MY INFINITE WARDROBE

You may wonder as to what I mean by 'my infinite wardrobe'! Assuming you will be interested, I wish to share my thoughts about the limited wardrobe at my disposal which nevertheless has stood me in good stead over the last fifty years or so of my adult life. And when I say 'limited ward robe', I really mean it. You wont have to count the items much beyond the fingers of one hand. I am sure, this will strike a chord in the hearts of my male contemporaries. I am deliberately using the word 'male' here. It goes without saying that women are totally a different breed as far as their wardrobe is concerned. It will continue to dazzle and bewilder men in general  and it is beyond   an ordinary man's imagination to even try to describe it!

Allow me to stick to the main subject of my wardrobe! I remember the time, when as a young man, I entered college, the romantic world of the young with immense possibilities besides education, mainly hopeful encounters with the fair sex! You wanted to look smart, at least better than the next guy who somehow appeared to command better attention than yours truly! I knew I was partly to blame for this situation, assuming that we were otherwise playing on a level field in terms of our looks and ability to be coherent without missing too many heartbeats, while trying to make conversation with girls. It was elementary that to start with, I should make some effort to wear clothes of the prevailing fashion if I had any hopes on that count!

And that brings me to the crux of the matter! You see, I was invariably behind my times in my choice of clothes, old fashioned really whatever it means considering that I was still in my teens! I was pretty backward. I pretended to be indifferent but lacked common sense or was plain lazy, I am not sure. I think  I just lacked the courage to change with the winds of change. And by the time I gathered enough guts to fall in line, I found myself once again at the end of the line!

 Forgive me if my sequence about clothing is a little muddled.  I distinctly recollect  the days when the bell bottoms style of pants made their first appearance. They looked so silly to me! I ignored this new fad and continued to wear the standard, 'straight' pants. But I knew that this will not take me anywhere. I could clearly see the pitying glances girls gave me. Boys were more forthright making fun of me at the first opportunity. Some even called me 'Uncle'! Then I knew, enough was enough and became bold! I went out to buy my first ever piece of a pair of bell bottoms and then bought one more. And for the next six months or so, I strutted around in those bell bottoms showing off to whosoever cared to look in my direction!


 Very soon though, I realized that my newly acquired pants were already on the way out. I had washed the bell bottoms barely a few times since I bought them and the next 'new' were already on the horizon. It was the advent of the drain pipe style of pants. Life was certainly not fair, I thought! I remained a straggler of sorts and bravely continued to wear my two bell bottoms alternately. But there was this niggling anxiety at the back of my mind. When will it be my day to turn to the drain pipes! Well, it came soon enough but not really!

As I ventured to buy a pair of drain pipe pants, I discovered that there was very little choice. Are they already part of history, I thought with a sinking feeling! But clueless as ever, I bought a couple which fitted me. It was another year or so, and  lo and behold, the simple straight pants of the past were coming back and how! As a new fashion! Lucky me, thank heavens I had not thrown away my original ones! Let me not bore you with my travails about shirts I chose and wore with those blasted pants. Suffice it to say that here too, my selection was very narrow and boring! 


As I was coming to the end of this 'battle of pants', something very momentous happened in my life. I joined the army! On my commission day as an officer at the Indian Military Academy (IMA), I wore my army uniform, the olive greens or OG for the first time. It is impossible to catch in words the thrill of those moments! For once, I was oblivious to the mundane things of life like what to wear! I did not realize that from now on-wards till I retire, I was going to wear this smart outfit day in and day out whenever on duty, never missing those pants and shirts of my civilian days. The swagger it brought to my walk and the spring to my steps was never there before! Did I walk on the clouds?! It was a wonderful time, it became my proud privilege to be in my OGs whenever appropriate!


Of course, I had some essential civvies which included a suit of grey color and a couple of matching ties. Thanks to the army regimen, I managed to remain in reasonable shape. The suit, with minor alterations, served me for many, many years. Yes, I acquired one more suit of blue color when I got married. But I suppose, that is mandatory for a guy who wants to get married!


Another generation gone, I had retired from the army and went back to my civvies full time! It was with huge regret that I hung up my beloved OG army uniform which I will never wear again. It was a farewell which made me very sad! 


Back to civil life, I bought my first T shirt when I was in my fifties and that too because I was getting ready for my first ever visit to the land of Uncle Sam, I mean the US, to meet our daughter who had gone there for her Masters. I wanted once again to compete with my fellow men to look smart and 'mod' if that is the right word! A few more visits to US and I sensed that I was getting left out AGAIN unless I quickly made the leap to the universal world of jeans. This time, I did not hesitate too much and made up my mind quickly in favor of this wonderful garment! The jeans aided by a couple of T shirts have finally liberated me from the mental tyranny of having to choose the right kind of wardrobe. And not me alone, it has done this to men and women of all ages all over the world. For me, this is my ultimate 'infinite wardrobe'!


But wait a moment! There is only one little thing now where I have to make up my mind before it is too late, considering that I am in my seventies. What should be the right length of my shorts if I choose to wear them for a game of tennis or just for a morning walk??!!

The Summer Camp of 1999

It was the late nineties when I was working at a private residential military school on the west coast of Maharashtra. I had just retired from the army, but was not really 'old & retired'! In my fifties, I joined this school as its administrative head, the Commandant. It was a high school run by a trust. It was called a 'military school' just because, in addition to the regular curriculum, the students were given basic military training like PT, drill, horse riding and firing weapons (with air guns only!). For this purpose, a few retired army personnel drawn from the area were employed as part of the staff.

Like other schools, this school too was closed during summer holidays. It used to be a long break of more than 2 months. Regular students would go home for the summer holidays. But the whole infrastructure, the school building, the dormitories, gardens and horses had to be maintained. Minimum staff had to be kept for this purpose. All that cost money. So, we used to run two summer camps, making full use of the existing facilities. These camps were of about 3 weeks duration each and catered for about a hundred boys and girls of the age group of 12 to 17 years. Needless to say, we charged good money for this activity.

It was normal practice to advertise these camps in the news- papers well in advance. Their popularity could be gauged from the fact that the camps were always oversubscribed in no time. Our camp activities which included basic military training mentioned above, were a great hit for the city boys and girls. There used to be a virtual scramble for the 100 odd vacancies.

All camps began with my address to all the campers, welcoming them and broadly telling them about the program and what was expected of them. The emphasis was on discipline, good conduct and healthy competition. For ease of communication, command and control, we had the system of appointing captains for boys and girls. The normal practice was to select the senior most in age, for this purpose. Boys and girls were accommodated in separate dormitories. We had male and female wardens for boys and girls who oversaw their general conduct and behavior.

The camp routine started at 6 am sharp every day when all the campers assembled at the parade ground. A 30 minute vigorous PT was conducted by the school army staff. This was followed by breakfast in the mess. The time from breakfast to lunch was used for other activities like drill, weapons training and class room lectures. After lunch and a break of about two hours, we had horse riding and games in batches. For all activities, boys and girls were suitably grouped age wise.

In the evening we had the roll call which accounted for all campers, their physical presence and wellbeing. Respective captains of boys and girls had to give a small written report at the roll call. Any unusual incident during the day will be mentioned in the report for my knowledge and necessary action. Dinner was served soon after. Finally, it was bed time and lights out, sharp at 9 pm, under the supervision of the wardens.

The success of every summer camp depended on the performance of all the staff, their dedication and sincerity. For this, I had assembled a team which included the instructional staff, mainly the retired army staff, some other essential personnel and a couple of teachers, male and female. All of them would be paid an honorarium at the end of the camp. My right hand man in this venture was a young teacher, Mr Ranganathan. A quiet, sensitive and serious minded person barely 25 years of age, he was very sincere and extremely loyal to me. I could depend upon him in any given situation. He would report to me every night to apprise me of all major activities. This was essential as it was not possible for me to be everywhere during the camp.

This summer camp of 1999 took off on the laid down guidelines. We had about 105 boys and girls attending it. The captains for the boys and girls were selected. They were Rakesh and Seema, both about 17 years of age, smart and cheerful youngsters. After my opening address, they were suitably briefed by me about their duties and responsibilities in the presence of Mr Ranganatham. Mr Ranganatham hailed from Tamilnadu. He was a bachelor and confided in me that soon after the camp, he would be going home to get married. He also had some vague plans to join his brother in Singapore. I wondered if he would come back. Regardless, I was happy for him!

After the camp was two weeks old, one evening, Mr Ranganathan came to my residence with his usual report. There was something in his manner which told me that something unusual had happened. I asked him as to what was the matter. He looked a little agitated and then said, ‘Sir, I think there is something going on between the two captains, Rakesh and Seema’. I asked him to explain. He then told me that while taking rounds of the dormitories after 9 pm the previous night, he noticed that both the captains were out in the dark, near the mess building. They were softly talking and laughing. Suddenly, when they noticed him, they made some excuse and went back to their dormitories.

What Mr Rangnathan told me was disturbing as it was against the discipline and rules of the camp. Worse, the campers involved were the captains who were supposed to follow all the rules. Their being out together after 9 pm was not acceptable! Still I advised Mr Ranganathan not to see too much in to it and asked him to wait and watch the situation for a couple of days. In my heart, I prayed that the last week of the camp passes of smoothly. Next morning, when I saw both the captions taking part in the day’s routine, I did not show that anything was amiss or in my knowledge. They for their part did the same but appeared guarded.

During the day, I kept on thinking and observing. More closely, I observed the senior most group of boys and girls, those of 16 to 17 years of age. I noticed their happiness, thrill and excitement of being together in the camp. The way they laughed and shouted after each competition or match was so infectious! I also felt that even if kids, just adolescent, they were so close to the affairs of the heart. Is it the hormones doing the trick, already knocking at the doors of teen-hood, I wondered!

It appeared that the last week of the camp was going to be fine. Mr. Ranganathan did not say anything about the captains or their behavior during the week. Out of sheer curiosity, when I asked him point blank about them, he said, ‘Sir, everything is OK! I have spoken to both of them at length and they understand!’. I was more than relieved to hear this.

Finally, it was the last day of the camp. In the evening, campers presented a variety entertainment program consisting of skits, songs and music with such gusto and energy; it was simply great, considering their ages and the limited time in which they prepared for it. At the end, there was prize distribution and my final address.

Next morning which was Sunday, was the day of dispersal. All the campers had packed their belongings, taken their clearance certificates and were ready to leave. All boys and girls came to my office to say good bye which was touching! Last but not the least, both the captains, Rakesh and Seema met me and apologized to me for any lapses and mistakes they might committed! I was very moved by their gesture and wished them best in life!

After the campers had dispersed, I called for a meeting of all my staff who had assisted me in running the camp. I thanked and congratulated all of them. I especially mentioned the name of Mr Ranganathan who was going home to get married. I hoped, he would come back to school in the next session. As luck would have it, I myself could not continue with the school for personal reasons. I resigned and moved to my base in Pune.

 After about 5 years or so, one fine day I got a call from Mr Ranganathan. It was nice to hear his voice. He told me that he got married a year back and wanted to come to our place with his wife, to meet us. I congratulated him and asked him where he lived these days. He said, they lived in Singapore now. Good, please come and have lunch with us, I told him. Around lunch time, our doorbell rang. I opened the door to greet Mr Ranganathan and his newly wedded wife, who was none other than Seema, the same girl who was the girls’ captain in the summer camp of 1999!                            

Waking Hours

It was early morning and the dawn was at least an hour away. My wife was still fast asleep. I find these waking hours very peaceful. It is still dark, there is virtually no activity or disturbance of any kind. Your mind is calm, without a ripple and you are on your own. Ideal time just to be alone with yourself and your thoughts!

For no particular reason, I travelled down the memory lane thinking about a trip I had undertaken to a famous temple. It was many, many years back when I was a young man and serving in the army, we were camping at a place called Udhampur. We were on duty. On a Sunday morning, I along with a few friends, on the spur of the moment decided to visit Vaisnav Devi, a religious shrine. It was not so much out of conviction, as it was for having just a day out for physical activity and some fun.

Vaishnav Devi Temple is located a few miles away from Udhampur, up in the hills in the state of Jammu & Kashmir. It would take us a whole day to go and return, mostly on foot. We started early morning in a jeep. On reaching the foothills, we started walking up, slowly climbing the steep heights. After about an hour or so, we overtook an old woman who like us, was going up to have a ‘darshan’ of the famous deity, Vaishnav Devi. She was carrying a heavy bundle on her head, probably some clothes and other basic needs. Out of consideration for her age, I offered to carry her bundle for some distance. ‘No son, no’, she replied, ‘I must carry my load myself. Otherwise, I will not get the ‘phal’ (meaning the fruit or the reward) from Vaishnav Devi for this effort’!

I was struck by the blind faith and devotion of the old woman. It also carried an important message about life, which I did not fully understand at that time. ‘I must carry my load alone’! We all must carry our loads all by ourselves!‘Carrying our loads’, what exactly it means! I think these are mostly our acts of commission or omission as we travel on this journey called ‘life’! Our good acts which made our life and lives of others, better and more meaningful are those ‘loads’ which are a pleasure to carry. These are not ‘loads’ in the real sense. Don’t we show them off when we get a chance? But what about those occasions where we did not do the right thing, or worse, did the wrong thing? These ‘loads’ mostly outnumber the good ones I mentioned earlier

.

How many times we lacked the courage and conviction to stand by principles just to be on the right side of powerful people! Just to gain some advantage which was not rightfully ours? Worse, we hurt others in the process! By deliberate commissions and omissions, we supported the wrong doers so that we too could share a piece of their illicit cake. We fell so easily to temptations even if momentarily!

We dare not talk about these ‘loads’ we secretly carry in our memory, neatly tucked away from others and ourselves. We were responsible for those ‘loads’ and we consciously or unconsciously carry them, have to carry them. There is no choice! But it takes a life time to realize this truth. And worse, we then have this hopeless feeling of being stranded that there is not much time left to make amends!

Going back to that day of our visit to ‘Vaishnav Devi’ Temple, after having ‘darshan’ of the Goddess, my friends and I rested for some time under a tree, just outside the main premises of the temple. We were hungry and ate refreshments we had brought with us. At the back of my mind, I was thinking and wondering about that old woman we had overtaken on the way up. And then I saw her, slowly trudging up with her big bundle. She stopped, put down her load to catch her breath and sat down near us to rest for a while. She looked very tired. I offered a glass of water to her. She said, ‘no, beta, I cannot eat or drink anything till I meet the Goddess, Vaishnav Devi’! I marveled at this tough, old woman while feeling very guilty that I, not even half her age, had drunk water a couple of times on our way up itself!

After resting for about 15 minutes, the woman was ready to go inside the temple. She got up and then turned to us with a request, ‘could you please wait some more time and take care of my bundle while I finish with ‘darshan’ of Vaishnav Devi?’ We did not have the heart to refuse. ‘No problem, we can wait for you’, I replied. She slowly walked towards the temple. We loudly wondered about her. How far from she had come, did she have a family, why no one accompanied her, poor thing!

Half an hour later, the woman reappeared. As we watched her, we noticed a sea change in her. She looked so fresh, cheerful and full of energy. There was a spring in her step. ‘Thank you beta for waiting for me and for taking care of my bundle! You did a good deed today by helping me. Every day, remember, you must do a good deed. Bhagwan tumhara bhala karega!’(God will take care of you!). Then she added wistfully, ‘Today, I have washed away all my sins by visiting Vaishnav Devi’! What sins this poor, old woman could have committed, I wondered! This simple soul with a simple philosophy of life and lots of faith, she looked so happy at that moment! Obviously, she had passed on her ‘loads’ to Vaishnav Devi!


As my wife stirred from her slumber, she mumbled 'have you made tea?' Making tea in the morning, incidentally is my responsibility. I was ready for my good deed of the day!

A Forgotten Love Story

                             

As the train slowly pulled out of the station, it was dusk time. Passengers started settling down on their berths. The twinkling lights of the town slowly receded giving way to darkness. The elders began calling their kids who were still moving around in the compartment. It was time for opening the tiffin, eating dinner and then going to sleep on their respective berths, a typical scene in a railway sleeper. It was to be an overnight journey to Hyderabad, the train’s next main halt.

I keenly looked forward to my visit to Hyderabad after almost a year, to meet a close friend and his family. I quietly ate my dinner. Soon, it was time for me to retire. After visiting the bathroom, I returned to my berth. On my way back, I noticed a couple in the adjoining coupe who were also in the process of settling down. As I lied down on my berth, I opened a magazine to read, my favorite activity before going to sleep. Another half an hour or so elapsed as I was dozing off.

And then, I heard the couple in the next coupe, whispering to each other. I just could not help overhearing their exchanges. The man, husband I suppose, was telling the wife about his ex-girlfriend, how she fell for him in the college, how beautiful she was, her long hair etc. etc. Men will never stop bragging about their girlfriends, always exaggerating their ‘conquests’, I thought! Does not matter how old they are, they will keep at it even when they are in their 70s!

‘How I wish you could meet her’ the husband continued. ‘I hope she is still in Hyderabad, in the same house where I used to visit her’ he said sounding very wistful. The wife whispered, ’you are so silly! How is it possible? She too must be in her 40s, married and a mother of grown up kids like me, living in a different town’. ‘And even if she is there, I am sure it will be difficult for both of you to recognize each other. It is more than 25 years since you left college’, she added.

 The husband still sounded very optimistic. ‘I did not tell you that she promised to wait for me. But fate took me elsewhere and then it was I who could not go back to her. I still remember, she had that black mole under her left eye. Hope it is still there and will be a give-away. She had long, beautiful hair and she always wore a big red ‘bindi’. She used to typically wear sarees with red border. May be she still does that’, he continued to day-dream. ‘Let us visit her place and take a chance’ he pleaded, ‘after all, we have a full day in Hyderabad before we take the next connection for Bangalore. We can easily spare an hour for this adventure’! The wife sighed and said, ‘OK, have it your way’.

Early next morning, my train reached Hyderabad. I quickly got off the train looking for my friend who was there on the platform to receive me. Very soon, we were there at his house. I had a quick shower and breakfast with my hosts, a very sweet couple. It was a pleasure to meet their two teen aged kids, a girl and a boy. We chatted for some time. And then, I changed in to a saree with a red border, my favorite wear, put on a big red ‘bindi’, had another look in the mirror at my greying and depleted hair and the fading black mole under my left eye. ‘Are you going out to some place?’ my friends enquired. I said, ‘not really, but I am expecting some visitors, hoping you will not mind’!

With baited breath, I began my wait at my ancestral home, this same house presently rented to my friends whom I was visiting. I was waiting to meet someone after a gap of almost 25 years, a man who was much more than a dear friend to me in my young days, thanking his wife for granting him his wish!

I got a mail---by post!

You must have read reports about the steady decline in the volume of letters arriving by post and about conjectures on the viability of postal services in US. This has been attributed mainly to the phenomenon of e-mails and other electronic communications, and use of phones of all variety. This must be true in other developed countries too. Which is a tragedy and a big loss, I feel! Nothing can really match the pleasure and excitement of writing, sending or receiving a letter via a postman, even a typed one though it will be simply heavenly if it is hand written!

Of course, I am referring to personal communications, particularly those which relate to matters of heart, about feelings, thoughts and emotions, but also simple chatter between a man and a woman, lover and beloved, between mother, father and their growing children who are miles away from each other, or just between friends who are missing each other. Phone calls and e-mails give instant connection and gratification. But, the flavor and magic of a hand written letter is impossible to beat!

I remember my days when I was serving in the army in the 60's, 70's, and 80's. For many years, I had my share of postings in far flung border areas far away from my family at non-family stations, in the north and the north east of India. In those days, there was a paucity of phones and the era of e-mails was nowhere on the horizon. The only way of communicating was by letters through postal services which took a week or more to arrive at their destinations. In emergencies, telegrams could be sent, but their reliability was always questionable. In any case, soldiers never looked forward to telegrams which were usually harbingers of bad news. They only waited for simple letters from home giving news about welfare of their families. Any good news was of course welcome! This incident relates to one of such border postings of my army career in the 80's.

I was posted at a remote corner in the far-east. My routine started with 'reveille' in the morning when we began our day with the usual PT (physical training exercises) followed by breakfast and then various training activities, lunch. more training and finally ended with the 'retreat'. We looked forward most to the afternoons when the unit DR (dispatch rider) would bring letters from our FPO (field post office). Most of us would get a letter once a week on the average, a letter from home which was literally our lifeline! It is impossible to exaggerate the value of this, something so vital for the morale, the mood, for the zest and spirit of all the troops living in difficult conditions hundreds of miles away from home. If one of us did not get a letter or a postcard say for 10 days, it was time to be concerned. And if this crossed the 2-weeks mark, the spirits will droop to our boots! Many of us passed through this difficult test periodically. Inevitably, it was my turn soon!

I was fortunate to get at least one letter every week, either from my wife or from my son and daughter who were studying in High School at that point of time. And then, it so happened that there were no letters from any of them for full two weeks. What was the matter? Was some one ill-seriously? Why couldn't my wife write at least? My mind started playing tricks! I lost my sleep and could not concentrate on my work. One of my colleagues, a junior officer - a dear friend really, noticed this and tried to reassure me with words like 'Do not worry Sir, everything is OK'. 'Our postal services are not that efficient you know. Your letters are stuck somewhere and will arrive soon. Relax!' And when he saw that my mood continued to be bad,' he said,'believe me Sir, you WILL get a letter tomorrow'. But I could not be consoled. My mind conjured up the worst things. I decided to send a telegram to my wife after waiting for just one more day.

Not soon enough, the next day and the next afternoon arrived! The postal DR reached our unit lines and our office. I was anxiously waiting in my room for some one to knock. And then it happened! There was a knock, my orderly came in with not one, not two but three letters! Two were from my home as I could see. The third looked from some one else. My joy knew no bounds as I read letters from my wife, and from my son and daughter! All was well, every one was doing well. 'God was there in the heaven and all was great with the whole wide world' I thought!

And then my eyes fell on the third letter. As I opened it, I wondered from whom it was. The small note sheet, to my utter surprise, was from my dear friend and well wisher who had been reassuring me for the last many days about my family!

'Dear Sir, please do not mind this little prank. Yesterday, I promised you that you will definitely get a letter today. Lest you do not get one, these lines are meant to fulfil that promise and as a good omen, just to make you feel a little better, though I know it may make you worse if today too, there is no letter from your near and dear ones. But I must write my letter! Let me repeat my words. Please do not worry about anything. Believe me, all is well with your family. Please relax! You will soon get their letters-----'. With regards, he had signed off!