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The National Cadet Corps Memories of a Stephanian
cadet -
Kalyan Bose ,Senior Stephanian (1954-59)
Dusk was fast settling in the tall mango trees, surrounding the grove,
where we had set up tents for the annual NCC camp. The cold Delhi
winter would very soon set into the darkness that was engulfing the
site. Some of us were going around gathering wood to build a log fire
around which we would sit, sing and play pranks. A day later, we would
be required to pull up the tents, level the place, close up the pits
that had been dug to build temporary field lavatories. Another yearly
NCC Camp would soon end. There was, however, a lot of fun, yet to
be had and all of us were keen to get started with it. Life was too
short to miss out on any opportunity.In the early 50s when I went to College, the numbers were small and
almost everyone knew each other. In addition to the classes and tutorials
one was supposed to attend, there were two options one could exercise.
You enrolled for the Social Service League, and did some community
work with the Rev. Jarvis, Canon Capron or Mr. Ian Shankland, else
one could exercise the other option of the National Cadet Corps, with
Dr. Arya, then a rookie lecturer, as the head.The NCC was the nearest we would ever get to the life of guns and
cannon. For many of us, particularly me, the idea of being able to
fire a Second World War vintage rifle was one of the Cadet Corps's
greatest promise and attraction.
One hot afternoon, in July 1954, I along with a few other
freshers, found ourselves lined up outside Allnutt court, with the formidable
combination of Honorary Capt. Dr. V. Arya, Sgt. Matthew Thomas (later
to become Senior Under Officer), Corporals Shankar Ghose and Late
Ronojit Khanna (both subsequently became Sergeants), noting the names
of all those who had 'volunteered' to join. Very soon, we realized
that the decision we had just 'volunteered' was now irrevocable and
there was no turning back.
Options were given, the Army and the Air Force Wings being the two.
While most of us stayed close to the land, three, the late Suku-Shankar's
Weekly-Nair, the late Gurpreet Singh Ahluwalia and Kalan-Great Rayman
Circus-Padmanabhan, chose the Air Wing .A few days later, we were issued the uniforms we were supposed to
wear: khakis from socks to berets, with an olive green brass enclosed
belt, black ankle boots- all previously worn. When I proudly took
my uniform home, my mother was horrified, at the thought of her son
having to wear some discarded clothes. She even aired doubts about
these having been taken off some soldier who had died in battle. I
assured her that there were neither blood nor bullet marks and it
was only a senior Stephanian from whom I had inherited them. These
pieces of clothes needed a great deal of trading, since they were
issued on a first-come-first-served basis. I had to change my boots
with someone to get a size that fitted me somewhat. I remember Ranning
Geeda, the breadth of whose feet was probably a shade bigger than
the length of mine, trying to locate a set of clothes that would fit
him. He succeeded.When I look back these nearly fifty years, I think of the small band
of Stephs, who could not even muster a team large enough to stay as
an unit and had to be, alas, merged with the unit of Commerce College;
who have stayed so close after so many years. Is it the usual
esprit de corps of Stephania or did the Cadet Corps contribute anything
to it? I think the NCC had definitely a role.
In my normal stay at College I would have never been so close to people
like Prof. Arya whose classes of Hindi I did not have to attend, having
(ahem) got a distinction in that subject in the Senior Cambridge exams
I had passed to enter St. Stephen's. I would not have known the few
from Commerce College, like Subhash Sondhi, whom I still keep meeting.
I would never have gone camping with the boys, like we were made to
do during the winter months in the periphery of then Delhi, which
are now within the City limits. These camps built a strong bond and
some equally strong friendship.
Two camps were held in the years we spent in the NCC. One at what
is referred today as Andheria More. Parts of the mango gardens still
exist today, but most of it is gone. We were somewhere near, where
The Pyramids stood, till recently demolished. We were made to walk
to this Camp, all the way from Red Fort and when we got there in the
evening, we were ready to drop dead. We had to fix the tents, sort
our beddings, before any other thought. Next morning was parade and
during the duration of the Camp, we would march the roads, that today
lead to Gurgaon or to Vasant Kunj. In the winter of 1954, they were
many miles away from our place of usual activity and any thing that
was beyond Qutab Minar was far indeed. The next camp was at a site,
what are the Tilpat Ranges today. The usual walk, the same fun for
a week. One did not mind the sleeping on the floor, even in the bitter
Delhi winters. The food, even the one at Bara Khana was overcooked.
Drinking tea in large enameled mugs was great fun. An odd ruse, brought
from home; which had survived the first days' hunger, were dunked
in the hot sweet tea, a succour, eagerly awaited, after having to
plaster the floors and periphery of the tent every morning with a
liquid mixture of clay and, we suspect, some cow manure. This exercise
was mandatory and left the palms and fingers totally numb.
I am aware, the NCC days are almost half a century away; but a surprising number of the people who 'served' together are not
there any more. The first to leave was probably Pradip Sehgal, a close
friend. I had not met him for many years, till I heard he was no more.
Suku Nair, I had lost touch with him, when I went off to Calcutta
to start working for Tatas, was next. I heard about him a few months
after it happened. Then it was Ronojit. He had dropped into my office
at Bombay where we chatted for a while. The next thing I heard was
of his death. I had known Ronojeet from my childhood, from
Daryaganj. His mother had taught me. Our sisters were friends. I had a close
long bond with him. Gurpreet, who studied in the same class; I played
hockey with him and under him; joined the Air Force, left and joined
a helicopter spraying outfit His chopper got entangled in a wire;
some farmers had illegally strung across the field and which was not
supposed to be there. I had not met Gurpreet for a few years before
that. Gurpreet was one of the most outstanding Stephanians of his
time. A great sportsman, a superb human being, one who went through
life, playing it by the Queensbury rules. Raju's going was particularly
painful to see. His was the one of all these, I was most closely involved
with. We met often. I remember a few days; we spent, many years back,
in London, where he was accompanying the then Health Minister. He
was working then as the Minister's Special Assistant. I was there
on work and we met up two evenings. We were in touch regularly and
I spent some painful days next to his bedside, till one of Man's greatest
scourges, Cancer, got the better of his tremendous spirit.
None of these were at the age, when they should have gone. Raju was the oldest - in his fifties. Others went in their thirties
and forties. The world would have been richer for many years with
their association; but I am sure, they are contributing just as well
elsewhere. Without NCC, I probably would never have known these people,
as closely as I did.
On the greatly credit side, of the friends who were together, I still see a lot of Shankar Ghose, Harsh (yes your Prof. Harsh Kumar),
Sandeep Dutta, Shoki Bhatia, Ashok Nehru, Teddy Laroia, Ranjan Roy
and a few others. When we talk of old times, the NCC features in it
sometimes. Those were happy days. The NCC also played a great team-building
role. It helped us in getting close to a class of people; we had,
and continue to know, extremely superficially: people like the
Sepoys, Havildars and Subedars in the Army, a section from a class of society
a Stephanian would have rarely rubbed shoulders with. Not only did
we do it; we even accepted them as our teachers and instructors. Most
of us, for the first time, worked with our hands, slept on the floors,
swept drains clean, used open pit lavatories, with others in just
the same way as we had clean European toilets all our lives. For the
first time, I lined up in a queue, to get myself served for food,
instead of being attended to at the table. I had never swept floors
or applied clay and cow dung to the floor, which all of us did. All
these were tremendous levelers, at a time, when lineage, family and
social status had a much different connotation, than what it stands
for today. Remember the fifties: times were different. We were young
and the NCC was a great teacher. It did not make me a soldier, which
I probably never really wanted to be, but it helped me understand
people better. It was a rich experience, fully worth those parades,
and those old hand-me-down uniforms. At the end of the parade, when
we drank our tea in canteens, and ate the boiled egg and buttered
buns, we felt we were going to defend the country's frontiers one
day, carrying those vintage blunderbusses with which we were made
to march every week. |
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