https://x.com/abhilashtomy/status/1964531573534970266 ---> Today is the birthday of one of the finest Admiral the Navy has seen. Plan a real whammy, he would say, not garden stuff.
And he always planned a real whammy. When Marshal Josip Broz Tito visited India, the Admiral, then a young officer, was appointed his aide-de-camp, touring the length and breadth of the country in a train. In return for the pleasure of his company, Josip Broz Tito gifted him an autographed Rolex, which he wore and promptly lost a few decades later. He was mistaken for Indian royalty when he rode a white horse through the streets of Basra one early morning, was reprimanded by Admiral Dawson for shifting his flag to a sailboat and rebuked by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi for riding to work in Delhi on horseback in full uniform. Yet it was the same Mrs. Gandhi who, years later, summoned him when a clerical error denied him the office of Chief of Naval Staff. She offered him any post he wished. He asked only for a cup of tea, mildly annoyed at being summoned for something so trivial.
Instead of a Governor’s post, he edited Cine Blitz, modelled for Digjam — much to his wife’s despair — and became a director in Tolani Shipping. He wandered into forests to count tigers, politely declined the job of Conservator of the Serengeti Game Reserve, and chastised serving admirals with a wit that cut sharper than any sword: “Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs.”
He told me that his ancestors had served the kings of Rajasthan, that there was a Kaiser-e-Hind in his family, and that his father, an ICS officer, had been the Mayor of Mumbai. He carried on those traditions in 1971 when he was called upon to operate within enemy waters. Dodging mines and submarines, he captured three ships and possibly sank a submarine after pressing home an attack with great vigour. Yet when the government granted him land for his Vir Chakra after the ’71 war, he turned away from Pune, unimpressed with a plot near a film star’s mansion, choosing an unglamorous corner of Vinchurni where he built a grand library, carving out a tiny home for himself in its spare space, because a man of imagination needs space to think, not a palace to dust.
He loved cars. Once, on a drive to Goa, he staged a mutiny, seized the wheel, and matched the car’s speed to his age, roaring at every reckless driver with that immortal line: “Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs.” Even illness could not rob him of wit. Once I found him in the hospital chatting to a doctor who asked him which year he was born. "1921", he answered. The young man replied: “Sir, do you know Bhagat Singh?” The Admiral laughed — and in that laugh was the weight of a century… and perhaps the faint hint that he might be plotting to take over the hospital trolley next.
His greatest legacy was perhaps not in the battlefield, but in the field of adventure. Denied the chance to see action in the Second World War, he found solace in a book he bought at Charing Cross: Joshua Slocum’s Sailing Alone Around the World. That simple act lit a spark. He then set out to plan a real whammy, not garden stuff. Sixty years later, that spark became the flame for not one but five circumnavigations. This, I believe, was his true achievement — not in what he claimed for himself, but in what he awakened in others. His was the voice that whispered to me to bash on regardless in the coldest and windiest storm.
Happy birthday, Admiral!
