GO NATURAL!

 

 

GO NATURAL !

BY WARVET

 

 

“Yes sir. Sir sir. Sir sir sir”. Maj Ranbir kept sucking frantically at the last few mm of cigarette in his fingers. Our boss, the Brigadier from Corps HQ was on the other end. Ranbir put the phone in the cradle and stubbed the cigarette in the ash tray. “Gaadi lagao re” he shouted, rising from his chair and adjusting his beret. I was up from my chair too.

“Vicky Boss, the old man wants me in his office in next 15 minutes. There’s some emergency”

“But sir, we will take atleast 1 hour. Minimum 40 minutes if we are lucky to reach Corps HQ”

“You drive the Jonga. I’ll study the file enroute. Take straight to the river” He commanded not registering my objection.

“River? What are you thinking? You think we can cross Balason in our Jonga? And what after we cross it?

“You told me you have been across the river last month on horseback and have explored the tea garden there. Did you not find any road? It will lead us to the highway. We will avoid all the traffic and go ‘as the crow flies’.

He was buried in file as the Jonga sped in its top 3^rd gear towards the October Balason. I was worried if water entered our cabin and exhaust. I found a track used by Army auctioned Shaktimans used to ferry sand from river. The faithful Jonga sank in the sand but kept moving determinedly. I could feel the raw 2000 cc engine revving. Hundreds of Bangladeshi immigrant labours were robbing the river of sand for the construction mafia of city.

“Sir, don’t blame me if we are stuck or swept away. And I have to still get my Permanent Commission”. In the Army, your Commanding Officer is everything. You do what he says. I thought of my Isht Dev and put the Jonga in 1^st gear as I approached the languid river. I put it in a track used by the sand trucks and hit water. The Jonga tumbled and skidded and lurched. I held the steering wheel steady with all my might and focussed on keeping my foot on the accelerator steady. The beast trudged on and on and I could see water rising to my door level but no higher. The Jonga was a beast. It didn’t have to worry about power steering or windows. Rather there was no window glass. There was only canvas rolled up for window. So it focussed on getting us from point A to B only. I felt water receding and slowly to my utter relef, we hit the sandy bank across. All this while, Ranbir was immersed in his file and never took his eyes off the figures he was studying.

“Sir what’s so engrossing in the file” I asked once I had found a track through the tea garden. The tea pickers were amused to see the Jonga. Half naked kids had emerged from their huts and watching us with disbelief. Some were holding their smaller siblings some held a bowl of their breakfast. A tan hen scampered across the road with her chicks following her. These tea children were so near to us but still totally cut off from outside world. For them, the Tea estate was their planet. Where they were born, took up jobs of their parents and continued their simple lives. I was navigating purely by instinct and eventually after crossing a tea factory and another basti hit the highway. In front was the Corps HQ.

“There’s a discrepancy of a whole 2 Lakh Rs in the Bar account. The civilian Mallu clerk and Barman have been drinking the high end whiskeys for 2 years and Himalaya didn’t know a thing. I have buggered both enough that they are withdrawing their provident fund to pay off but I think the Old Man has got wind of the affair”.

I was shocked. It was 1999. My monthly salary was 14000 Rs. And those two rascals drank liquor worth 2 Lakh!! My head spinned. Maj Himalaya was OC of the supply depot who was moving suddenly on posting and Ranbir was to take over his unit and charge of A Mess Secretary from him. So those were the details he was pondering over!

A week back Major Nagender, my OC was suddenly posted out and replaced by Maj Ranbir. Ranbir was a short, stocky, pocked dynamite of a guy. “Mera kad bhi chhota  Aur pad bhi Chhotta” he had told comely Mrs Nagender during calling on to our collective amusement. He was once a petty officer in Navy, a trained Diver, Marine Commando who with his grit had cleared the SSB and been commissioned as an Officer in the Army. A Chain smoker, who had half a botle of Old Monk in the evening (“Loved His Drink” – we in the Army call such gentlemen). He took 2 pegs before going to a party so people didn’t see him taking too many pegs.

“This jungle has to be cleared” He told me later in the supply depot. The field in front of me had hundreds of Sal trees that were hardly 7-8 years old.

“Sir, get all this wood to our unit. We need the wood to put up fences all around to control our mules. I will turn the whole area into a western ranch” I mused.

“Done Vicky sir” He insisted on calling me Vicky sir inspite of my objections. He was an incorrigible ‘Forced Bachelor’ and had moved into room adjoining mine in our tiny Officer’s Mess. Since then we were together 24 hours and he treated myself and all my property including the dear Yamaha RX 100 as his own. Whatever was to be done whatever was to be had it was for ‘hum dono bhai’. We went everywhere together. Thomas the 2IC had left and no one came to replace him. So we were only 2 officers amongst 450 men in the unit. And we stayed together, worked together, played together and drank together. We were inseparable.

“I took 40000 Rs from you almirah and gave it to the Baniya” He told me one day.

“But Why? I needed that money” I protested.

“You would have spent it on your exploration of the hills. Baniya will give you 2 percent interest every month. You use it. The principal will be safe for future” was his answer.

I didn’t know what to say to my friend, brother and Boss.

The wood from supply depot arrived and we split it without removing the bark and put it all over. It came in prodigious quantities and slowly all unit was transformed with wild west type fences and machans and walls.

“It’s ‘Nature’s Delight’ sir. All looks so natural. We must go natural in all respects” I opined.

“You are right. I was thinking in same direction. No fast food. No chips. No cola. Only Natural” Ranbir supported.

“What about Old Monk” I asked.

“Its hundred percent natural” said Ranbir. “But don’t worry. I am on detox regimen tomorrow onwards. "Oye Mota Patil, kal se yaad hai na nimbu pani ka? 20 nimbu lana har roz” he shouted.

So it was that he started having 20 nimboos in form of nimboo pani daily while continuing his 6 pegs of Old monk in night.

Soon I realised he was not normal. He hardly slept. He got up at 4, slept at 1 in the morning. During day time he would disappear on my bike. Sometimes he was not in bed at 2 in the morning. He had a memory like a computer. He could learn any amount of data by heart in a ziphy. Said he owed it to his village maths master who made them learn tables upto 100 verbatim. Sometimes he started preparing for IAS and said he will quit service. A friend to all. True well-wisher of the troops – he never forgot his humble beginnings as a sailor himself.

In the meanwhile his quest for Nature kept self-nurturing itself to an obsession. He insisted on only local vegetables and fruits. He disposed off my cosmetics and replaced them with herbal products. He had none as he used mine only. One day I found whole lot of herbal medicines from companies like Himalaya, Indian Herbs and Dabur dumped in my pharmacy for the mules.

Taking it to other level and direction, he had insisted very strictly for our troops to have a katora cut hair style resembling recruits. “Katora cut is the ‘Natural’ Hair style for soldiers” he declared. The barbers took his orders with a vengeance upon anyone who they encountered. The barbers simply took zero size clippers and sheared all the traces of hair barring a katora or bowl on top of head which they allowed some concession. This led to a horde of clones surrounding us  The superfit AT boys looked surreal in their zero cut hair. We looked with pride to our superb manpower. The boys were happy with full quota of leave, 2 pegs rum daily, excellent food, daily games and robust work culture. OC insisted on relieving everyone on Sundays to visit Siliguri/Bagdogra market unlike other COs who discouraged soldiers to move around lest some trouble arose.

So one fine Monday morning I was surprised to see Ranbir holding his head in both his hands with elbows resting on his desk as I entered his office.

“What’s the Problem sir”

Ranbir looked up. The Subedar Major, Tai wale saab had entered the room after me.

“Saab Charon Barbers ko 2 mahina chuuti bhej do. Koi baal nahi katayega” Thundered the Commanding Officer.

I looked at Tai Wala searchingly.

“Saab Tai walon ne kal gadar kar diya”

“Kya Hua”?

“Kal Sunday ko Military Police ne Galli No 3 mei Raid Maar di”!

Galli No3 was the infamous Red Light District. I felt a drop of sweat trickle down my right eyebrow. I was waiting with bated breath for Tai Wala to disclose further.

“50 log pakde gaye jin mei se 38 hamare nikle. Kehte hain hamare katora cut ke karan Military Police ne humein hee pakda, baki bhag gaye. Corps mei kasooti badnami ho gayi hai”!.

That was end of the ‘Natural’ Katora Cut in XYZ AT Company and was followed by Sholay type brigand hair as well as facial hair for next 2 years.