THE MOVING MEDICAL MIRACLES

I had gone to Bhopal on a short stint of leave.

The Corps HQ was located in Bhopal. The Corps Commander knew me and so he called me over to his office for a cup of tea and chat.

At the appointed hour, I was ushered into the hallowed chambers of the Corps Commander. I was quite apprehensive, not because he was a very senior officer, but because he had a very odd and cutting sense of humour. Therefore, while I may have been delighted to have the Corps Commander calling me for just a chat, as his Colonel Military Secretary put it, I was a trifle apprehensive that this chat would be an exercise in dripping sarcasm of some omission or commission that I may have inadvertently done or not done in my official or unofficial capacity.

The Corps Commander was most cordial. Coffee was served and he actually was doing small talk about life in general including a gentle reminder of the dinner my wife and I were to attend at his place at 8 PM Indian Standard Time and not Indian Stretchable Time. He continued to chat with the serenity and deadpan of a Chinese Buddha. The emotions of the Indian Buddha, in comparison, could at least be discerned. Therefore, it was difficult to gauge the Corps Commander's thought or his physical state.

As I was trying to gauge the Corps Commander, he gave a deep sigh. It was as if he was immensely tired and that the onerous task of heading the large Corps was wearing him down. It was surprising since nothing could ever wear him down. He was reputed to be the coolest cat amongst senior officers because he sincerely believed in one theory i.e. if you don't have wings, then why flap ?

Thus, the deep sigh, was extraordinary; and that too coming from such a person who could go off to sleep during moments of serious business and when asked if he was sleeping, he could calmly state that he was merely meditating, the soft snore being only a metaphysical clash of temple bells with the wail of a conch shell in the truest tradition of the Indian Puja rituals.

Therefore, I was forced to venture, "Not feeling well, sir?"

"How did you guess it?"

"I didn't guess it, sir. You don't look under the weather and so I am surprised that you proffered such a deep sigh".�

"Thank God it was only a sigh. Air can pass through many orifices. By the way Roy, do you know why most of the Major Generals who have just relinquished command like your Divisional Commander [GOC] will become Lieutenant Generals next year?"

This was a real extraordinary bit of news. Even though I was rather fond of my erstwhile GOC, Major General SP, but such a quick promotion was hierarchically extraordinary. And anyway, the rapid promotion of my GOC had not the remotest connection with any illness of the Corps Commander even if the Corps Commander was not at his pinkest best in health.

My brows had wrinkled querulously.

The Corps Commander continued, "I reckon the quick promotion is the order of the day. After all, all Corps Commanders are moving medical miracles and should actually be medically boarded out and be shown the door".

I was aghast.

If all Corps Commanders were medically unfit and sick, then why have they been promoted? Also, how come all the present Corps Commanders were a sick bunch? It was indeed a most unusual coincidence!

"If I may ask, sir, how come that all the Corps Commanders are a sick lot?"

"Roy, it is like this. Not only are the present Corps Commanders a sick lot, all Corps Commanders, Army Commanders and Chiefs throughout history, like all in high offices in all facets of professional life are or were a sick lot".

Now, the musing of the Corps Commander was indeed getting amusingly crazier. Ramblings of a genius on the thin red line of sanity?

"Extraordinary. Would you care to amplify, sir?" Remember, one cannot ask senior officers to explain. They only 'amplified' after the junior made a "submission".

"It is like this, Roy. All Corps Commanders, like all senior officers in government service, have no spine. Further, they have no guts. Their hearts are similar to that of the chicken and thus chicken hearted, but what is just not acceptable is that they suffer from meningitis".

Meningitis? Collective meningitis?

"Meningitis, sir?"

"Yes, Roy, they all have swollen heads!"

That really floored me.

You can't beat the General in macabre wit!

FOREWORD

Many would pick up this book for its queer title – Rum, Bum and Mouthorgan [Harmonica]!

The title is indeed thought provoking. However, the rationale lies in the fact that the Armoured Corps or the Tank boys, the world over, are the ‘glamour boys’ of the Army. They are associated with Wine, Women and Song. We, the poor bloody Infantrymen [PBI] as we are called, are on the other extreme side of the social and worldly spectrum. We have to make good with just Rum, Bum and Mouthorgan [naturally, in a metaphoric way]. And, I am an Infantryman! Thus, the title of the book.

I have had a chequered career in the Indian Army. There can be no better a profession, or, as I would like to remember, a calling. The Army is a fabulous organisation. It works 24 hours of the day. Yet, we can squeeze in a round of golf [the senior ones] or a game of basketball with the troops [the younger lot] in between. That not being all, we have to be still our chirpy best when doing the rounds of a social evening; or when going through the dreaded regimen of a dinner night, where one can hardly eat lest the clatter of the cutlery ordains a hoofed out exit as it would be blasphemous to the protocols of the voodoo rites involved in a dinner night that was bequeathed to us by the pagans of the dreary, wet and foggy island of Rani Liz, nestling between the spud eaters [Irish] and the frogs [French].

There is a misconception that being disciplined is to be in a straightjacket. The Army is not a lunatic asylum. It is merely a gathering of intelligent folks, brainwashed into believing that the senior [Boss?] is ALWAYS RIGHT. I say that with authority since I have a rather long innings in this organisation. There is also an Archie’s poster that, with mathematical logic, analysis and precision, concludes that the Boss is but only the human orifice that is used daily every morning to emit bodily waste. There maybe truism of this adage. The Army Bosses, however, don’t think so. And, in the rank that I retired, I qualified as a Boss. However, I reckon all Bosses in all fields of life would agree with the Army Bosses, since they too qualify hook, line and sinker. Ask any subordinate.

I have a funny bone. An eye and a penchant for the ludicrous is my forte. That’s why I have this ‘affinity’ for the Bosses of the Army. My Bosses have not always appreciated this ‘affinity’. Therefore, it is not surprising they feature more regularly in this book. Lest I forget, I must mention that this Book is a collection of the funny side of the Army, as I saw it. I have enjoyed its funny environment where all are kept on a tight leash by hilarious principles of ‘I am the Lord of Tartary’ and ‘Sir Oracle’ lent a hand by the funniest law of the century called the Army Act where a person can be dismissed just because the President is ‘displeased’ and no reasons assigned why he took umbrage! Lest the reader misunderstands, I have retired honourably and claim the rare privilege and possibly the only one in the Army to claim that in all ranks I saw combat in some form or the other!

These stories are true stories. The names have been changed. It is not to protect the identity of the characters involved, but to protect myself from their wrath. Can’t face the wrath of the enraged. Remember, we can’t let them have the last laugh with their invoking the funniest of law of the century, the Army Act, can we? After all, the senior is always right.

The senior is always right. This, in itself, is weird. Biologically, the brain cells wither, as one grows old. However, in the Army, the brains cells grow with age to such an extent that civilians associate this phenomenon as ‘fat head’ with a touch of meningitis [swollen cranium].

To the Army reader, I tender my apologies in case some of the detailed explanations of army’s pagan rituals, customs and drill encourage a yawn. These are for the general public who will be regaled with our rites that make the Klu Klux Klan customs appear Kindergarten material. Remember, they also serve who stand and wait…..for the next War to be shown on the TV! Remember Kargil?

I thank all those who have helped me with this book, especially the characters in the stories and Bill Gates for his Microsoft office. But for them, this Book would not have happened. I also thank my parents [for not counselling me on other professions that I could have undertaken and thereby losing out on a better hilarious platform than the circus or the IAS [Indian Administrative Service or ‘I am Sorry’ Service] or the best platform – politics!], my wife [for not nagging], my children [for not being pains and keeping me busy with their homework and thereby making me not see the humorous side of life] and the Indian Army itself. Without them, I would have been a ‘nobody’. I also thank my countless juniors who were subjected to read my stories under duress and also the publisher for his courage to extend Bush’s war on terrorism! I thank you, my reader, for glancing through this book without buying and my gratitude to those who have actually bought this book with their hard earned money!

I wish you, my reader, Happy reading. Tighten your seat belt and watch your stomach. Either you will throw up or your stomach would be wobbling like jelly custard with mirth!

THE QUARTERMASTER AND THE BONDAS (Indian Savoury)

This story was told to me when I joined the unit that I commanded.

The unit was located in Naushera in J&K and was deployed on the hill sector along the Line of Control.

The Corps Commander was visiting the unit. This was not a normal event since Corps Commanders are very senior officers and three levels above the unit level.

Army, being over-reactive about their hierarchical pecking order, such events ‘traumatised’ the protocol infrastructure and each level of command took hyperactive personal interest in ensuring that the visit went off flawless. None wanted their heads to roll. Each level of the hierarchy ensured so by checking, re-checking and re-rechecking ad inifitum right down to the ground level that all contingencies had been catered for and nothing was overlooked. In short, such visits were a torment to those being visited. Interestingly, Parkinson’s Law always, without fail, did not fail to apply itself during such visits!

On the momentous day, every aspect of the visit of the Corps Commander to the unit was picture perfect. However, Parkinson’s Law, right as rain, applied itself. The Corps Commander, who was to arrive at the unit Tactical HQ by helicopter, could not do so as the weather was foul. Hence, he landed at the Divisional HQ and was driving down to the unit. The drive would take about two hours and so there was ample time to react.

Everything had been catered for. However, what supposing the Corps Commander wanted to ‘wash his hands’, after the two hour journey, at the unit Base before commencing the ride up the hill to the Tactical HQ?

The Commanding Officer {CO} was a man of details and this aspect was bothering him intensely. He was a person who liked preciseness. He wasn’t at all comfortable or happy about the departure from the set-piece programme of the Corps Commander with this driving down instead of landing by helicopter at the unit Tactical HQ.

The Quartermaster {QM} was at the Base. He was a pleasant, happy go lucky, rotund young officer with a bagful of initiative and a ‘never say die’ attitude. The CO rang him up and told him to ensure that the Officers’ Mess, at the Base, was shipshape, the toilet spankingly clean and to keep a safaiwala [janitor] ready at a moment’s notice in the vicinity. And of course, some light refreshments were to be at hand that could be served so that the Corps Commander knew that the unit was ‘on the ball’. Having ordered so, the CO went back to the practising of his Briefing for the 189th time!

Parkinson’s Law didn’t apply this time. The Corps Commander stopped at the Base to ‘wash his hands’. There was the usual hustle and bustle of his personal staff, the Divisional and Brigade HQs staff who were accompanying and the Mess staff including the QM. They followed the Corps Commander towards the Mess as if being pulled by the vacuum created in his wake! It is only in the Army that a VIP relieving himself by answering nature’s call is given the reverence normally associated with an event of national importance!

The Corps Commander entered the Mess. He looked at the QM and gave a shake of the leg as if shaking a boisterous housefly off the trouser. Bending at 80 degrees to the perpendicular, the Corps Commander wiggled his little finger of the left hand as if seized by an involuntary twitch and said “Which a-way to the Loo, old boy?�

The QM had never ever had the good fortune of a Corps Commander speaking to him. He was awe struck! He thought that he too had to answer in a fancy way and so he said, “That a-way sir’ and before he could copy the Corps Commander’s leg shake which he thought would be appropriate, the Corps Commander, fortunately for all, was on his way.

The Divisional Commander [next in the hierarchy] was taken aback by what he thought was the cheek of this junior officer to copy the Corps Commander’s syntax. He would have been hopping wild had he realised that the QM had attempted the Corps Commander’s leg shake. To him it appeared as if the QM had slipped on the water that had by then settled on the linoleum from the clothes of the various personalities [who were wet from the light drizzle] crowding the alley leading to the ‘Men’s’.

The Corps Commander had moved into the ‘Men’s’. The Divisional Commander decided to have another ‘dekko’ at the arrangements. He stood aghast as his eyes laid on the savouries to be offered to the Corps Commander.

“Bondas?� he asked querulously and fixed a horribly immobile stare on the QM, who was beaming with delight that the Divisional Commander had observed the savoury that he had had prepared for them.

“Bondas?� echoed the Brigade Commander peevishly on cue as did any other officer worth his salt. All were aghast and all spoke in unison, so much so, the statement resounded like the Onida Bass Surround TV. It was a different matter that they did not understand why the Divisional Commander was horrified and grouchy at the sight of Bondas.

“Are you aware that the Corps Commander is an Armoured Corps chap? ……and you have the temerity to offer Indian savouries and that too the type that would be found in a cheap halwai’s [sweetmeat vendor] shop?�, bellowed the Divisional Commander, a decibel lower that what would reach the ‘Men’s’ where the Corps Commander apparently had nestled.

“Yes sir. I know that the Corps Commander is an Armoured Corps officer and they are reputed to prefer crumpets and strawberry in cream with their tea. However, sir, I don’t know how to make them and also, sir, what could be better than hot hot bondas on a rainy day like today?� the QM said with a radiant smile that annoyed the Divisional Commander no end and even more, the Brigade Commander.

“Bakwaas [Tommy rot]. You village bumkin. You are the biggest idiot I have seen. A rum ball with a hot rum punch would have fitted the occasion and the weather; not these stupid, smelly, oily [he was spluttering in anger and had apparently run out of adjectives] bondas. Have you seen the size of the bondas? They are as fat and big as you are. How can he put them ever so gently in the mouth? You have no sophistication. You are a real rustic!� the Divisional Commander thundered. He, it appeared, was by now immensely inflamed and frothing at the mouth.

The QM cringed. However, Divine intervention saved him from a further berating. The Corps Commander had emerged from the ‘Loo’ and was looking definitely much relieved. He seemed to be in the best of moods and was genially smiling as he emerged.

His eyes fell on the Bondas. The Divisional Commander and his ‘faithful echoes’ froze!

The Corps Commander took two steps towards the Bondas and stopped abruptly, practically screeching to a halt! A cold shiver went down the spine of the Divisional Commander.

“Ah, sir…….� and whatever the Divisional Commander wanted to say was drowned in the shriek that emanated from the Corps Commander. All froze with fear – waiting anxiously for the Corps Commander’s inevitable indignation that was expected at this spread.

The Corps Commander pounced towards the table in what appeared a leap…. swiped the largest Bonda……. bit a massive chunk….. and literally gloated, more like a cat which had filched a platter of milk.

“What a capital idea! Hot hot Bondas on a rainy day. Well done and well thought of, old boy�, the Corps Commander was definitely rapturous as his gaze twinkled towards the QM.

The Divisional Commander and his gang emulated the Corps Commander’s leap, swiped the Bondas, and echoed, “A wonderful idea indeed, sir�. They too beamed but definitely not towards the QM.

The broadest smile was on the QM’s face.

He had had the last laugh and damn the strawberries, cream, and crumpets!

I've just searched Amazon UK for Rum, Bum and Mouthorgan. No record. Any idea where I may obtain a copy?

Originally Posted by OldRedCap

I've just searched Amazon UK for Rum, Bum and Mouthorgan. No record. Any idea where I may obtain a copy?

I am the author.

It is still not published.

I was putting in some of the stories to get a feedback from you all so that I could get an international cross section of comments.

Thank you for your interest.

Your interest and the comment from Polar 69 for the Kargil War story is all that I got, but wasn't enough to set me going.

Polar I believe is looking for his elastic corset, though I wonder if men wear corsets. Maybe the Armoured Corps!

My concern was that since the modern British Army is not conversant with the ethos of the Indian Army, comments are not forthcoming and that the stories, thus, were boring for them.

Do give your honest opinions since that would help and for which I would be obliged.

Thanks.

Regards

Ray

Hmm I thought they were interesting. Perhaps you have started a new Genre of writing - the Hanif Kurishi of Military anecdotes. Its a mild shock to read about an army where they have possibly more than one Corps Commander....

Originally Posted by Pteranadon

Hmm I thought they were interesting. Perhaps you have started a new Genre of writing - the Hanif Kurishi of Military anecdotes. Its a mild shock to read about an army where they have possibly more than one Corps Commander....

Why the shock?

BTW, I have the penchant to look at the oddity of any situation.

We have quite a few Corps Comanders.

And these are real life stories.

Thank you for your comment.

THE CORPS COMMANDER AND THE GASPING FISH

The Corps Commander had come from his HQ in Bhopal to be ‘in situ’ for the Army Commander, who was visiting our Division, for the first time.

As per the custom, a cocktail was organised in the Divisional Officers’ Mess to host the Army Commander and his wife. The Divisional Officers had been called and about 40 odd individuals and their wives were ‘gracing’ the occasion.

The Corps Commander arrived about five minutes before the Army Commander since protocol expected that he arrived before the Army Commander, who was, as per the Army pecking order, senior.

We received him and the General Officer Commanding {GOC} asked me to escort him to the lawn where the remainder guests were. I was the second senior most officer of the Division and so I was expected to ‘look after’ him. The Corps Commander had not come with his wife since she was away in Pune.

I got him a Campa Cola since he did not drink, which he immediately put it on a side table. It was a most unusual action. Observing my unease, the Corps Commander informed that he had put the Cola ‘off the automatic’ ’.

A Cola off the automatic? How crazier can the world get?

“Didn’t get that?� the Corps Commander queried. Not waiting for a reply he continued, “It’s the Ali Baba ‘khulja sim sim ’ (Open Sesame) syndrome that afflicts my Colas whenever I finish it in a hurry! No sooner I have finished one, another one appears with the waiter. How many Colas can I drink in an evening?� That was true. There is always a waiter who looks after the VIPs and an officer is always most obtrusively around to ensure that their glasses are always ‘charged’.

The Corps Commander’s attention was engaged by the many officers who surrounded him. I, therefore, moved off to see that the other guests were also being looked after, since I was also the ex officio Chairman of the Mess Committee and hence the organiser of the ‘show’.

After some time, having seen that the others were being looked after, I returned to see how the Corps Commander was faring. His Campa Cola still adorned the side table some distance away from where he was surrounded by his ‘fans’. They were talking while the Corps Commander, who was a man of few words, listened with his characteristic deadpan sage-like expression.

Seeing me, he beamed. It was the same dazzling beam as would Rapunzel, locked up in the tower, on seeing the Prince, who had come to rescue her, have beamed.

“Roy, just come here.� Obviously I went.

“You know chaps�, he told the rest of the gathering around him, “Roy is the guy who has ensured that all offices in the Divisional HQ have an aquarium. His GOC was giving me some theory of Japan that Roy must have confused him with – that it relieved stress because of the mobility of fish in the water and things like that.�

I felt uncomfortable with what he was saying. The Corps Commander had a weird sense of humour. It was always ‘loaded’ with ‘inner’ and not often comfortable meanings. Therefore, my tentacles were up.

I listened more carefully.

“I, too, like fish, but not to relieve the stress that seems to build up in this Division�, the Corps Commander continued….. “I like the fish because they keep opening their mouth and closing them.�

“Really. Sir?� chimed the coterie around him in total awe, as if the Corps Commander had cast pearls before swine.

“Yes. They are my favourite……..because the gasping fish are the only unusual creatures amongst God’s Creations including humans and Army officers. They are the only ones who open and close their mouth………… and don’t ask for either a favour or for money!�

That really left the fawning fans around him gasping…… not unlike the fish in the aquarium!

Rayc, I like your stories very much. They are filled with good humour and the characters and situations feel familiar but strange at the same time. No doubt there is a lot of common heritage at work here. I am reminded of John Masters' book 'Bugles and a Tiger' and George MacDonald Fraser's stuff about soldiering in India. Your stories approach the same thing from a different and refreshing point of view.

I would make two suggestions: make sure you do not sell your comrades short by only portraying them as amusing chancers and, if you would like to publish, get yourself a sympathetic editor and listen to what he or she has to say.

But anyway, good show! To be so Creative is a rare achievement.

My only concern here is that these stories must surely have a limited appeal - it is only guys "like us" who would appreciate them. That might be further reduced by need to have associated with "Staff" to fully understand. Guy I knew had similar problem which he solved by having his published by subscription. Those of us who supported him paid less than bookshop price but slightly more than cost. This funded book for each of us plus some to go public - he then got a publisher on board when the public ones sold well.
If so - put me down for one!