Ahaa! Found the one about which I was talking about in my previous post.
Full credit goes to RayC Sir.
RayC wrote:
The English language has always been a problem with Indians.
Indians think they know the language, but then in actuality because of over confidence and a meagre grasp of the language, it lands them in a lot of hot water.
There could be no better example than what happened when I was a Battalion Commander in 1991 in the National Defence Academy {NDA} , Kharakvasla. [NDA is where cadets of the three service train for the first three years].
Though the appointment Battalion Commander appears impressive, it is actually a sinecure.
There was hardly much official work that could have kept me busy. The actual interactive level with the cadets was at the Divisional Officer level. The Divisional Officers were youngsters of the rank of Captain of the Indian Army and its equivalent of the other Services. Between the Divisional Officer and the Battalion Commander was the Squadron Commander, an officer of the rank of Major and its equivalents, who looked after the Squadron. Under his command were three Divisional Officers.
I was the No 2 Battalion Commander.
This story is about an infamous squadron called Hunter Squadron. The name Hunter has no connection with the underlining theme of the story. In actuality, it was H Squadron. For radiotelephony clarity over the atmospheric static, internationally, all alphabets have a phonetic identity for clarity. In radio telephony, H was Hunter. Whether they were hunter or hunted or not, only the NDA chaps can tell. I emphasise this because it is a story about a cadet's wonderful posterior.
That being the background, lets get on with the story of the Cadet and the Posterior.
There was this cadet who otherwise was an excellent lad. However, like all humans he had made a mistake. The mistake was not serious, but then the Army can make the smallest of mistakes look awfully serious, depending on how the next person up the channel views it. Very subjective, but then that is how, unfortunately, the army runs. That is why civilians, the world over, feel that the Army is peopled by Colonel Blimps and chaps recruited from lunatic asylums!
The Deputy Commandant of the NDA was Major General RKM. He was very officious, though a good-hearted man. The good General had a booming voice. That made his demeanour even more self-important. He was a stickler for rules and demanded absolute discipline.
Now, this cadet has committed the cardinal sin of skipping off to Pune without liberty [naval term denoting sanction to go to town]. It was a military sin no doubt, but it did not warrant being marched up to the Deputy Commandant. Marching Up to the Deputy meant a minimum of 14 days restrictions. This involved reporting behind the Sudan Block in FSMO [a heavy and cumbersome rig] at prescribed times, the last being at 2200 hours with an hour of afternoon punishment on the Drill Square. It also meant ruining of one's record and consequently a poor order of merit during passing out or even relegation! Relegation meant losing six months.
To my mind, the cardinal sin was not the skipping, but being caught by the Deputy himself and, more importantly, trying to gyp the Deputy. The Deputy was from the Rajputana Rifles Regiment, but originally was an Artilleryman; the latter call themselves as Gunners with much brouhaha and unconcealed glee and pride. The Gunners, also had this motto, Once a Gunner, Always a Gunner. Absurd, but anything can be expected of Gunners. Thus, in spite of being an Infantryman, he actually was a dyed in wool Artilleryman. One may wonder what's so great about it. Well, actually Gunners, since they fire artillery shells in the indirect mode and at long ranges with the help of mathematical tables [they cannot see the infantry they are supporting] have to be very precision oriented and thereby they are very hide bound because accidents meant lives lost and a court martial. Thus, the Deputy was a strict bloke and to him rules were rules. Interpretation of such rules could cost lives, lives like that of this poor cadet in question!!!
Before a cadet is marched up to the Deputy, it was incumbent on the Battalion Commander to check the Cadet's dossier.
I called for the dossier from H Squadron. The dossier came. I read it carefully. I was astounded!
The cadet had an impeccable record, but the dossier had one entry endorsed as the cadet has an excellent posterior. Posterior? Now, that was real odd, Hunter Squadron or otherwise. In the US Army the rule was ask not, tell not. In the Indian Army such things do not exist because we are straight-laced and yet the Divisional Officer was being a trifle explicit. I believe in democracy, but this was taking things too far.
I called for the Squadron Commander. He was a chap from the Deccan Horse called Major W, son of a Major General; not that it is a sin to be a son of a Major General.
Major W came in with the complete swagger and shake that only an Armoured Corps chap [tank chaps] alone can do. I was duly impressed. However, I was on pigs back since the North Indians and Americans from the Stateside, in spite of all the supercilious superiority, arent too hot in English. I knew while Major W was quite good at spoken English, the written word in this foreign language English, was not his forte or cup of tea.
"Major W, Cadet X is to be marched up to the Deputy. I have gone through his dossier. How is it written that the boy has a good posterior?"
"He is an excellent chap, sir. He is a Squadron Cadet Captain [top gun] material. Indeed, sir, I can personally vouch that he does have a wonderful posterior"Major W confidently answered, giving his left leg a swerve in a 45 degree angle and plonking it on the carpet as would a horse suffering from a bout of serious colic.
I wasnt impressed. He could not browbeat me, even if he were an Armoured Corps chap or a superiority assuming Punjabi. He was possibly under the fond delusion that we, Bengalis, were docile, non-martial and were perpetually petrified of Sardarjis, as we maybe of ferocious animals in the Alipore Zoo . He didnt know that I was the Royal Bengal Tiger.
Do you know the meaning of posterior, Major W? I asked him still rather incredulous.
"Of course, sir. Anyone who has learnt English would know", Major W answered most patronisingly. His confidence startled me, Bengal Tiger or no Bengal Tiger that I thought I was.
This was indeed becoming a queer situation.
"I find that the Divisional Officer has endorsed this remark. Please call for him"I saidsince I wanted to get to the bottom. I couldnt let this type of a queer situation get queerer any further.
The Divisional Officer was a naval chap. They wear half pants. I find this exceeding obscene, especially if they have legs that are more hairy than a Grizzly bear. In winters, one can put on a blanket at night, but you surely cannot carry a blanket in the office on your legs, even if it is only human hair and God given. This naval chap was hairy and funnily, the hair was like the quills on the back of a porcupine. With lot of difficulty, I tore myself from the pastime of imagining what animal his hair on the legs resembled
The naval bloke gave me that naval salute where the hand flips towards Mother Earth in homage! They take pagan rituals too seriously about worshipping Nature.
"Ah ha, old chap" I said cheerily. After all, if his inclination was what he had endorsed on the dossier was anything to go by, it was better to keep this guy on the correct side . Up front and across the table.
"This dossier you have endorsed on Cadet X states that he has a good posterior" I said with a condescending smirk as if to say Gotcha in an official way.
"Yes sir, he has an excellent posterior. I assure you, sir, about the authenticity" said this naval Divisional Officer.
I was incredulous. This man appeared to be a queer!
"Thats wonderful. Pray, where have you seen this Cadets wonderful posterior?" I queried. To be truthful, I was quite intrigued by this time. Both the Squadron Commander and the Divisional Officer had seen it and here was I, the Battalion Commander, deprived of the privilege! The Deputy wouldnt like this. It was poor command and control on my part, the Deputy would deem. Unforgivable indeed!
"I saw it on the Drill Square. Not once, but repeatedly"said the naval bloke with his confidence soaring by the minute.
"Drill Square?" I asked, "Do you know the meaning of posterior? If what you are saying about having seen his posterior repeatedly, may I request you not to indicate your inclination so openly and in writing? Cant have personal experiences in the official realm, can we?" I thundered as if I were Thor, the God of Lightning and Thunder himself.
This whole incident by then had got my goat. I had to put a stop to all this nonsense. I opened the dictionary to the word posterior and showed them.
Both went red in the face and were immensely embarrassed. Inter alia, the dictionary indicated that it meant buttocks; not to be mistaken for the buttocks that Baldev Singh, Indias first Defence Minister had seen in London. (Buttocks means ducks in Hindi).
"Sorry, sir, what I meant was posture. In Drill that is an important factor" said the naval Divisional Officer defensively.
That I know. No matter how wonderful a posterior the Cadet might have, and no matter how many times you have seen the same on the drill square and no matter what your inclination might me, please follow the US way “ Ask not, tell not¦and further, write not. Just be Bapu ke bandars (Bapu ke bandar = three monkeys who see no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil).
That stern caution ended the sordid mystery of the Cadet and his excellent posterior.
The Cadet was marched up to the Deputy. I was able to save him from the worst when he was marched up to the Deputy. Yes sir, the Cadet was saved. His posterior was saved!
I wonder if the Deputy, too, had second thoughts because the cadet had a wonderful posterior! Once a Gunner, always a Gunner, as the Artillery saying goes!
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