that I have already seen the worst in skullduggery by a very senior officer. Others are just pale imitations of the original, that is, him.

The long and short of it was that, throughout my tenure as the Commanding Officer, life hung from a thin string that could snap anytime. His way to quarantine me (as if I were a leper) was to always keep me at anchorage or sailing so that I could never rest or attend to maintenance of the ship. All holidays were invariably spent at sea by my crew (ship's company in the naval parlance) and to give credit where it is due, my officers and sailors kept chins up and never complained or let me down. Once he had his minions chemically examine a slick of oil in the dockyard so that should it come out that it had originated from Aditya he could chew me.

Despite all this I enjoyed my command as any officer of the Executive Branch in the Navy would do. I was, however, always on guard throughout the innings like a die-hard batsman.

Finally, my tenure was coming to an end without incident and I had started congratulating myself. On my last sailing with the Fleet I was to take my successor for OJT (On Job Training). During this sailing, as if the urgent prayers of my boss's boss were overwhelming the gods, everything that could go wrong went wrong. I had a minor fire on board, a case of steering failure, fuelling rig failure etc. Still everything was under control.

On the night before returning to home port, I was on the Bridge of the ship until late in the evening busy with all the Fleet exercises. The Fleet Commander passed his night instructions. I read through these and gave appropriate orders to my own ship's company and then came down to have my dinner. I had just stepped into my cabin when I heard an urgent announcement, "Man Overboard, Man Overboard."

A Man Overboard is one of the biggest nightmares of a Navy man. All Officers of the Watch know the procedure by heart. I rushed to the bridge and asked the Fleet Commander's permission to act independently and manoeuvre to recover the man. As I performed the Williamson Turn (made famous by an USNR officer John Williamson in 1947), so as to retrace the ship's track, I had two thoughts in my mind: one, why did it have to happen to me at the fag end of my command? and two, how could a man fall overboard from such a large ship that is steady as a rock (172 metres and tonnage comparable to a light aircraft carrier when fully loaded)? A Williamson turn looks as follows: the first helm is towards the direction of the fallen man so as to keep the stern and hence the propellers away from the man:

This is left handed Williamson Turn for a man having fallen on Port side; it can be right handed for a man overboard on Starboard side

In the meantime we went through the other drills, eg, keeping a boat ready with a diver. I silently prayed that the man should be alive. As we retraced the track, the powerful searchlight from the signalling projector illuminated the surface of the sea in the ahead sector. And finally, we saw a head bobbing in the swell. We approached closer and started lowering the boat. It was taking time and we were afraid that the man might lose his life. The Senior Engineer of the ship (a qualified diver) asked my permission to dive straight from the ship into the water and save the man. I weighed the pros and cons and considering that a boat was already being lowered, I gave him permission.

In the meantime, the Fleet staff had been constantly asking me to provide SITREP (Situational Report). What followed was simply comical. It came out that nearly 50 nautical miles into the sea, there was a fishermen recovering his fishing net by jumping directly into the sea. Soon we saw his boat about a cable away. My ship's Lifeguard Sentry at the quarterdeck had done the right thing by throwing lifebuoy for him and then raising the 'Man Overbaord' alarm. Why couldn't the bridge see him and his boat? Well, the Indian fishermen at sea, many times, don't use any light and are difficult to spot in the dark (they are also so small a target that the radar won't pick them up too). Those who have the notion that the navy and the coast guard would be able to "seal our maritime borders against such threats as Kasab coming to our shores by a small boat", have no idea of the mammoth task.

We gave some food stuff and cigarettes to the fishermen and soon we were on our way; having denied my boss's boss the last opportunity to fix me. When I went to call on him just prior to his retirement, he told me, "Perhaps in your case my staff misguided me." I wished he had not lied at least on my last meeting with him.

Finally.......Man Overboard.

MY YOUNG DAYS OF WATCHING MOVIES IN SOUTH BOMBAY

I joined the Navy in 1973 and in 1975 I was commissioned into the Indian Navy. I had many happy years of my early career spent in South Bombay. I was never into politics but it is my belief that internecine and dirty politics had not spoiled Bombay at that time. Bombay Police, for example, used to be compared with Scotland Yard in efficiency and reputation. In the services club, when we used to discuss such hair-raising incidents as advent of rogues and killers like Billa and Ranga in Delhi, we used to speak with great deal of satisfaction that such incidents won't happen in Bombay due to the pro-active approach of Bombay Police.

How safe South Bombay was can be made out from the fact that it was a common sight to see young girls come for the late night shows (though South Mumbai movies had to finish by 12:30 AM by local law) by themselves and then walk back home.

South Bombay prided itself in having the finest of the theatres patronised by decent crowds; the type who would be aware as well as well mannered: Regal and Strand in Colaba, Eros at Church Gate, Metro at Dhobi Talao, New Empire, Liberty and Sterling and later New Excelsior near Flora Fountain. There was Akaashvaani near LIC Building and one could watch good repertoire of movies there devoted to a theme. For example, I saw many of Raj Kapoor movies there.

And what were the movies of those young days? In 1974, still an Acting Sub Lieutenant, I saw  The Towering Inferno in Eros. It was a done thing during those days to read the book and then see the movie. The movie ran in Eros for over a year. During the first few months it was impossible to obtain tickets in current booking. My uncle, my dad's eldest brother, Tej Bhan Singh, had arrived from New York with his American wife, Betty aunty, and two daughters Kiran and Maninder. Kiran and Maninder had missed seeing the Inferno in New York and requested uncle if I could take them to see the movie. They hadn't reckoned, though, that we couldn't just walk in to see a movie in South Bombay without prior reservation. Anyway, uncle came to our rescue. He just walked to the Booking Counter where a large sign said 'House Full', and addressed the Booking Clerk thus, "Sir, would it be possible to get three tickets in the Dress Circle for my daughters and nephew?" There must have been something in my uncle's personna because the Booking Clerk dished out three tickets. It was actually House Full and he put three plastic chairs for us in the Dress Circle.

A scene from Towering Inferno

We were on the edge of our seats watching rescue operations

And what a movie it was; starring Steve McQueen, Paul Newman, William Holding and Faye Dunaway. We were at the edge of our seats with the excitement caused. The movie won three Oscars but left to us we would have given it many more. Hollywood was really very good at making disaster movies. Many years later when they made The Titanic and it was appreciated for its technical excellence, I was not surprised at all.

The Poseidon Adventure, a rescue from a ship that scuttled after meeting with cyclone at sea was another great experience. I saw it in Sterling. I hadn't read the book before seeing the movie starring Gene Hackman, Ernest Borgnine, Shelley Winters, and Red Buttons. Once again the sitting on edge quality was the hallmark of the movie.

A tense scene from The Poseidon Adventure

One movie that really changed my life was One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Jack Nicholson got the Oscar for it. Louise Fletcher played Rached and did it so well that I instantly hated her. The movie was so powerful that you didn't walk out the same person from the hall. I saw it in Regal. The last scene where the supposedly loony Red Indian uproots the wash-basin in the hospital so as to throw it at the window and escape (and thus the name of the movie) is so intense that you had your hair standing on ends. You were silently willing him to do it. I would rank the movie amongst the best that I have seen. I read Ken Kesey's book many years later.

By far the best movie that I ever saw: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

She did her role to perfection and you felt like strangling her alive.

It wasn't all disasters and hateful stuff all the while. Paper Moon was a gentle movie that I saw in New Empire. The movie was based on the novel Addie Pray and starred the father and daughter pair of Ryan O'Neal and Tatum O'Neal. Tatum, as Addie Loggins was born to a prostitute. It was rumoured that Ryan as Moze Pray was the actual father of Addie since he had had an affair with her mother. Ryan, however, was a conman and was determined to deny it. The last scene of them driving off together as father and daughter is touching.

Ryan and Tatum O'Neil in Paper Moon

Talking about conman, how can I forget The Sting that, once gain, I saw in New Empire. Both Paul Newman and Robert Redford were there and the suave manner in which Sting was conducted would be probably in the same league as Count Victor Lustig who sold off the Eiffel Tower.

Superb acting by Paul Newman and Robert Redford in The Sting

Surprisingly neither Paul Newman nor Robert Redford got the Oscar for acting. I can go on and on since it was such great pleasure seeing movies at that time. However, let me just bring out two more before I go on to tell about some of the Hindi movies that I saw. Both these movies are important to me. Fiddler On The Roof was one of the greatest musicals that I saw, in Sterling theatre. The movie was an adaptation by Norman Jewison of a 1964 Broadway play about a Jewish family living in Tsarist Russia. The movie had an unforgettable role by Topol as head of the family with five daughters. As a poor Jewish father he had the task of finding the daughters their matches. The movie had most memorable songs such as Matchmaker, If I Were a Rich Man, Sunset Sunset, Do You Love Me?, To Life, and Far From the Home.

Topol with his wife and five daughters in Fiddler on the Roof

The other movie is really very dear to me: Chariots of Fire, story of two English track atheletes, one a devout Jew and the other a proud Christian. This was the first movie I saw with my newly wedded wife in Bombay. We had married in a mandir in 1981, prior to my parents according their permission almost two years later. As she joined me in a one room (bedroom, dining room, kitchen, and sitting room all-in-one) flat in Naval Coastal Battery Worli, I had bought a cutlery set, a few utensils, a fridge, bucket and mug, gas stove etc on instalments. Even in such indigence we went to see this movie. The movie won four Oscars.

A scene from 1981 movie Chariots of Fire

Let me now turn to some of the Hindi movies seen by me in South Bombay. South Bombay had the distinction, at that time, of not screening the run of the mill Hindi movies about rich daughter of smuggler in love with poor but upright hero; some of these financed by the smuggler Haji Mastan at that time. It would show Hindi movies with a difference. By far the most powerful of the lot was Garam Hawa (Hot Winds), a 1975 movie that I saw in Regal. The film, directed by MS Sathyu, dealt with the plight of a North Indian Muslim family in the years after partition of India in 1947. Balraj Sahni as shoemaker Salim Mirza, the head of the family, came up with a most memorable performance of his carer. As one by one, Muslims left for Pakistan, Salim's daughter finds that her betrothed Farooq Sheikh (having migrated to Pakistan) cannot marry her since he had found someone else in Pakistan. She then turns her attention to Jalal Agha. Nothing is decided between them until they go to Fatehpur Sikri where a most poignant scene is enacted. Jalal Agha as Shamshad tells her (Geeta Siddharth as Amina) about the Emperor Shahjehan entrusting the Queen Mumtaz with two pigeons whilst he'd be away for a short while. When he returs he finds that she has only one pigeon in her hand. A little annoyed he asks her, "What happened?" And she says, "It flew". He asks, "How did it fly?" and Mumtaz releases the other one saying, "Like this." However, since the story was already known to Amina, she held Shamshad's hand half way by saying, "I won't let the second one fly." In the end Shamshad is arrested and she commits suicide by cutting her vein.

Balraj Sahni in the role of his lifetime in Garam Hawa

Once again in Regal Theatre I saw a great movie called Shatranj Ke Khiladi (the Chess Players). The movie directed by Satyajit Ray and based on Munshi Premchand's short story by the same name, had a super cast of Amjad Khan as Wajid Ali Khan, Richard Attenborough as General Outram, Sanjeev Kumar as Mirza Sajjad Ali, Syed Jaffrey as Mir Roshan Ali, Shabana Azmi as Nafisa, Mirza's wife, Farida Jalal as Mir's wife and Farooq Shaikh as Aqueel. Mir and Mirza get so obsessed with the game of chess that they negelct their wives. There is a famous scene in the movie when Shabana starts having an affair with Farooq but Sanjeev insists, "Hum aaj kal bahut door ki sochte hain kiyunki hum shatranj khelte hain" (We look far into the future because we play chess). Because of such far-sightedness, they continue to play chess when the British marched their forces to take over Awadh.

Sanjeev Kumar and Syed Jaffrey in Sahtranj Ke Khiladi

Another movie that I saw during those days was a Vinod Khanna starrer Achanak (Suddenly) directed by Gulzar. Vinod Khanna as Manjor Ranjeet Khanna was to face gallows for having killed his wife Lily Chakravarty and her lover Kamaldeep who were having an affair when Vinod Khanna was away fighting for his country. When Vinod Khanna, running from the police, is finally caught, he is heavily wounded. Dr Chaudhary played by Om Shivpuri is entrusted with the task of reviving him so that he could face gallows in good health. An excellent movie with ironies galore.

How can I ever forget another one directed by Gulzar called Aandhi (Tempest) that I saw in Metro? The movie starred Suchitra Sen supposedly as Prime Minister Indira Gandhi and Sanjeev Kumar as a hotelier with whom Suchitra Sen had a love affair but with her engagement in politics it was not expedient to carry on. The movie had three excellent songs penned by Gulzar and music composed by RD Burman: Tere bina zindagi se koi shikva to nahin, Is mod se jaate hain, and Tum aa gaye ho noor aa gaya hai.

Suchitra Sen and Sanjeev Kumar in Aandhi

Once again, I can probably go on and on. However, let me end this by saying how an actor came on the scene like a breath of fresh air and during those days we were floord by the light heartedness of those movies. Yes, I am talking about Amol Palekar in Chotti Si Baat and Rajnigandha. During those days, heroes and heroines like Rajesh Khanna (I saw quite a few of them in Liberty, eg Ajnabee with Zeenat Amman), Dharmendra and Amitabh Bachchan (Sholay), Rekha (Umraao Jaan), Hema Malini (Sholay) were so larger than life that small timers like Amol Palekar and Vidya Sinha didn'y stand a chance in making a box-office hit. But such was Basu Chatterjee's direction, Amol Palekar's effortless acting, and Salil Chaudhary's lilting music of such popular songs such as Jaane man jaane man tere do nayan, na jaane kyun hota hai yeh zindagi ke saath (title song), and Yeh din kya aaye; that the movie was a super-hit.

Amol Palkar in Chhoti Si Baat - breath of fresh air

Chhoti Si Baat was the second movie of that genre. Basu Chatterjee had earlier made Rajnigandha with the same cast and music by Salil Choudhury. It received the Critics Award in 1975, the year of my commissioning in the Navy. It too had two memorable songs: Rajnigandha phool tumhaare, and Kai baar youn hi.

I live in Kharghar now, far from South Bombay; it is not even Bombay anymore. Every now and then I get overwhelmed with nostalgia of that era when I was young, when life was uncomplicated, when seeing a movie was such indescribable fun that it would create timeless memories. I feel like singing Gulzar's exquisitely written lyrics for a 1975 song for the movie Mausam starring Sanjeeev Kumar and Sharmila Tagore:

"Dil Dhoondta hai phir vahi furasat ke raat din,
Baithe rahe tasavvur-e-jaanaan kiye hue"
(The heart once again yearns for those leisurely days and nights
When we could just sit back leisurely, and let our imagination wander)

FOREIGN JAUNTS

Traditional Maori Welcome at Auckland (NZ)

Navy is a true international service; it is because most often than not it operates beyond 12 nautical miles of the coast and hence in international waters called the high seas. Our counterparts from the Army and the Air Force rarely leave the country whereas we do it on an everyday basis; in almost every sailing we leave the territorial limits of the country. I was conscious of it in my very first sailing as a cadet on the cruiser Delhi. At sea, when I looked around, it filled me with a strange thrill that the waters around me connected me as much to foreign lands as to India.



One World One Dream - At the Great Wall of China



Still, there is nothing like actually going abroad; one of the fringe benefits of joining the Navy. I remember the then Captain Nayyar, Commanding Officer (CO) of Indian Naval Ship (INS) Delhi, addressing the ship’s company before entering the port of Aden; my first foreign port. He said each one of us were the ambassadors of our great nation ashore and were expected to conduct ourselves likewise. I thought to myself: ‘What great luck to be called “Your Excellency” at the age of twenty-one’. Some of us accompanied the CO for luncheon at the Governor’s residence  and felt like true ambassadors indeed.



With H.E. Sh. B. Jaishankar, High Commissioner of India





Our next cruise was to the port of Sabang in Indonesia. It was about 20 kms or so from the city of Balawan. This was where we imagined the fun to be. But, the problem that confronted us was how to reach there. With our meager resources we could not have hired a cab and we were not familiar with the bus routes. As we came out of the port we spotted a ‘tempo’ driven by a sardar. We thumbed a ride. As we sat with him in the front seats he got into a conversation with us about the ship. We showed off to him how the ship was fitted with the very latest in warfare and comfort. He was particularly keen to know about the conditions in the Engine Room. We told him that our Engine Room had the latest in air-conditioned luxury and had

Indian Navy officers at Cape of Good Hope

controls and sensors to match a liner. After three quarter of an hour’s journey he dropped us at Belawan with the parting shot, “Great to know about your modern ship, Sirs; you did not recognize me, I am LME (Leading Mechanical Engineroom rating) Avtar Singh from your ship. This ‘tempo’ belongs to my brother here in Belawan. How about coming to the Engine Room sometimes and doing a watch with me?” For the next few months we avoided A Singh on board as if he were a leper.

With "Ambassadors" of other Navies at a Seminar

On Ganga, I remember our CO’s address before entering the Ethiopian (now Eritrean) port of Massawa. After reminding us about our ambassadorial duties he embarked on another subject. He said foreign visits were also occasions to build up databanks. He said whilst we were not expected to actively indulge in any intelligence gathering, but, many a times, information could come to us in most unexpected manner. To illustrate the point he told us about the time when Indians were making overtures towards the Germans to procure submarines from them and wanted more information about them. He said he had gone to have a haircut at a saloon in Bonn and there, whilst waiting for his turn, he was leafing through the magazines. Lo and behold he found all the information about the submarines in an article in a local magazine. That evening, after we entered Massawa, we must have caused a small flutter in international – relations, for, the entire Ganga wardroom landed up at the local saloon for a haircut.

As a young officer in Odessa

On Himgiri we had gone on a foreign visit to the Black Sea Soviet (now Ukranian) port of Odessa. In foreign ports, sailors generally go out in uniform whereas the officers may go out in civvies. But, so great was the fascination of the Soviet belles with uniform that we found that the sailors managed to make friends with the prettiest of them. As if that was not enough, to add insult to injury, on the second day of our stay when a reception was held on board for the local authorities and their ladies, one of the ladies enquired of us as to why there was no officer in the reception. It was difficult to get to the bottom of this because of language barrier and it took us sometime to unravel the mystery. Apparently, a day earlier one of the Petty Officers in uniform on shore leave, when asked as to why was there a distinction between some of us going out for ‘liberty’ (shore leave) in uniform and others in civvies had informed them that only they, the officers, with an anchor or two on their sleeves, were “permitted” to go out in uniform.

On duty in erstwhile Yugoslavian port of Split

During our trip to Athens we were ambling in the Constitution Square when a kind man came to us and asked if we were Indian. He said that he admired Indians and would like us to have drinks in the company of his fair-sex friends. The drinks were nice and the girls were nicer still. We talked about our great nations, our history and heritage, Taj Mahal, Delhi etc (amongst other things, that is) and really enjoyed ourselves. We were under-trainee Acting Sub Lieutenants on board. We were convinced that we were smarter, wittier, more interesting company; else, why would the girls be attracted to us as compared to our more senior colleagues from Himgiri? In our megalomaniac trance we did not know that the man who had invited us had quietly vanished and so had our seniors. Later, we were asked to pay an exorbitant bill for the drinks, and we had to part with our entire foreign allowance and more. We were the suckers who had fallen for the obvious ploy. When we returned on board we were ‘ceremoniously’ received with all the seniors lining the gangway and going through the motions of a mock side-pipe.

In Florence (Italy)

Such hoaxes and swindles during foreign jaunts are worth remembering. During one such trip we landed up at Colombo. In order to shop there we had to first convert our Indian rupees into local currency. Just as it happened in Athens, a kind hearted gentleman came and asked us to put our money in individual envelopes that he had brought, write the names and amounts on the sealed envelopes and then he’d go and get the requisite local currency. He took the envelopes from us only to make a list and then handed these back to us. We held on to these whilst he went on his errand. We were confident that this was totally safe since we had the envelopes with the money with us. As time passed and he did not return we reassured ourselves by feeling the envelopes containing our money. However, when he did not return even after one hour of wait we opened the envelopes and found that instead of our hard-earned money these contained newspaper strips. In the evening we narrated this incident, over drinks, to other officers in the wardroom and they made fun of us for not being observant and cautious. The next day the lot to whom we had told the story also lost their money in like manner.

But, of all the incidents during foreign trips, this one takes the cake. Whilst walking in one of the ports, knowing that the locals would not know our language, that is, Punjabi, one officer

Crossing the English Channel

would accost the lovely damsels with the naughty Punjabi line: “D--- ke thane jaana?” (Are you willing or should I take you to Thana, that is, Police Station). The damsels, not understanding the question or its import would just smile at him and walk away and all of us would burst in cackles. However, when he asked this of the most beautiful of the girls, she confronted him with, “Thane jaana”. He did not know where to look. That evening we had a reception on board and she happened to be the daughter of the Indian (and Punjabi) First Secretary. Our flamboyant Punjabi officer did the Mister India trick (many years before the movie was released) and tried to become invisible during the party.

Foreign trips or port calls or overseas deployments are great ones to showcase Indian technology, culture, greatness etc. These are occasions to make bridges of friendship across the oceans. However, what one remembers most about them are such snippets.

ANYTHING FOR ME?

          The Missile Boats, of the type that took part in our daring attack on Karachi in 1971, had a deadly punch of missiles. However, due to their low height of eye, they were many times poor in inter-ship communications, especially in comparison to larger Fleet ships. This often produced frustrating results. One of these is described here.

          For CinC’s farewell at sea, the Fleet Commander had got the combined strength of the Fleet and Flotilla (to which smaller boats like Missile Boats and Durgs belonged) with him. Whilst the Fleet ships had to do the traditional steam-past the mighty Vikrant with CinC embarked, the Flotilla ships were to approach Vikrant from ahead and fan out abreast of Vikrant in pairs on obtaining the crucial signal.

          This complex manoeuvre required coordination of extremely high order. To ensure proper command and control, the Fleet Communication Officer had tried to get all ships, big or small, on a common communication circuit. At this stage, a small Missile Boat (Let us call it MB One) was trying to establish communication with the Fleet Commander (Let us call it Flag), for example:

          “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over”

          And again: “Flag, this is MB One, Radio Check, over” with increasing urgency since the serial was about to start.

          I was on a newly commissioned Fleet ship and we could hear the repeated wails of MB One. Even though Flag had many times acknowledged the calls of MB One, the latter could not hear it. In the meantime the grand manoeuvre commenced and the communication operator on MB One must have been panicky that he had not established two-way communications.

          Before the Fleet ships’ planned steam-past, came the first of the Flotilla ships, the Durgs who were to fan out abreast of Vikrant, their ship’s companies calling out ‘Teen Jais’ to the CinC. One of the Durgs (Let us call it Durg Two) fanned out earlier than called for and that part of the grand manoeuvre looked shabby. The Fleet Commander could have waited to return to harbour to convey his displeasure; but, there is nothing like on-the-spot-dressing-down. So a signal was made on the common net, “Durg Two this is Flag, your stupidity has spoiled the whole show, over”.

          Meanwhile MB One was still trying, in vain, to net in, “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me? Over”.

          The ‘stupidity’ signal, not being in the proper signalese, completely flummoxed the operator on Durg Two, who asked for a repetition by the most commonly used words on the circuit during those days, “Flag, this is Durg Two, say again your last, over”.

          I am sure, Commanding Officer of Durg Two, if he had heard this on the speaker on his ship, as the rest of the Fleet did, would never have wanted such a signal to be repeated. But, now, the Flag operator had no choice. Hence, he tried again, “Durg Two, this is Flag, your STOO PEE DITTY has spoiled the whole show, over”.

          Meanwhile, MB One, getting a lot of crackling sound on the headset must have been in total panic, more so as his turn to perform similar manoeuvre was fast approaching. Hence, his “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over” had become agonisingly more desperate. At this stage, Durg One, to our amused horror, requested Flag to spell word after ‘your’.

          After this, the entire sequence, heard on my ship was:

          “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over”

          “Flag, this is Durg Two, say again all after ‘your’ and spell word after ‘your’”.

          “Flag, this is MB One, anything for me, over”

          “Durg Two, this is Flag, I say again my last: your STOO PEE DITTY, I spell, Sierra Tango Uniform Papa India Tango Yankee, STOO PEE DITTY, has spoiled the whole show, over”

          “Flag this is MB One” with alarm now since a long message had been made and he had missed it totally, “Anything for ME over”!

          They also serve who only stand and wait!