Bald Men and Their Hairy Tales

Men generally start going bald when they cross fifty years due to a variety of factors associated with age; heredity, hormonal changes and a host of other reasons. Baldness is often associated with aging, sexuality, wisdom and so on. Any change in other body parts does not bother the male gentry as much as losing hair. There are no tears shed for losing or gaining weight, developing a tan and other such minor calamities. Hair loss is personal, often leading to change of identity with significant visual and psychological impacts.

In a lighter vein I am reminded of a saying, “If a man is bald at the front, he is a thinker. If he is bald at the back, he is sexy. If he is bald both at the front and back – he thinks he is sexy.”

The vast majority of men who go bald, do so, because of a hereditary condition known as Androgenic (male hormones like testosterone) Alopecia (hair loss or baldness). I too fell prey to this midlife phenomenon. I vividly remember my neighbour’s young kids calling me

“Taklu” for one and all to hear- quite a hair-raising moment (i.e. if I had any!) 

When my grandson turned four he became extremely inquisitive as all children do. Among the other things which aroused his curiosity, he also wanted to know where all my hair had gone. After much thought I told him, “When I was young, I would not listen to my mother and would often skip taking a bath for many days at a time. After a few days all my hair got dirty and knotted up. My neighbourhood crow ‘Kalia’ saw this and was fascinated. He was a very intelligent bird and immediately saw a use for my hair. One day when I was in the garden, the crow came stealthily, plucked all my hair and used it to make a nest.”   Well, the story sounded convincing and my grandson believed the ‘hairy tale.’   

Life on a warship is totally different from life ashore. On a ship we live in very confined spaces with very little privacy. Under these circumstances it’s exceedingly difficult to hide a secret. Sinha was a young officer on board our ship. He was tall, well-built and handsome. These attributes helped him project a ‘tough young man’ look. Secretly and unknown to others, he harboured a very grave and deadly secret. He was totally bald. He had gone to extraordinary lengths to hide this life threatening deficiency. Secretly, he had purchased a wig from the market which had become his most coveted possession. He was very careful while bathing and sleeping. Sharing a cabin with him was another young and diminutive officer called Rao. Pocket-sized Rao and Sinha the giant made an odd couple. They knew each other well over a long period of time. Their relationship had many ups and downs, mostly downs for Rao. Giant Sinha, ever so often, would resort to bullying young Rao. Over time, Rao was running out of patience and could not take this humiliation any longer. That is when he decided to expose Sinha in front of the entire ship’s crew.

One Monday morning the entire ship’s crew had been ordered to muster for an inspection by the captain of the ship. Early in the morning Rao had been brutally subjected to yet another round of harsh treatment by Sinha.

As the inspection commenced and the band began to play martial music, in front of the entire ship, Rao did the unthinkable. In one courageous move, he leapt into the air, grabbed Sinha’s wig and ran around the entire deck shouting, “This is Sinha’s wig! He is bald! He is totally Taklu!” 

Mamic was my shipmate, sharing all the trials and tribulations of a demanding ships life alongside me. The ship was mostly at sea, giving us very little time ashore to enjoy the bounties of vibrant Mumbai city. Whenever the ship dropped her anchor, Mamic was the first to catch a boat ashore. He had very good reason to scramble ashore. He was fervently seeking the affection of a lovely young maiden known to him through a mutual friend. In any such endeavour of the heart, Cupid plays a major role in deciding the outcome. However, there was one issue which was unfortunately out of Cupid’s control.

Remaining at sea over extended periods of time had often exposed Mamic to salty sea spray. He was not certain whether it was the sea salt or heredity or both which had caused him to be a deep thinker at a very young age. Being in Mumbai was of great advantage to him. Mumbai has a history of wig making, particularly tied to the Bollywood film industry, with some businesses operating for decades. One fateful evening. Mamic mustered all his courage and visited ‘Rajkamal Wigs ‘N Hair’ one of the oldest established wig makers, operating since 1936. He emerged from the wig shop, an entirely different person, full of confidence and flair. I am sure this transformation had a very positive impact on the damsel in question.

Life on board continued as usual and I started to notice that Mamic appeared to be very cheerful, festive, and happy. Until the day I saw him sitting in the wardroom all alone, sipping a sun downer. He was not his usual buoyant and lively self. After careful prodding and coaxing, Mamic narrated the events which had led him to this pitiful state. In complete confidence and after extracting a promise of secrecy he said, ‘Pubs, I had a terrible dream last night! My wig had lost all its hair and turned bald! I am certain this is a signal of impending doom.’ I had no words of consolation to offer at the ‘falling out’ of his wig.

On the other hand, Kunju from Kerala, was a totally different personality. There is a popular folklore which claims that Malyali men generally do not bald and are blessed with luxuriously thick hair. But young Kunju was an exception. This bachelor was also keen on displaying an outwardly agreeable appearance to all and sundry, especially to the fairer sex. On our way back from Riga, our ship made a brief halt in Gdansk, Poland. The Polish economy was badly down and a dollar could fetch a bag full of Zloty. Under these favourable exchange conditions, shopping became very attractive. Kunju wasted no time and proceeded to the local market and bought himself the most expensive natural looking wig available, made totally out of human hair.

Unlike the other two hair challenged persons that I have mentioned, Kunju didn’t care a damn what people thought of his baldness. I still remember an incident when we attended an official dinner at a diplomat’s residence. He was there all suited and booted with his wonderful wig adding to his debonair demeanour. At some point during the party, Kunju visited the restroom and emerged without his wig. Nobody said anything, but even if they had, he wouldn’t have turned a hair! After our return to Mumbai, India, the wig continued to adorn his head albeit at his own whims and fancies. 

During this hairy period my dear parents came and stayed with us. Incidentally my father was also afflicted with the same deficiency as dear Kunju. One evening Kunju happened to visit our house wearing his precious wig. My father did not notice anything unusual in Kunju’s appearance. The evening proceeded in a normal fashion until Kunju decided to remove his wig. My father was not only astonished but curious. One thing led to another and my father ended up wearing the wig. Here again the wig transformed my father appearance to a great extent and he was impressed. Kunju graciously left behind for my father to use.

What actually unfolded during the next few days is not very clear. The wig went back to the ship and returned to our house once again or remained in the ship could not be determined with any degree of accuracy. A month or so later the wig disappeared from the ship. Kunju was unable to come to terms with the loss of this treasured possession. Kunju secretly made a list of all the suspects who could have laid their hands on the wig. I came to know much later that my fathers name prominently figured in the list. After many moons had passed Kunju finally declared that it was Mr ‘Anson’ our civilian bearer of the ship who had stolen it along with many other items.

So, what is a guy going bald supposed to do? Comb all his hair forward so that it covers his bald patch in front. Or wear a wig, fearful that someone may discover your terrible secret at any minute. Or even grow your locks at the back and make a cute ponytail for everyone to admire. Which is exactly what I have done.

All I know is, ‘once you go bald, you never grow back’.

I thus respectfully, conclude my ‘Hairy Tales’.

Safari in Kenya

As a cadet in the Indian Navy I was fortunate to visit Kenya in 1968. The visit was a part of our naval training and also a goodwill mission. We set sail on a long voyage from Mumbai to Mombasa covering a distance of 2452 nm. The voyage took us almost 13 days on board INS Krishna a WW II Black Swan-class corvette. It was in the month of August and the monsoon was raging in the Indian Ocean. The sea was terrifyingly rough and making our life on the ship totally unbearable. All of us were novices. Sailing for the first time on a ship is a very daunting task. Constant rolling and pitching of the ship induces vomiting, laziness and total aversion to food. Living in cramped spaces, incessant rains and muggy weather add to overall gloomy atmosphere. We continue to work in these conditions, keeping watch on the bridge, carrying out sea drills, seamanship exercises and so on. At the end of the voyage we were totally baptised by the sea and we emerged as ‘Sea Dogs” a term used to describe an experienced sailor.

After 57 years I revisited Kenya for a safari holiday along with my dear wife and our long time travel mates, Sushama and Jenith. We chose to fly from Mumbai to Nairobi on Indigo. In their desire to maintain profitability, a lot of the creature comforts have been over looked. The seats are uncomfortable to say the least, the food (which costs extra) is insipid, cold and totally unappetising to say the least.

We spent a total of 8 days in Kenya and visited the National Parks at Amboseli, Naivasha, Nakuru and finally Masai Mara. The safaris were extremely rewarding and we were able to watch the ‘Big Five” (Lion, Elephant, Rhino, Leopard and the Buffalo) at close proximity and for extended periods. I heard the term ‘Ugly Five’ for the first time. These animals include      the Warthog, Spotted Hyena, Marabou Stork, Vulture, and Wildebeest. We spotted a number of them. I also understand there is the ‘Rare Five’ which includes the Reticulated Giraffe, Grévy’s Zebra, Somali Ostrich, Gerenuk, and Beisa Oryx only to be found in the Samburu National Reserve.

I have always maintained that watching God’s creation is way better than seeing human construction. I prefer the wilderness, mountains, rivers, oceans, safaris and animals, to a city’s architecture with its imposing buildings, memorials, theatres, exhibitions and its roads.

We chose a company called ‘Beyond the Plains Kenya Safari’ for all our travel arrangements. Julius was kind enough to chalk out a nice programme for us. We were picked up at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi by our driver cum guide Mr Sam, who was pretty knowledgeable. We travelled in a 7 seater Toyota Land Cruiser with a pop-up roof. The journey was comfortable and Sam turned out to be a safe and responsible driver. He also had a lot of anecdotes and tidbits to narrate and keep us engrossed during the long drives. We travelled almost 1000 kms on the highways from Nairobi to all the different game parks and back. In addition we were clocking about 150 kms daily during the actual safari inside the parks.  The routine is demanding and at times tiring.

On our second day in Amboseli National Park, we were singularly lucky to sight a family of 6 cheetahs, a mother with her 5 cubs. As luck would have it, the entire family came and took shelter from the sun under our vehicle. They stayed underneath the vehicle for over an hour. Rules do not permit the driver to start the car or make any attempt to move the vehicle. The mother stayed at a distance whilst keeping a sharp eye on her cubs. This was a very rare sighting by any measure. This prompted Sushama an avid animal lover and activist to write, “Seeing such a large litter of cheetahs, especially in a location where cheetah sightings are rare, is considered a remarkable event. The survival of five cubs up to this stage demonstrates exceptional skill and effort from the mother cheetah.” Much to the envy of fellow safari vehicles, our vehicle was surrounded by all six of them, making us immobile for almost an hour and a half. It was a phenomenally lucky and a once in a lifetime encounter. In the evening, we came across a Canadian lady who talked about the sighting and said that there was a safari vehicle which was unbelievably selfish and did not move to allow others a chance to see the magnificent animals. Sheepishly, we confessed that it was our vehicle and that we couldn’t move an inch as the cheetahs were beneath our vehicle. 

For anyone planning to visit Amboseli, it is much better to stay inside the park and avoid long drives to the camp and back. There are practically no asphalted roads either to the entry gates or in the park itself. Our safari would start at 7 am and end by 6 pm. We would carry lots of water and a packed lunch. Invariably we ended up distributing the leftover food packets to the local Masai children. Some of the accommodation is spread over a very large area making it difficult for senior citizens like us to walk from the dining area to the room. It’s better to select rooms in advance which are close to the dining area.

Kenyan highways, which have been constructed by the Chinese, are in excellent condition. A large number of infrastructure projects have been undertaken by the Chinese. We also saw   the site of the Konza Smart City, just over 60 km south of Nairobi. It has been designed as a “city-from-scratch” to bring research universities, industry and government together. The Chinese telecom giant Huawei has funded the project.

The drive from Amboseli to Lake Naivasha is very picturesque and interesting. Lake Naivasha is famous for its strong population of hippos and flamingos. There are over 1,500 hippos in the area, and you are almost guaranteed to see one. The lake is a birder’s paradise as it is home to over 400 bird species.

On the way we stopped at an elevated view point to watch the famous ’Great Rift Valley” the cradle of all civilisation. The is a vast geological system stretching approximately 6,400 km from the Mozambique to the Red Sea through Eastern Africa. This continental fault system is a result of tectonic plates pulling apart, creating a series of deep trenches, valleys, and volcanoes. Lake Naivasha is at the highest elevation of the Kenyan Rift Valley at 1,884 metres (6,181 ft.). The lake has a normal surface area of 139 square kilometres (54 sq. mi) Surprisingly Lake Naivasha is a fresh water lake fed by two rivers and underwater springs. 

We spent two days enjoying the water front, delectable food, boat rides and feeding birds. Watching an African Fish Eagle swoop down with great precision and nab the fish from the water is a sight to watch. We took a trip to Crescent Island where we went on a walking safari to watch zebra, wildebeest, giraffe and impalas in a predator free park.  Spotting rhinos and a variety of aquatic birds such as reed cormorants and great white pelicans was very exhilarating.

We spent some time talking to the local tribal guides and workers in the park. I found them extremely aware of national politics. Interestingly they knew a lot about India, which they consider as a good friend. In 2017, Kenya’s government officially recognized Asians of Indian descent as the 44th tribe of the East African Nation. There is a sizable and growing number of Indian tourists who visit Kenya on holiday each year. Consequently all the resorts cater to the Indian palate. It’s common to find parathas, bhendi sabzi, alu mutter, dahi and other Indian dishes in the buffet.

We also visited a Masai village and thoroughly enjoyed a long interaction with them, watched how they make fire (using two sticks and some cow dung) and visited the chief’s house. We were shown the famous Masai jumping known as ‘Adamu’. The jumping demonstrates their strength and according to tradition, they do it to attract their future bride. The higher the jump, the more attractive the Masai warrior is to a female Masai. The head of the village spoke impeccable English, talking to us at length about their daily life, house, children and much more.

Their diet is mainly derived from the cows they worship and own. They live on cow’s milk, blood and its meat. They are probably one of the few remaining links to a world long gone by. The Masai traditionally remove one lower front tooth (incisor) for several reasons. Its part of an initiation ceremony and it helps in feeding a child in the event that a disease locks the jaw. The chief also said it used to help in identifying a Masai warrior when they were in hand to hand combat with the enemy.

We were extremely lucky to sight ‘Craig’ the Elephant Legend. Craig is arguably one of the most famous elephants in the world. He was born around 1972, making him approximately 53 years old as of 2025. John, a Masai forest ranger, was able to track him and take us to the watering hole where Craig was quenching his thirst. He is one of the last remaining Super Tuskers of Amboseli National Park. A majestic animal, his tusks are so long, they almost touch the ground. Spotting Craig is often described as a profound experience, reminding viewers of nature’s raw majesty. 

All the national parks are located at an elevation of 4000 ft. to 5000 ft. Mornings are cool and generally comfortable. As the day progresses it becomes hot. It is good to wear clothes in layers and be able to add or remove a layer to suit the weather. Nights are very cold requiring a good outer layer. Neck pillows are extremely essential during the long and rough safari rides. A face mask is a must to protect yourself from the never ending clouds of fine dust which envelopes every particle of your being when the vehicle hits the mud roads.

We ended our safari adventure by visiting the Giraffe Park in Nairobi, which permits us to have a close encounter with these ‘sentinels of the savannah’. It was a very exhilarating experience seeing them at such close quarters and getting a chance to feed them.

Our trip ended with a visit to the iconic restaurant ‘Carnivore’. It is popularly referred to as the ‘Feast of the Beast’ and ‘all-you-can-eat meat’. Each table is perfectly laid out for a meaty meal with different forks, knives, plates etc. In front of each plate rests a white flag. As long as the flag is up, the waiter continues to serve dish after dish without a pause. The service stops only when the flag is grounded. A variety of sauces are kept on the table and the waiter explains at length which sauce is recommended to go with which meat. The menu has a large variety of choices from charcoal grilled chicken, fish, beef, lamb and pork to turkey, crocodile, ostrich and ox balls making it an unforgettable dining experience for meat eaters.

Kenya fulfilled a long-standing desire to see animals as they were meant to be and we enjoyed every minute of our amazing visit.

As I write this, I receive some really sad news. That wonderful, majestic elephant, Craig, the pride of Amboseli has passed away at the ripe old age of 54. Somehow it seems as if someone we got to know well has died, though we just spent an hour or two watching him at the watering hole, lifting his huge head to gaze at us tolerantly from time to time and going back to quenching his thirst- a lone giant in the wilderness

Strange But True

Two days back I was sitting by the window busy cracking the Deccan Herald daily crossword, when my daughter appeared from nowhere and commandeered me to speak to the person on the phone. As I said hello, the voice from the other end said “Sir this is Krishna Bai from Mumbai, hope you remember me”   

It was 2009 when my daughter rang up and loudly proclaimed that she was carrying twins. There was huge excitement in the family. There was no history of twins either from our side or from the father’s side. Preparations began in right earnest, including selecting a”in womb name”. They were named “Ya Ya and Yo Yo” by their 4 year old elder brother Ayaan. It remained so till their “Namakarana”. The function is a significant “Samskara” that formally gives the child a name and identity. The elder twin was named Agastya after the famous “Agastya Muni” a prominent ancient Indian sage known for his role in spreading Vedic culture to South India. The younger twin was named Aarin meaning “mountain of strength,” “enlightened,” or “pure”.

Daughter dear had contacted her friends to recommend a night nurse to look after the twins. Caring for the twins is a very daunting task. Everything has to be repeated. You feed one, then burp and put him to sleep the second one is ready. This double whammy continues through the night. If it’s not feeding, it’s changing nappies, lullabying and so on. Mornings are devoted to massage, bath and sun bathing.

Few days prior to the expected date of delivery, a middle-aged lady aka Krishna Bai rang the doorbell and announced that Komal had sent her. Akhila felt a big sigh of relief. After a short interview the 55 year old lady was hired as a night nurse. She would start work at 9PM and continue till 9AM

We soon visited Mumbai to be with our daughter and the children. We immediately got into the groove and assisted her in form or the other.

That is when I happened to meet Krishna Bai. She had a very grandmotherly look, loving and caring. To me she was an Indian version of Mrs Doubtfire, very affable and pleasant person. It was easy to get into a banter with her and talk about all and sundry. On one such occasion she began to narrate her difficulties in procuring government rations. Probing further I found out that she did not possess a ‘Ration Card” which would have otherwise entitled her to life sustaining goodies such a rice, dal, oil, wheat etc. All free or at a very subsidised cost.

All her attempts to get a ration card had failed as she did not possess the all-important “Birth Certificate”. As the conversation continued, I felt pity for her predicament and decided to do something about it. On probing further she mentioned that her parents always mentioned that on the day she was born, then ‘Bombay’ had experienced a terrible explosion in the dock.

My naval background triggered a bell to ring and remember the terrible dock explosion.

The Bombay dock explosion of 1944 was a catastrophic event on April 14, 1944, when the British freighter SS Fort Stikine, carrying explosives, caught fire and exploded in Victoria Dock. The two explosions killed over 800 people, injured thousands, destroyed or damaged many ships, and caused immense property loss and homelessness. The disaster is not directly related to the annual celebration of World Maritime Day, but it led to the establishment of Fire Service Day and Fire Service Week in India on April 14 to honour the firefighters and emergency responders who perished. 

With this piece of valuable information, I was able to help Krishna Bai obtain a, Birth Certificate’ and subsequently the much coveted ‘Ration Card”.

Strange but True.

After a lapse of 15 years I was speaking with Krishna Bai and fondly remembered the good old days and off course the ‘Ration Card’

The Avocado Fiasco

For a retired person all days of the week are the same. The days unfold in a similar fashion. However Sundays are special. The entire family is also in a holiday mood. Every one joins in elevating the mood and exuding bonhomie. Normally it’s a day when you do what you enjoy, rather than do things which are on your ‘to do list’. It’s a day to relax, reflect and restore. 

I had finished reading the newspaper, done the crossword, had my bath and breakfast and had come to the conclusion that all was well with the world. When one is in such a euphoric mood, one is bound to spread the good mood, call up friends and enquire about their health, indulge in harmless banter and such things.

I had not, for a very long time spoken to my dear friend Fali Dubash, a very affable person. He had chosen to drop his anchor in Namma Bengaluru after his retirement from the navy. He built a lovely house on Hennur main road and along with his charming wife Olive, he tended to their garden in the bungalow. Together, they were the proud owners of three avocado trees. The trees were very productive and yielded a good number of fruits each year. Fali and Olive are a very generous couple and would share their produce with all their friends. I was also included in their benevolent list. We looked forward to the avocado season in end August and early September. It’s great fun ‘avocadoing’. I relish salads, avocado open sandwiches and guacamole. 

Somehow this year I did not receive any manna from Fali and was a little worried. Had he forgotten us, inadvertently removed us from the ‘Avocado List’, extended their stay in the US of A, I wondered. Normally I would have picked up the phone and spoken to him. However on this occasion I messaged him on WhatsApp

“Any Avocado

this year”

To my utter surprise and bewilderment, my phone started getting scores of messages. I had inadvertently sent the message to all the contacts on my phone. I was totally discomposed and confused. For a short while, I sat in my chair frozen, not knowing how to tackle this comical situation. It did not occur to me to press ‘delete for everyone’. Instead, I sent another message saying ‘message sent by mistake’. By then the damage had been done and I started receiving scores of humorous, apologetic, clarifying or enquiring replies. My Sunday turned out to be anything but calm and peaceful. Some of the interesting replies were-

*BTW I am sure you have tried avocado on toast or just avocado with a pinch of salt.

*No issue. But we did have a reasonably good crop of avocados this year.

The best was from my dear niece –

*Ha ha ha if you’re asking if I’m pregnant, then no! If you are asking if I know any dealers, then too no. But if you find any do let me know. (I later learnt that the avocado emoji also signifies pregnancy.)

* Good to hear from you, Pubby…even if you did not mean to say ‘hi’ to me. Whoever you have actually sent the message to …I too would like some avocado- being a diabetic. On compassionate grounds.

*If we had, we would have shared with you

* No avocados… only Golf.

*Yes Uncle, it’s on its way from Coorg. 

However the best was 

* Good evening, in a day or two I will have it sent. (Two days later I received a bag full of avocados from my dear friend)

*Notwithstanding the mistake, I love Avocados. Sadly you don’t get them much here.

*Hi Pubby – it’s all over for the year! Will send you some when the next crop matures.

*Is someone named Tejal selling Avocados? If so, I want some!!!

*So sorry Pubs, the last of the lot finished about a fortnight ago. Awfully sorry, we will make amends next season.   

*Finally I received a reply from Fali saying all our trees seem to be on strike! None of the avocado trees have any flowers and the nimboo trees are also observing ‘go slow’ tactics.

So there ended my Avocado story. I am very certain all my friends will remember me whenever they bite into an avocado.

Cheers until the next season.     

Flip Side of PK Gopalkrishna

Purshottam Kallupatti Gopalkrishna is a very adorable and at times an enigmatic character. Over a period of time, people around him who were unable to remember or pronounce his long name, had shortened it to ‘P K’. The name suited him. If I remember correctly my last encounter with PK was during the dreaded Covid days.

(https://wordpress.com/post/samundarbaba.travel.blog/4974)

In the meantime, both of PK’s sons decided to emigrate permanently to the US of A. PK and his good lady now spend considerable time with their children and grandchildren. This has resulted in less ‘India’ time and decreased our frequency of interaction, both at home and during evening walks. Whenever we meet, I find a slightly modified PK. He is now into following US politics and more comfortable talking about Trump and Harris. He has become slow with age, unhurried in his movements and sometimes exhibits a feeling of disappointment which is otherwise well disguised.

PK has never been the forthcoming type, volunteering unsolicited information. He is careful with his words and chooses his time and place to unburden. However, within a close knit group, he is very open and eager to share his thoughts. He once mentioned to me that sharing information is therapeutic.   

When probed further he came out with the truth. He did not like going to his children’s place for extended periods of time. In his own house in Bangalore, he was the undisputed king of his domain. Free as a bird, he ruled his province according to his whims and fancy. Bangalore boasted of an equitable climate throughout the year which enabled him to dress lightly and go on long walks   in the colony along with his cronies. He would spend a lot of his time sitting under the tree and engaging in harmless discussions with his mates. Being a foodie, he would often indulge in eating out in the many restaurants that had come up in his neighbourhood. These activities had given PK a sense of belongingness, familiarity and wellbeing. In particular, PK made it a ritual to join other tipplers at his club to quench his thirst on a weekly basis. All this was denied to him in the ‘Land of Opportunity’. A misnomer indeed.

From his deportment I concluded that good old PK was very eager to unburden himself with some more precious information. PK liked the idea of travelling, mingling with his military course mates, indulging in easy banter and reminiscence about the ‘good old days’. PK often said ‘travel broadens one’s horizon’. His military buddies were planning a Course Get Together (CGT) in the Orange County resort tucked away in the lush green hills in the Kodagu district of Karnataka.

With a certain amount of hesitancy, PK informed us that travelling posed a very big problem. He said there were two issues. The gist of it was that over the years, PK had been afflicted with ‘throat snoring’ – the loudest form of snoring that there is! This serious affliction was very irritating and disturbing to the LOH. Over the years they had reached a compromise and decided to sleep in separate bedrooms. This strategy had brought untold happiness into their household. However, when one travels, one is forced to stay in a hotel, which means sharing the room with the jack hammer. This one aspect of travel was unacceptable to the LOH in spite of being a good sport and an avid traveller.

Now to convince the LOH to undertake a holiday was a perilous task for PK.

Secondly, PK was jinxed when it came to holiday travel. This aspect also weighed very heavily on the LOH’s psyche. To fully comprehend PK’s plight it is important to become acquainted with some of his travel-related misadventures.

Many moons ago he and the LOH had travelled to Jakarta, Indonesia for a CGT. PK was eagerly looking forward to a ten-day holiday with his forty close childhood buddies. On arrival at the Jakarta Soekarno-Hatta International Airport, PK joined a long queue to complete his immigration formalities. There after he proceeded to the duty free shop enclosure to buy some ‘elixir’ for the trip. At the cash counter he was greeted by a vivacious young lady with an unusually pretty countenance. He was momentarily discomposed. Having completed his payment, the party travelled in a bus to their Hotel. On arrival, he went to complete the check-in formalities. The person at the desk asked PK for his passport. He frantically searched all his pockets and bags but could not find his passport. Panic was writ all over his face. The hotel staff were very helpful and assured PK that his document would be retrieved from the Duty Free shop and in the meantime he could move into his room. PK entered his room crestfallen along with a very embarrassed LOH.

They rested for a while and matters looked normal. At the appointed time, PK decided to join the others in the lobby for the first part of their trip. He tried to open the door from the inside but it would not. Both of them tried opening it several times in vain. Even repeatedly shouting ‘Open Sesame” did not yield any result. By then, the reception staff were making frantic calls to the room to enquire about the delay. The hotel engineering staff were summoned to resolve the issue as others in the pack waited in the lobby. On making no progress, the staff broke open the door and salvaged PK and the LOH. Red in the face, they reached the lobby to join the others for a ‘Jakarta by Night’ tour. All were accounted for and ready for the sightseeing tour.

Unknown to PK and the gang a catastrophic event had just struck Bali, Indonesia. The day was 27 November 2017. The volcano Mount Agung in Bali had erupted. As a precautionary measure, the government of Indonesia ordered all tourists to return to their countries post haste.

The tour manager collected the gang in one corner and spilled the bad news.

There ended PK’s Bali adventure.

Some years ago, PK and the LOH had gone to Goa to attend a similar CGT. This time around PK had decided to enjoy the outing to the hilt. Goa suited PK. It reflected his buoyant and bubbly temperament. He soon settled down to absorb the sun and sand along with some chilled beer. More than anything else PK adored sea food. Well, late into the afternoon, PK turned his attention to food and ordered Goa’s most popular fish ’Mackerel Recheado’ a spicy, tangy, shallow fried fish that is a traditional Goan dish. Having been deprived of this hot favourite of his for a very long time, PK started demolishing the fish and wolfed it down in record-breaking time. All of a sudden PK started to choke and started making strange sounds. Fortunately his close buddy Doresamy immediately realised PK was choking and went into action.

PK had to be taken to the nearest doctor to remove the fish bone from his throat. So ended PK’s tryst with Goa.

Not long ago PK and the LOH decided to visit their children in the US. Preparations were made in advance, many WhatsApp messages were exchanged and curry powder, masalas and papadams were purchased and packed. There was an air of celebratory anticipation in the house. The flight to Paris continued along the expected lines.PK had his dinner and went to sleep. In the second leg of their passage, breakfast was served which PK ate with total relish. Soon after PK felt uncomfortable and complained to the LOH about a nagging pain in the lower part of his chest. As the condition worsened, the LOH reported the matter to the airhostess who in turn informed the pilot. An announcement was made seeking help from any doctor on board. A paramedic volunteered to examine PK. Nothing conclusive emerged from the examination and the paramedic strongly recommended a medical intervention immediately on landing in Paris.

The French medical response was at its best. Within minutes of landing PK was evacuated and taken to the hospital. A series of tests were conducted and PK was cleared with a discharge slip declaring that it had been a ‘case of severe indigestion’.

The LOH ended up paying a huge sum towards the emergency medical expenses.

Now you may appreciate why PK is apprehensive about the forthcoming get together and their participation in it.

Magical Mauritius

The republic of Mauritius is a very small island country located in the
Indian Ocean. Due to its proximity to Africa, it is generally
considered an African country. It is around 4000 kms from the Indian
coast line. It is 65 kms long and 45 kms wide. It’s about the same size
as Namma Bengaluru. That’s where the comparison ends. Its
population is around 1.2 million compared to 14 million in Bangalore.
Why did we decide to visit this remote Island?
Mauritius is renowned for its incredibly beautiful beaches with
powder-soft white sands, brilliant turquoise waters, and lush tropical
scenery.


We visited the Island in October when the temperature was between
20 to 27 deg C with a moderate easterly wind and clear skies.
In spite of all its wonderful beaches, lagoons and water sports, it’s not
at all touristy. The extreme hustle and bustle one finds in places that
are tourist attractions, is totally absent. The tourist population is
spread over a large number of pristine beaches located all along the
coast line. A few tourists minding their own business, non-interfering
locals, an absence of hawkers and shanty restaurants fills you with a
sense of privacy and lets you immerse yourself in the bounties of
nature.
After carefully researching the properties available on Airbnb, we
selected ‘Paradise Beachfront Holiday Apartment’ on Point D’ Esny
beach. A beautifully appointed ground floor apartment with an
attached beach that was practically private to all intents and purposes.

Jenith and Sushama our long time travel companions joined us on this
outing. After a long break, Rita Das also came along with us.

We spent most of our time on the beach. Lazing on the beach under a
clear blue sky and hearing the constant rustle of the sea waves
certainly invokes a primordial feeling. There is something blissful and
special when one is surrounded by nature. The atmosphere heralds
tranquillity and peace. An ultimate destination for rest and reflection.
Chilled beer, gin and tonic, cocktails and Laphroaig go a long way in
elevating your mood. Mauritius duty free rates are better than India.

Sea food is found in plenty. A satisfying lunch with octopus, fish,
pork, calamari, prawns and pizza accompanied by a chilled ‘Phoenix’
beer set us back by INR 5000 for five people. Lobsters are easily
available and have to be ordered in advance. Their cuisine is multicultural
reflecting their ethnicity. There is a certain similarity to Goa
in the slightly laid back approach to life. The people are helpful,
generous and pretty chatty. We went around looking for some raw
rice on the Sunday that we were there. We couldn’t find any, as most
places were shut, but the owner of a small store selling soft drinks,
gave us some from his own home with no charge. That tided us over
till the next day.

A majority of its population consists of people of Indian origin and
the rest are descendants from Africa, China, Dutch, France, Britain
and Arabs. I was truly impressed with the bonhomie that prevails
among all the different and diverse communities. All of them speak
Creole, followed by a small percentage speaking Bhojpuri, French
and English. Sega, Seggae and Reggae remain the most popular form
of music in Mauritius. It is a complete performance art, involving
music, story-telling and traditional dance. In fact, one night, our
Airbnb neighbours invited us over and we had a blast singing and
listening to a couple of Mauritian singers rapping and singing local
popular songs the entire evening.

Sugarcane is widely grown in Mauritius. We visited a famous
brewery – The Rhumerie de Chamarel and indulged in a long rum
tasting session. One gets to taste almost 8-10 varieties of rum that is
made there. A happy hour indeed! Most rum around the world is
made from molasses. However, in Mauritius, the rum is derived from
sugarcane juice, giving it an exceptionally mature and smooth taste.
They also produce a variety of infused rums with botanicals like
vanilla, cocoa, coffee, cinnamon and orange. I am now the proud
owner of a bottle of Chamarel Premium Gold Rum. The same day we
visited a Shiva Parivar temple, a beautiful, clean temple next to a
Ganga Talab (so named as the waters of the Ganges have been
brought and added to this wonderfully pristine lake).

The country has a great network of roads. They are in excellent
condition and have very good signage. We hired a self-drive SUV on
arrival which came in very handy during our stay. We travelled
extensively covering the length and breadth of the island. Except for
Port Louis, the capital city, traffic elsewhere is low to moderate. Port
Louis is a very new and modern city bubbling with activity. I found
the rest of the island extremely easy going and laid back. As I
mentioned earlier, it reminded me a lot of our own Goa – Susegad.
We flew Emirates from Bangalore to Mauritius via Dubai. It’s a long
and tiresome flight. The other option was via Mumbai which is
equally bad. Come November there are likely to be direct flights from
Bengaluru. It’s Visa on entry for Indians. Dollars and the local
Mauritian Rupee are preferred.
They have kept their surroundings extremely clean. We never saw any
garbage dump or unattended waste during our drives to the cities and
in the country side.
Good roads and high standards of cleanliness speaks volumes about
their culture. The tax payer’s money has been ploughed back,
ordinary citizens are responsible and in control of their surroundings.
Their beaches are pristine and totally free of any form of rubbish. One
can walk miles without coming across any sign of pollution. In a
recent report released by IQ Air, only seven countries worldwide
managed to meet the stringent air quality guidelines set by the World
Health Organization (WHO). Among them stands Mauritius.

‘Ile Aux Cerfs’, an island
golf course

Every variety of water sport is available. Snorkeling and Scuba
diving, Sea, kite and wind surfing, para gliding and much more. One
day we went island hopping in their super-fast boat. It was a very
thrilling experience, even for someone who has spent all his life at sea.
Beer, music and the sheer thrill of the wind in your face makes this
day long trip very invigorating. We were thrilled to spot dolphins and
visit the site of an old shipwreck. To make the ride more interesting,
chilled beer and other beverages are served. I liked their “Jungle
Juice” a delectable cocktail of rum and orange juice the best. The trip
ends with an elaborate barbeque lunch on ‘Ile Aux Cerfs’, an island
golf course. The trip included a visit to an island with an old
dilapidated but charming lighthouse.


The highlight of the trip was a ride in a Blue Safari Submarine for 40
minutes to a depth of 35 meters. A memorable thrilling and unique
experience. My submarine friends tell me that 35 meters is a very
respectable diving depth.


Looking back, our trip to Mauritius was very easy going and laid back.
We returned to India relaxed.

Foreign Returned Gentry

For many Indians, going abroad was always the big, almost unattainable dream, especially during the early sixties and seventies. It signified success in life and created a halo around the person who actually managed to ‘cross the seven seas’. That person was immediately placed on a higher rung in the social ladder. A corollary to this was ‘foreign returned’. There were different kinds of ‘foreign returned’ people. Even here, as everywhere, there was a pecking order.

Persons who studied, worked and settled abroad were the crème de la crème. This lot commanded the most respect, closely followed by the people who studied abroad but decided to return to India to work.

The third variety were the lot who went to foreign countries to visit relatives or as tourists. In spite of their short stay they often sported a pronounced accent and enjoyed many privileges of the ‘Foreign Returned Club.’   

Our family also had a good measure of ‘foreign returned’ persons. Their visits to India or return from their foreign jaunts, as the case may be, evoked a lot of interest. Their return followed a set itinerary. The first variety generally brought along a Nikon or a Canon camera and indulged in non-stop photography. The local population was subjected to endless posing for group photographs and candid shots. As a rule, the returnees would bring gifts to be distributed to their less fortunate kith and kin. The gifts were mainly chocolates. A selected few received colourful shirts, chewing gum, Camay soap, cigarette packs such as 555 or Rothmans. In turn, we invited them for a meal or two and the equation would thus be balanced.

A friend of ours used to recall an incident concerning her father’s return from a foreign jaunt. Residing in a small town, her father knew all and sundry and they eagerly looked forward to receiving gifts. Unable to bring such large quantities of gifts due to customs restrictions, this man devised an ingenious method to solve this tricky situation. On arrival, he went to a popular local shop which stocked smuggled foreign goods and ordered Mars chocolates, Parker pens, scarves and other such items, to be gift wrapped and presented. A novel idea indeed.

A relative of ours went a step further in this game. Ratna was very fond of sweets and had indulged in a lot of chocolate eating while touring the US of A. In the process, she had diligently collected all the different wrappers. On her return she proudly showed all the wrappers to her near and dear ones, proclaiming that they were simply the best. The next best thing to eating is seeing, I suppose!

Our neighbour of South Indian Tamil extraction, Tirunelveli Balamurali Krishnan did what so many before him had done. He decided to pursue higher education in the US of A. He returned to Bangalore after a lapse of two years but with a post graduate degree in ‘Applied Mathematics’.

On his return,there were two or three minor but noticeable changes . My mother ‘Lalitamma’ became ‘Ant teee’ pronounced with a distinct nasal twang! I was addressed as ‘Hey Kid!’ and of course he took a ‘baaaa-th’ and would say that it was too ‘hat’ to go outside.

If rumours were to be believed, ‘Krish’ had started eating his South Indian fare with a fork and knife.

Even as a child Meena had set her eyes on the US of A. Her life goal was to emigrate to the promised land at any cost. Due to many unforeseen reasons her dream was a long time coming. During her interminably long wait, she decided to do the next best thing. She worked hard and developed an American accent. Her imitation was flawless and her speech was truly American- she had become a non-Yankee Yank. She finally managed to reach the shores of ‘Uncle Sam’ where needless to say, she fit right in!

These foreign returned types were always on a tight schedule whilst on holiday. Due to shortage of time they were not in a position to catch up with every Ramu, Madhu and Meena. Instead they hosted a potluck party and invited all their close friends and relatives. My mother used to spend hours preparing her allotted dish and would reach the party scene tired and drained after a long innings in the galley. Being a very good cook she used to be given the most difficult dish to prepare. Some got away with the ubiquitous chips and other such sundry items.

Like all teenagers I used to be permanently hungry and was always on the lookout for stuff to fill my stomach. I clearly remember attending a pot luck organized by one of our relatives in honour of their dear son’s visit to Bangalore. All the guests arrived with their share of the potluck and deposited them on the dining table. It was a truly appetizing sight. So many different dishes prepared with love and affection by different cooks and waiting to be devoured. I, for one, could not take my eyes off of it.

TRUE STATE OF THE GUESTS

However, events did not unfold as expected. The chief host made an announcement requesting all those present to regroup in the next room to watch a ‘Slide Show’. The next hour was spent in watching various aspects of my foreign-returned relative’s life in the US of A. Photos included his apartment, his bedroom, bathroom, his neighbour’s dog, all his college friends, his college, a random nearby park and much more of the same. The relative explained in excruciating detail, the significance of each photo, with great enthusiasm while the rest sat waiting for his monologue to come to an end so that they could attack the food.

As if this boring and torturous experience was not enough, ’Curious Krishna’ would repeatedly interrupt him, seeking clarifications and additional information. We’ve all met such guys who know exactly how to prolong the agony for everyone else! This whole episode was extremely frustrating especially on an empty stomach.

As a cadet in August 1968, I sailed on board the Indian Naval Ship  Krishna to Kenya, Tanzania, Madagascar and Seychelles. This was a part of our sea training. Not to be left out in the who-has-gone-abroad race, my father proclaimed to all his kith and kin, that his son was on a ‘diplomatic mission’ to foster international friendship and goodwill.

Finally I had also joined the ‘Foreign Returned’ club.

Things are different today. There are 35.4 million Non-Resident Indians (NRIs) and Persons of Indian Origin (PIO) living outside of India. The Indian diaspora is the largest in the world, with people living in many countries. Foreign travel has become very easy. Hordes of Indians travel all over the world as tourists. There were 27 Million Indians who travelled abroad last year alone, as tourists.

Much to the dismay of old timers, potluck has taken a back seat. FB, X and other social media platforms have taken over as the favourite medium to inform the public about their “foreign returned” status. Anyway, unless your trip has been to Antarctica or Timbuctoo, no one’s really interested.

Cheers until you return from your next exotic foreign trip!

Monkey Business

Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”

  • Albert Einstein

Imagination is an essential aspect of childhood. Children spend hours day dreaming,making up scenarios, pretending to be someone else, fabricating stories and much more. Whether making an empty cardboard box into a house or dressing up as superman, kids use their imagination to transform the space around them. These hours of make-believe and playtime fun are crucial for healthy child development. It allows kids to develop creativity, problem-solving and other important life skills.

I was sitting on the patio with my five year old grandson and looking aimlessly at the rain. I always enjoy listening to the rhythm of the falling rain and taking deep whiffs of the earthy scent (Petrichor) produced when rain falls on dry soil. As I sat there daydreaming, out of the blue ‘ Smarty Pants ’ (SP) said “ Tata , do you know I was born in Singapore and my parents are eagles?” He went on,  “I got bored with Singapore and  flew to Bangalore. Now I have made a nest on top of the water tank, that’s where I live.” The rain had surely triggered SP’s imagination.

We stay in a colony named ‘Jal Vayu Vihar ‘ which has  a very huge water tank. Every year,  my daughter and family would spend their summer holidays with us.

I graduated from ‘National Defence Academy’ Kadhakwasla in June 1968.  My wife and I went to NDA to join the‘Golden Jubilee Celebrations’ of our  graduation in 2018. My daughter and family came down from Mumbai as guests to join the function. SP  was eight years old by then.

On completion of all the official functions we went to Peacock Bay to enjoy a quiet afternoon by the water and have lunch. There were a large number of people by the lake side. All my course mates and their family members were present. The atmosphere had a festive touch, band in attendance, beer in hand and loud talk. Children were running around and enjoying the surroundings.

Clever Eagle aka SP was standing next to me when a boy slightly older approached us and struck up a conversation. At one point the boy asked SP “How old are you?” Without batting an eyelid SP said, “ I am thirty five years old”. The boy was momentarily rendered speechless.  A hundred thoughts must have flashed through the boy’s mind. After a while, the boy said, ” You must be joking! You can’t be thirty five!!! It’s impossible. I don’t believe you .” SP all along had a straight beak face and looked serious. I, on the other hand, was following this conversation with great curiosity and waited for SP’s reply. Nonchalantly SP replied, “ My parents kept me as an egg for twenty seven years.” I can’t explain the shocked look on the boy’s face as he made a speedy retreat.

Children are naturally curious, and  experiments provide the perfect outlet for their inquisitive minds. By exploring the world around them through hands-on experiments, kids can learn about the natural world in a fun and exciting way.

At one point of time I volunteered to become the ‘Secretary’ of Jal Vayu Vihar Society. I would often  sit on the open porch outside my enclosed office and conduct the business of the day. Sitting in the open, surrounded by trees, green foliage and flower beds had many advantages. Daughter and daughter in law had gone shopping and had entrusted the  children to my care. From this vantage point,I was able to keep a sharp eye over my four grandchildren playing nearby. The game of the day was collecting a few pebbles from a big  pile and dropping them into the flower bed. Everything looked normal and I was able to concentrate on my work.

All of a sudden I heard a car screeching to a halt and the driver coming out to inspect the car. That is when my attention was also drawn towards the car. Lo and behold, the car’s rear glass was totally shattered and the pieces were strewn all over the road. The driver was at a total loss and was struggling to understand how the glass had broken. He looked around and found no pointers to the glassy tragedy. He looked up to see if anything had fallen from the tree. He was completely perplexed. That is when my granddaughter Sammy and my oldest grandson ‘Bubbles’ the friendly Whale’ pointed  at SP and told the driver “He threw a stone”.

I came home and  narrated the story to both the mothers, only to be admonished for not discharging my duties as a responsible grandfather and keeping a better eye on them. Till to date, I have not been able to fathom how I was to be blamed for this unfortunate episode. Notwithstanding all this,I sent the car to the mechanic and the rear glass was replaced. Cost to  the exchequer- ₹ 8500/-.

I was not prepared to accept the story that a five year old  SP could  throw a stone so precisely that it hit the rear glass when the car was in motion. I gathered a few stones and asked SP to start throwing them to gauge his potential. Maybe he was ‘ an early edition of Neeraj Chopra’. He threw all the stones and to my utter shock, I found all the stones falling within a feet or two from him. In fact some stones went backwards. Till date, ‘The Case of the Broken Rear Glass’ remains a mystery.

One day in Mumbai my daughter took Bubbles her older son aged five and the twins -boys, Sticky Mouse and Smarty Pants  aged  two to an ATM. Seeing a lady struggling with three mischievous children,the people in the ATM queue took pity on her and allowed her to skip the queue and use the machine on priority. She thanked them profusely and entered the ATM. The children followed their mother into the room as she withdrew cash. As she was counting the cash and about to depart, the ATM collapsed and the screen went blank.

Bubbles and Sticky mouse were standing next to her. But Smarty Pants was missing. She searched through the tiny vestibule wondering where he could have gotten to.

She found him behind the machine with an angelic look on his face and the ATM plug  removed from its socket and  lying on the floor.

I understand it took more than thirty minutes to reboot the machine. I don’t even want to mention the look on the the faces of the people who had so sweetly allowed my daughter to cut ahead of them!!! 

One fine morning, my daughter decided to go shopping and left her one and a half year old Bubbles with her maid Durga Bai. Bubbles was a very independent child,all smiles and full of energy.The atmosphere was very tranquil, Durga was busy going about her daily chores,while keeping an eye on Bubbles. All was quiet on the western front. Bubbles was quite content playing with his favourite toys. In any case there were always a few pigeons sitting on the window sill and cooing. Bubbles had made friends with them and invariably joined them in cooing.

Meanwhile,  Durga Bai was busy in the  bathroom rinsing a few clothes.Bubbles by then was bored with the pigeons and decided to do something different. He looked around and did not find Durga anywhere.He searched  and finally found her in the bathroom sitting and washing clothes. He stood by the door and was watching the whole operation with some degree of interest. While observing Durga, he started playing with the door’s sliding bolt. In one unfortunate moment the bolt got locked. He tried to unbolt several times in vain so he did the next best thing.He started yelling at the top of his voice.

Durga became aware of the grave situation and started calling out for help.The watchman on the ground floor heard the commotion and was quick to grasp the situation. He rang up Bubbles’ mother,who rang up her brother in law who was geographically closer to the scene of the Monkey Business. In a short while, normalcy was restored.

House rats are common in a big city like Mumbai. Ever so often, they find it advantageous to move into human habitation. No one can resist free boarding and lodging.

Calm had descended on my daughter’s household. Dinner was over and the children were ready to go to bed. The parents were also looking forward to a restful night. In the midst of this tranquil atmosphere, Baldy the new house rat decided to undertake an expedition from the kitchen to the bedroom. That is when he was sighted by daughter dear. She responded by letting out a high pitched scream and jumping up on the bed. The children joined their mother and in all this confusion, Baldy made good his escape.

The very next morning the local provision store was ordered to deliver a packet of ‘Hit’ – Rat Glue Pad. Five sticky pads were placed in selected corners and behind furniture. Now that the trap was set, Baldy would be caught and peace would return. That was the master plan.  

That day, after school,  the children returned home and were affectionately greeted by their mother. Once they had settled down, they decided to play a game of hide and seek. Sticky Mouse  in an effort to find the best hiding place squeezed himself into one of the corners, behind the furniture. Lo and behold it got stuck permanently to his foot. He put his hand down to extricate his foot and that got stuck too.  

What followed was a nightmarish experience. It took the combined efforts of the parents and grandparents to extricate the little mouse from his Sticky situation.

In case you ever find yourselves in a similar position, a precise mix of coconut oil, moisturizer, liquid soap,  detergent and  soap water soaking through an extremely scientific method, popularly known as ‘trial and error,’ can be found to do the trick.

Lighter Side of War

I arrived in Mumbai as a young Sub Lieutenant at the end of June 1971 to take up my new appointment in the 25th Missile Boat Squadron, later called the ‘Killer’ Squadron. I felt very proud to be appointed to the Indian Naval Ship Nashak. In December 1971, these boats were to distinguish themselves as the “Karachi Killers”, having carried out a bold and daring missile attack on Pakistani Naval ships and setting ablaze the fuel dumps of Karachi.

Everyone on board was excited that the navy would be fighting a battle and we would be a part of it. War is serious business. The atmosphere is charged with a cocktail of emotions – a very high level of patriotic fervor, excitement, bravado, unspoken fear, camaraderie and commitment. Normally one does not get to experience this state of being on a constant high with a continuous adrenalin rush.

Amidst all the seriousness of war, the tough life on board had its share of lighter moments. These short, comic interludes allowed us to rest for a while, laugh, behave normally and forget the war. These lighter moments probably helped us retain our sanity and sense of balance. Thanks to all the good humour in uniform.

I think it was in early November that our Engineering Officer had taken leave and gone home to get married. The marriage was being held in Dadar, Mumbai.

One morning, the atmosphere on the ship suddenly changed. Within an hour, it was buzzing with frantic activity. Fuel, water, provisions and missiles started arriving on the ship. We were being armed to the teeth. The Commanding Officer called for an emergency meeting and declared that we were to proceed with dispatch to patrol in the North Arabian Sea. War was imminent. We received orders to sail the following morning at 0200 hours.

There was no way the ship could sail without the Engineering Officer. On one hand the clouds of war were gathering fast and on the other, the officer was getting married. The Commanding Officer had to make a very hard decision. After a couple of telephone calls to the senior authorities, it was decided to recall the officer and order him to report on board with immediate effect.  

As the junior most officer on board, I was entrusted with the extremely unpleasant task of proceeding to the marriage hall to hand over the recall signal to the Engineering Officer. I went in uniform with a dispatch rider to Dadar.

As I entered the hall I noticed that the wedding had just got over and the air was full of joy and jubilation. The music was blaring, tables were being set up for the wedding lunch and the guests were busy in animated discussion.

The groom came and hugged me and introduced his newly married wife to me. I very hesitantly and reluctantly embarked on the unpleasant task I had been given.I called him aside and gave him the recall signal.

All hell broke loose and there was total shock and disbelief all around. As the news spread, a deathly silence descended on the marriage hall. What followed was straight out of a    Bollywood block buster.

Imagine the scene- The peppy Bollywood song ‘Aaj Kal Tere Mere Pyaar Ke Charche Har Zabaan Par’ is playing full blast. The villain appears in uniform and hands over the recall signal – the bride says, “Nahi,nahi! Kabhi nahi!” and starts crying inconsolably. The groom swallows his disappointment, straightens his shoulders, grits his teeth and says, “I shall return!” The relatives in stage whispers say, “So unfair! How can this happen?” and glare at the hapless villain. And the villain?  He sheepishly beats a hasty retreat from the scene and scoots back to the safe confines of his warship.

The marriage party was not in any mood to concede defeat. The bride, groom and close relatives decided to approach the highest available authority and seek a review. The senior officer received the party with all due respect and listened very attentively to their pleas. The parents of the bride and the groom explained at length the importance of marriage, ‘suhaag raat’ and other rituals of lesser importance.

Unfortunately for them, the senior officer of the squadron though gentlemanly and extremely courteous, was a confirmed bachelor. The rest as they say is history.

Cross Border Raids

In the annals of warfare, “Cross Border Raids” (CBR) are very common. The military force of one country enters an enemy territory for a very short period to carry out a limited operation. It’s not war but a military manoeuvre to intimidate the enemy. The media is full of such reports between Russia and Ukraine, Israel in Gaza, Ethiopia and Sudan, Boko Haram and Nigeria – the list is endless. Secrecy, surprise, stealth and swiftness are the key ingredients in any raid.  

It is very fascinating to study how this concept of “Cross Border Raids” has been suitably modified and executed in the civilian domain.

Our daughter is blessed with three boys and the family lives next door to us. All the three are in their teens, delightfully young and energetic. When young boys are growing up, nourishment plays an extremely important role. They are forever hungry and on the look out to replenish themselves. Apart from the well- established three meals a day routine, they are always on the lookout for snacks, easy bites and such like.

Here is one scenario. I am sitting in the TV room totally engrossed in some serial or the other and oblivious to what’s happening around me. Suddenly I sense some change in the immediate space and see some movement from the corner of my eye. I know there has been an intrusion. Through the slightly open door, I see the fridge door opening slowly. The door remains open for a short time and closes gently soon after. Years of experience in the military tells me that a successful “Cross Border Raid” has been executed with utmost precision and stealth.

A closer examination of the fridge reveals the extent of the damage. Over time and after keeping the fridge under close surveillance, I have been able to link the booty to the intruder.

All the cheese slices have been captured and taken away by ‘Cheesy Fox’. Hershey’s too is a great favourite of his and the presence of these delectable chocolates is never ignored.

ATM (Any Time Mango) enters through the back door and wishes me on the way to the drawing room. In a jiffy he completes the raid and has departed through the front door with his booty of mangoes. ATM also likes ‘Kaju Katli’. This raider has developed a taste for very costly dry fruits. Almonds, walnuts, raisins and cashew nuts are his regular targets. I have often fooled ATM by storing dry fruits in the oddest of places. The packet of pistas stored in an empty washing machine- cleaning-tablets bottle has survived many daring attacks. So have the roasted almonds hidden under a bag of carrots in the vegetable tray!

The raiding party is only interested in ready-to-eat items. Just when you think all the raids are over and done with, I hear a steel glass falling to the ground, a plate carelessly dropped in the sink and so on. The ‘Gawky Raider’ has entered. He has no favourites and settles for anything in the fridge. He wishes us very politely and then after a short while, leaves our house with bulging pockets and a sheepish smile!

The CBR is executed very swiftly and lasts just for a minute or two. During school days the raid is normally carried out between 5 to 7 pm. However, on holidays the raid can happen at any time and without any warning.

As grandparents we have accepted CBR as a part of growing up and encourage these silent and daring raids by feigning ignorance and constantly replenishing the food items.

Cheers until the next raid.