Friday, October 2, 2026

 

When Alleppey and rest of the Nation  Kept Time Without Wristwatches.

  (  A nostalgic journey from the 1950s to the 1970s and Beyond. )

      
      Watching the Amazon Prime serial "Titan - Made in India", about the making of India’s first quartz watch and the remarkable story of how India challenged the centuries-old dominance of Swiss watchmakers, set me thinking.

        It took me back to the Alleppey of the 1950s - to the years when I was beginning to make some sense of the world around me.

        Today, a wristwatch is almost taken for granted. In fact, for the younger generation, the watch as a timepiece has almost disappeared altogether. The mobile phone has taken over that job, and now the smartwatch has entered the scene - part chronograph, part mobile phone, and perhaps part personal assistant!

        But there was a time when a wristwatch was a prized possession, a symbol of status and, for many of us, very much a luxury.

Alleppey - sans wristwatches

        In our locality and family in those days, the only wristwatch I remember seeing regularly was my father's West End - a beautiful rectangular, golden-cased Swiss watch with a matching chain and, proudly displayed on its dial, the words “10 Jewels.” It was a manual-winding mechanical watch.

        For us children, Father's watch was almost a forbidden object. Touching it was strictly prohibited. But whenever the opportunity presented itself and the watch happened to be lying unattended, we would quietly sneak up, pick it up and check the time.

        Those few seconds of holding it in our hands gave us an inexplicable sense of privilege - as though we had temporarily acquired a piece of adulthood!

        At home, fortunately, we had a large wall clock with a long oscilating pendulum. It had to be wound manually every day. Its most distinctive feature was its gong - a hammer striking a spring and announcing every hour with a deep, resonant chime that could be heard throughout the house, day and night.

        We too had a Philips Holland valve radio at home, switched on every morning when my father awoke. The valves and the glowing “magic eye” took their own sweet time to warm up before the radio came alive. Then, precisely at 5.50 a.m., came the familiar strains of All India Radio’s signature tune, 'Raga Sivaranjini', composed by Walter Kaufmann.

        For generations of Indians, that haunting melody was the sound of a new day beginning - and, in the days before wristwatches were commonplace, it was also the nation’s unofficial timekeeper.

        In Alleppey, too, the first strains of 'Sivaranjini' (signature tune of All India Radio) drifting from homes, teashops and hotels meant that clocks were checked, mornings began, and the town slowly stirred to life.

        But that raises an interesting question:

        How did people keep time when hardly anyone owned a wristwatch?

        The answer is fascinating. We had an entire network of clocks, bells, religious invocations, sirens, whistles, aircraft and even natural phenomena - none of them requiring batteries, chargers or Wi-Fi - which kept the whole town in rhythm.

Alleppey had its own timekeepers

        To begin with, there were temple bells and the 'kathina' - those miniature cannon-like crackers with gunpowder,  whose explosions announced various temple rituals. There were church bells, and of course the 'baanku vili' (Aazan ) - the call to prayer at mosques - at its prescribed intervals.

        These were not merely religious sounds. They were part of Alleppey's informal public timekeeping system.

        One of my earliest memories of time was associated with a Dakota aircraft carrying The Hindu newspapers to the capital Trivandrum. Almost every morning, at around six o'clock, the aircraft would fly past the Alleppey shoreline. Most people were already awake by about 5.30, and many of us would instinctively wait for the familiar drone of the Dakota to reluctantly shed the bed. The aircraft itself had become a morning time signal.

        Then there was the siren from the Alleppey Municipality office, which sounded at intervals of two or three hours. People knew its pattern and instinctively used it to estimate the time.

Then the factories kept the town ticking.

        Alleppey was then a thriving centre of the coir industry, with large British and German companies employing hundreds of people. Names such as Pierce Leslie, William Goodacre, Darrah Smail, Aspinwall and Madura Company were familiar landmarks of the town's commercial life.

        Their factory sirens formed another part of our informal timekeeping system. The sirens announced the beginning of work, recess, shift changes and the end of the working day. Each factory had its own rhythm, and the people of Alleppey knew the pattern almost as well as they knew the temple bells, church bells or 'azan' from mosques.

        The remarkable thing was that the system worked. Employees reported for work on time. Students reached school before the bell. Shops opened and closed at expected hours. Buses and boats were caught without anybody staring anxiously at a mobile phone. And, importantly, “I didn't have a watch” was never considered an acceptable excuse!

The sun, the moon and the sundial

        Long before watches became commonplace, people also looked upwards. The position of the sun or that of your own shadow provided a fairly reliable indication of the hour during the day. At night, the moon and stars served as natural companions for those who understood their movements. Even the rise and fall of the tides, transmitted through the backwaters into the hinterland, provided useful clues to the passage of time.

        I still remember the sundial at SDV High School - reputedly one of its kind in South India.

             To a child accustomed to clocks, a sundial seemed almost magical: time itself being measured by a shadow cast by the sun.Today, a sundial might appear quaint. To us then, it was a living lesson in how our ancestors understood and measured time.

“What time is it?”

        There was another little social custom that has almost disappeared. If you were fortunate enough to own a wristwatch, people passing by would frequently ask:

        "Chetta samayam ethra aayi ? (“ What time is it?”)

        Nobody seemed irritated by the question.

        In fact, wearing a wristwatch and being asked the time was almost an acknowledgement of one's modest affluence. The watch was not merely a timepiece. It was something worth noticing.

        I became the proud owner of my first wristwatch when I went to college - 'Kingsley' a modest American  pin-lever watch.

        It was certainly not as sophisticated as Father's West End and, if memory serves me right, had an irritating habit of developing problems at precisely the wrong time.

        But it was mine. And that made all the difference.!!

        It was also quite in order to display one's watch prominently, with the wrist resting casually on a friend's shoulder, in college group photographs.

        That was not accidental.! That was watchmanship!

From college to Olive Greens 

        When I joined the Army towards the end of the 1960s, the watch landscape had changed considerably. HMT watches were the preferred choice for many of us.

        I still remember an HMT watch kept in a glass-topped box at the Unit Quarter Guard. The Guard Commander handled it with almost ceremonial reverence. The inspecting officers religiously check its serviceability and upkeep.

        The hourly chimes, of the Quarter Guard bell goaded by this watch carried through the barracks by the became part of the rhythm of military life.

        A few HMT Jawan watches were issued to key appointment holders and were treated almost as controlled items - not unlike the regiment's rocket launchers and US wireless sets!

        In the unit, watches were still not something everybody possessed. Apart from officers and certain key appointments, most soldiers did not have one. Yet the entire unit functioned with remarkable punctuality.

        The Quarter Guard gong, the bugles - Reveille and Retreat - whistles and the calls of appointment holders were enough to keep everyone moving. Time was not something we carried on our wrists. It was something the whole unit lived by.

        I also remember the Army Canteen in those days.

        Watches were much in demand and often available only after a long wait. On one occasion, I bought an HMT Sona ladies' watch for my sister. It cost me ₹150. My monthly salary then was a princely ₹350!

        Looking back, I am not sure whether I was being generous to my sister or reckless with my finances. Perhaps both.

And then came Titan

        And then came Titan made in India.

        Suddenly, watches became more accessible, more stylish and more aspirational. The watch was no longer merely an instrument for measuring time. It became an expression of personality, taste and, occasionally, one's ability to impress others.

        Swiss watches continued to command enormous prestige - and their prices reflected it.

        But HMT and Titan brought something different: a good watch within the reach of ordinary Indians. Eventually, quartz technology transformed the watch itself.

        The humble mechanical watch, which had demanded winding and care, was gradually replaced by something that seemed almost miraculous to us: A watch that kept time without being wound!

        That was progress.

What we gained - and what we lost-

        Looking back today, the journey from Father's hand-wound West End to HMT, and from HMT to Titan and quartz watches, is much more than the story of a gadget.

        It is, in many ways, the story of changing India.

        In the 1950s, we did not need a watch to tell us every five minutes what we were supposed to do.The town itself kept time.

        Today, we have a clock on the wall - perhaps in every room. A watch on the wrist. A clock in the car. A computer on the desk. A mobile phone in the pocket. And, for good measure, a smartwatch on the wrist.

        Yet we still receive reminders telling us when to wake up, when to leave, when to attend a meeting, when to take a break and, occasionally, when to go to bed.

        Perhaps the greatest irony is that we have never had so many ways of knowing the time - and yet seem to have less time than ever before.

        For those of us who grew up in the Alleppey of the 1950s, a wristwatch was not merely something that told us what time it was.

        It told us something about who we were, where we had arrived in life, and how far the world had travelled. From a Dakota flying over the Arabian Sea to a smartwatch receiving messages from satellites, the journey has been extraordinary.

And yet, somewhere in that journey, something has quietly disappeared.

        We no longer listen for the factory siren.

        We no longer wait for the Dakota.

        We no longer calculate the hour by the position of the sun.

        We certainly don't ask the gentleman wearing a watch, “What time is it?”

        And perhaps that is why, even today, the memory of Father's old West End remains more precious than any watch I have worn since.

        It did not merely keep time.

        It kept a piece of my childhood. 💖



      
                                                                                                                                      - Ravi Nair-

#discovering Alleppey

 

 

Valiya Dewan Ji Raja Kesava Das

(Discovering Alleppey on a bicycle )

       

         As I cycle through the familiar streets, Canal bank roads and crisscross the twin canals of my beloved Alleppey (Alappuzha), I am continually drawn to reflect on the extraordinary vision of the man who transformed this once-sleepy coastal hamlet into one of Travancore’s most vibrant and well-planned port towns - our Valiya Dewanji, Raja Kesavadas. 

        Born as Kesava Pillai on 17 March 1745, he had little formal education, yet possessed exceptional intellect, administrative acumen, and a natural understanding of people, terrain, and opportunity. Recognising these rare qualities, Maharaja Karthika Thirunal Rama Varma - Dharma Raja - brought him into the service of the Travancore Palace. Over time, Kesava Pillai rose to become one of the most distinguished soldiers, administrators, and visionaries in Travancore’s history.

        When Tippu Sultan attacked Travancore, Kesava Pillai was the Chief of the State Army. Travancore army fought against the Tippu’s force under the leadership of Kesava Pillai and Tippu was forced to retreat.

        December 29th stands etched in history as Nedumkotta Victory Day, a proud testament to Travancore’s unyielding spirit and righteous defiance. When Tipu Sultan of Mysore unleashed his expansionary punitive expeditions (locally known as 'Tipuvinte Pada ottam') across Kodugu and Malabar - marked by temple desecration, plunder, and forced conversions and later turned his covetous gaze toward the sacred wealth of Sree Padmanabha Swamy of Travancore, by demanding the surrender of refugees, especially Nairs, who had fled to Travancore from Malabar seeking safety.

        Dharma Raja Karthika Thirunal Rama Varma Maharaja answered with moral clarity and royal courage , 'protecting those who seek refuge is 'dharma'.

        This uncompromising stand made war inevitable - and Travancore kingdom prepared for battle. The Raja purchased Cranganore (Kodungallur) and Pallipuram forts from the Dutch and strengthened the Travancore lines, which further angered Tipu.The Travancore forces under the generalship of Kesava Pillai with legendary commanders such as Vaikom Padmanabha Pillai, the master of eighteen 'kalaris', stood at the forefront.

        The formidable defensive rampart of Nedumkotta, near Tichur bordering Travancore, designed and built under Captain Mark de Lannoy (Valiya Kappithan)- a former Dutch officer - stretched nearly 35 miles, fortified with deep moats, secret tunnels, and impregnable defenses. It stood as a wall of resolve against Tipu's ambition.

        On December 24, 1789, Tipu encamped near Nedumkotta with an army of 30,000. On the 28th and 29th, fierce assaults were launched - but they shattered against the indomitable resistance of the Paravur Battalion.

        In a masterstroke of battlefield strategy, Tipu’s troops were allowed to breach the outer defenses, only to be drawn deep inside. Then, from hidden tunnels, Padmanabha Pillai’s 'Chaver Pada' (suicide squads) surged forth in a sudden, ferocious counterattack.

        Trapped between fire and steel, front and rear, Mysore’s soldiers plunged into the moats in chaos. Tipu himself was wounded in a duel with Padmanabha Pillai and forced to retreat. The fierce monsoons and the news of British forces advancing to Mysore also gave impetus to Tipu's hasty withdrawal. He had not recovered from his incapacitation suffered then till his last days.

        Victory crowned Travancore (Thiruvithankoor). Tipu’s sword, royal signet ring, and the battle Standards were solemnly presented to Dharma Raja.

        That very flag continues to be displayed even today during the annual 'Aaraattu' ritual of Sree Padmanabha Swamy when the head of the Travancore Royal Family leads the procession on foot with a sword in hand, escorted by caprisoned elephants, armed police and guards  - a living symbol of triumph and 'dharma'.

        Recognizing his victory over the Mysore, the Karthika Thirunal Maharaja appointed Kesava Pillai as Dewan of Travancore. He was further glorified by the British Governor Mornington, by the title ‘Raja’ in appreciation of his administrative talents.

        As Dewan, Raja Kesavadas was responsible for Development of Alappuzha port. The transformation of Alleppey since then, from a sleepy hamlet hemmed between lagoon and Sea, is all a history.

        But, how many of us fancy how Alleppey would’ve looked sans the Twin Canals, the sea port, the migrant entrepreneurs and above all benign personal indulgence of our Valiya Diwan Ji ?. 

        So let’s visit Alleppey of the late 17th century. To get a feel, you have to read a wonderful book about the locale - words of which would be valid even today. The Book is ‘Wanderer’s Log (An Indian Venice )’ by Carl Eric Bechhoffer*. (*C E Bechhoffer Roberts was a British author, barrister, and journalist.)

        He writes :-

        “Imagine a narrow spit of sand, covered with coconut palms; on one side of it the waves of the Indian Ocean are beating in a continual foam. Few boats would dare to put out from this shore, lest they should be caught in the surf and swamped. But barely fifty yards away, on the other side of the palm-covered spit, lies a vast and placid lagoon. The wind that is tearing the sea into fury is averted from the surface of the lagoon by the impenetrable barrier of palms; but it sweeps over a few feet above the waters and fills the sails of numberless boats. The sea is desolate, except for one or two daring fishing craft and a tramp steamer quite half a mile from the shore. But the lagoon teems with life, covered with the tracks of sailing-boats and canoes. This propinquity of sea and lagoon is the characteristic of the coast of South-West India from a distance north of Cochin almost all the way to Trivandrum, the capital city of the State of Travancore.”

        Those of us who are born in 1940s can envisage this picture more clearly and relate the flights of fancy to ground.

        Valiya Diwan's all time contribution is finding an ideal location and constructing a well planned port city for the State of Travancore. He found Alappuzha (Alleppey) which literally means 'land between the sea and the river' (Ala and Puzha) the most suitable. He recognised the extraordinary geographical advantage of the area - the proximity to the sea, the vast inland waterways, and the natural channels for transporting goods deep into the hinterland of Western Ghats.. ie. six primary rivers - Periyar, Muvattupuzha, Pamba, Meenachil, Manimala, and Achankovil, carrying freshwater into the Vembanad lake , which is in proximity to sea yet not connected.


        He constructed two parallel canals connecting the lagoon and the sea for bringing goods to port and offered infrastructural facilities to merchants and traders from neighbouring States and far away business centres like Sind, Marward, Surat, Kutch, Kongani (GSB) migrants and Parsis , Memons etc to start industrial and commercial enterprises , cargo centres and warehouses. All these happening nearly 3 centuries back !

        Alleppey was famed as the most well planned town. The port town was planned around these two canals ( Vadai Canal and Commercial Canal) and became the financial nerve centre of Travancore during his time; the port was opened in 1762 for the export of coir-matting and coir-yarn. His tenure of Dewan ended with demise of Dharma Raja Karthika Thirunal Rama Varma- I, in 1798.

        The Palace intrigues found Raja Kesavadas proclaimed as a traitor and kept under house arrest, where he died under mysterious circumstances on 21/4/1799. 🙏


        May every Alleppeyite be obliged and grateful to our Valiya Dewan Ji . Our solemn homage to a great General, Administrator, Architect and a Visionary.

        The Battle of Nedumkotta remains a blazing chapter in Travancore’s resistance history - a shining example of Travancore’s valor, strategic brilliance, and moral strength. It is not merely a story of the past, but a heritage of pride and courage that must be carried forward to future generations.

        Unfortunately this epoch of valor is somehow absent from the curriculum for reasons inexplicable. 

        Nearly three centuries later, as I cycle along these very canals, cross its bridges, and watch boats glide through its waterways, it is difficult not to admire the foresight of the man who conceived this urban landscape.

        It is satisfying that a stately statue of valiya Diwan Ji Raja Kesava Das is consecrated at Changanassery Junction at Kalarkode. Where the NH 66 meets the elevated Alleppey Bypass. Shelving political exigencies it would be in all propriety to name the Bypass as Raja Kesavadas Bypass - fore, after all, he was the founder of Alleppey. 

                                                                                                                                                                                    -Ravi Nair-

                                                                                                               #discovering alleppey on a bicycle 

 

Wednesday, September 30, 2026

 

🪖🤔 PONDERINGS OF A PONGO 🤔🪖 

LIVING WITH THE PIONEERS 

A Tale of Ingenuity from Fighting First

    ‘Fighting First’ - Descendants of the XXIII Sikh Pioneers

    Somewhere in the North, c/o 56 APO - to be precise, Meerut Cantonment, 1974–75

After a war, and having spent more than four and a half years in counter-insurgency operations in the jungles of the East and the high-altitude areas along the North-Eastern Frontiers, Fighting First finally arrived at a much-sought-after peace station - Meerut.

Peace station, indeed! 😄

Before we could even unpack our kit, we were launched into our first “Schema te Jangaan vich Fateh Bakshna” - (victory in training and war!) - mission.

The orders from the Divisional Headquarters were clear: the Infantry was to move “thur ke” – (on foot), as part of the austerity measures then being implemented. The nation was still grappling with the economic depression following the 1971 War, and the Army too had to tighten its belt.

And which arm could contribute most effectively to this grand national exercise in economy? Why, the ‘Queen of the Battle’ - the Mighty Infantry, of course! 😄

Our first mission was to carry out field firing at the Badshahi Bagh Ranges, Dehradun. No questions asked. As the old military maxim goes: “Not to question why, but to do and die!” 🪖

And so, at vee hours on D-Day, the Fighting First, straining at the leash for action, took its first step forward towards Dehradun - nearly 300 kilometres away. After a solemn Ardaas at the Unit Gurudwara Sahib, invoking the blessings of Waheguru Ji, and after prashaad had been duly chhak ke, (after consuming the holy prasaad) munde,(soldiers) Sardars (JCOs) and afsars (Officers) took to the road amid a resounding: “BOLE SO NIHAAL!”(War cry of the unit) 👏💪

A thousand-mile journey begins with the first step. We had taken ours. Reaching Dehradun after an arduous five-day march is another saga altogether - one best reserved for another day! 😄

There was, however, one comforting thought. We would be transported back in vehicles. Ah… promises! Especially promises made by higher headquarters. They are often wonderfully short-lived.

Our determined Divisional Headquarters, apparently concerned that the troops might become too comfortable on their return journey, decided that we should enjoy a few more “war games” en route. And so the Fighting First played one exercise after another, culminating in a full-fledged Divisional Exercise at Roorkee. Eventually, all the cards in the exercise were played and, mercifully, the exercise was called off.

The Paltan then crawled into the sultry shade of a mango grove, alive with a multitude of insects, and collectively heaved a sigh of relief. It was exactly three weeks since we had taken our ‘prashaad’ at the Unit Gurudwara Sahib. The GOC, in a final act of infinite kindness, released second-line transport for the remainder of the journey back to Meerut.

THE COMMAND

With the exercise over, our Commanding Officer (CO)was the first to peel off after handing over command to the Second-in-Command. Being a large-hearted man, he also released the Company Commanders on “compassionate grounds.”

And so, the entire responsibility of getting the Paltan safely home fell upon the shoulders of the bachelor Adjutant - yours truly. 😔 I had nobody waiting for me in Meerut. Nobody… Except, of course… My first love - my gleaming Red Royal Enfield — KLT 7724. ❤️🏍️

And that is where this little episode begins.

THE MOVE

Divisional transport - a platoon of 3-ton trucks - reported as scheduled. The move plan had been meticulously prepared. Halts were laid down, orders issued, speed limits prescribed, de-induction tables prepared and movement orders forwarded to Brigade Headquarters. There was one particular instruction which was repeated several times: No wandering about during halts. No crossing the highway. Stay with your vehicle. Simple enough.

After the customary Ardaas (prayer) at our field Gurudwara Sahib, the Paltan moved towards Meerut. As usual, the Adjutant - ensconced in his Ops Room (Operational Room), a 1-ton truck - was leading from the front, keeping a watchful eye on the speed, discipline and general conduct of the convoy. The Subedar Major (SM), meanwhile, was bringing up the rear with the Unit Repair Organisation - (the URO) complement.

After about two hours of traverse, the convoy halted for “rest and recuperation.” Headcounts were taken. Vehicle commanders reported. “All OK” reports began trickling in. And yours truly had already consumed his fifth cup of tea, courtesy of the persistent Punjabi hospitality of various administrative representatives.

“Ghut ghut pee laiye, Saab…”

(Please have another sip, Saab Ji…)

But there was one report I was still waiting for. The Subedar Major's. Time passed, my adrenaline began to rise. Then, at last, the Nissan truck of the Subedar Major appeared on the horizon. It rolled up majestically. Subedar Major alighted. Accepted the solemn salutations of the assembled mundas. And, without the slightest sign of urgency, walked away……for his tea!

I summoned him. “SM Saab, sab achha?”

And that was when the trouble began.

THE SUB MAJOR'S REPORT

The Sub Maj began: “Saab ji, main taan aakhiri gaddi vich aa reha si. Mere saamne apni RCL jeep si, jhinu Banta chalanda paya si, te Santa co-driver seat te ainakaan laai baitha si.” (Saab, I was bringing up the rear. In front of me was our RCL (Recoilless gun) jeep, driven by Sepoy Banta Singh, with Santa Singh sitting in the co-driver's seat wearing driving goggles.)

I knew instinctively that something unpleasant was approaching. I held my breath. “Sab, jaldi bolo… agge ki hoya?” (Tell me fast).

    He continued: “Kujh vi nahin, Saab. Ik eetaan da truck agge chal reha si.”  (Nothing, Saab. A truck carrying bricks was travelling ahead.)

I became even more apprehensive. “Okay… phir kya hua?” (Then what happened?)

            He replied: “Saab ji, eetaan de truck da b@##n c@#d driver ne ekdam brake la ditti… te apne Sante ne gaddi nu iddan morh ditta!” (The bloody truck driver suddenly slammed on the brakes… and our Santa turned the jeep like this!) He demonstrated the manoeuvre with his hands. Ninety degrees!

I swallowed hard. “Saab… RCL gun da ki haal hai?” (What is the state of RCL Gun?). That was the question uppermost in my mind. The Sub Maj smiled reassuringly. “Oho taan bach gayi! Sirf clamp khul gaya… hor gun maarra jeha mur ke iddan ho gaya.” (Oh, the gun survived! Only the clamp came loose… and the gun turned slightly to one side.) He demonstrated again. This time…Approximately 270 degrees!

My heart sank. The American-made RCL gun was a controlled item. The boys handled it almost with reverence. If that gun had been damaged beyond repair, the battalion could potentially have been rendered unfit for war. I gulped. Then came the next question.

“Saab… gaddi da ki haal hai?” (Whats the state of the vehicle?} The Sub Maj brought his hands together in a namasthe posture 👏, held them about a foot apart and announced:

“Saabji… maarra jeha kloj ho gaya.” (Sir… it got slightly closed!). He then brought his hands closer… and closer… until they were barely six inches apart. He held them there. And left the rest to my imagination. Six inches!

I stared at him. In my mind, I was already visualising an RCL jeep - complete with a mounted American-made gun - which had somehow been reduced from roughly twelve inches to six! The situation was clearly getting “serious.”

THE VANISHING RCL JEEP

         Having taken the ‘panga’ (risk)  of extracting the complete report from the Sub Maj, I was now in serious trouble. The Sub Maj, having delivered his famous “Thonu dassiassi” - 'I had tolded you!' -performance, happily returned to his tea and admirers across the road.

I ordered him, somewhat less ceremoniously, to stop drinking tea and accompany me to the site. We reached the location where the accident was supposed to have occurred. There was no RCL jeep. There was no brick truck. There was nothing!

My mind began racing. Had the Corps HQ EME Recovery Detachment already arrived and towed the jeep away? If so, the report would undoubtedly have reached Brigade and Division Headquarters.

The GOC had insisted on a zero-accident state. And if there had been an accident involving a controlled weapon and its vehicle… Well… It was a command failure! I could already visualise myself explaining the entire episode to the CO. 😒

Meanwhile, the CO - blissfully unaware of the unfolding drama - was probably already at the Wheeler's Club in Meerut, enjoying his third gin cordial with Angostura, surrounded by his family.

My military career was beginning to look decidedly shorter. 😕

I turned to the Sub Maj. “Saab, gaddi te munde kithhe hai?” (Where are the vehicle and the boys?). Without a word, he led me towards a wayside house on NH-3 (National Highway-3). We entered through a narrow opening in a mud wall. And there, to my utter disbelief, stood… MY RCL JEEP! The RCL gun was still mounted on it, sitting proudly in a rather cocky position. And beside it stood Santa and Banta. Not repairing the vehicle! Not examining the gun! Not even looking worried! They were happily fraternising with the inmates of the house!

I looked at the narrow opening through which we had entered. Then at the jeep. Then at the wall. Then back at the jeep. How on earth had a jeep carrying an RCL gun entered that tiny courtyard? There appeared to be no other entrance.

Before I could solve this military mystery, the occupants of the house descended upon me with classic Punjabi hospitality. The elderly lady of the house, with all the warmth of a mother, said: “Puttar, bai jaa. Garam chaa pee lo.” (Son, sit down and have some hot tea.) Before I could respond, Santa and Banta joined in:“Rottian nahi khaonge, Saab? Garam garam haigian… hor sabzi te taaji lassi!” (Won't you have lunch, Saab? Hot rotis, vegetables and fresh lassi!)

That was the last straw. Something snapped.

All the Punjabi vocabulary I had painstakingly acquired during my years in Fighting First suddenly came pouring out. And I must say, even I was impressed by the fluency, pronunciation, diction and profanity of my newly acquired Punjabi military vocabulary! The old lady, however, was distinctly unimpressed. She quietly disappeared from the scene, taking all her maternal affection with her.

THE PIONEER SOLUTION

As expected in the First Battalion, the mundas (boys)  when faced me immediately froze into “shun” - (attention posture) Heads cocked slightly to one side. Eyes fixed somewhere towards infinity. Both suddenly assumed the philosophical expression of men contemplating the meaning of life. Or perhaps court martial proceedings.

Once I had exhausted my vocabulary and cooled down somewhat, the Sub Maj cautiously approached. “Saab ji, tussi ghusse nu chhaddo. Munde siyane hege.” (Saab, leave the anger aside. These boys are sensible good boys.) I looked at him. “Then tell me - what is the jeep doing inside this house? And more importantly: How did it get here?”

The Sub Maj then unfolded the rest of the story.

After the accident, the boys had caught hold of the brick-truck driver. There was apparently some vigorous discussion. Then some more vigorous discussion. And then, as occasionally happens in Fighting First……the discussion became somewhat physical.

The RCL gun was then manhandled, levelled at the truck and subjected to a highly convincing dry-firing exercise. The breech was loaded with an empty cartridge case. The firer was ordered to get ready. ‘All-clear’ orders were given. And the trigger knob was about to be pressed. The truck driver, who until that moment had been confidently quoting traffic rules and regulations, suddenly became a model of humility. He was practically prostrating himself before the mundas, offering to compensate them for whatever damage had occurred. The Sub Maj then proudly pulled ₹1,000/- from his breast pocket. Apparently, the matter had been satisfactorily settled.

But there remained one small problem. The Division Headquarters convoy was due to pass that way within an hour. And that was when the Pioneers displayed their legendary ingenuity. The boys had dismantled a portion of the mud wall of the house. Pushed the jeep and RCL gun inside. Rebuilt the wall. And even plastered it. That explained the suspiciously damp patch I had noticed earlier!

The Sub Maj, now completely relaxed, reassured me: “Tussi fikar na karo Saab ji. Apaan poora convoy jaan deyange. CMP check posts de hatan ton baad, raat nu baapis aake jeep nu Shaktiman vich load kar ke Unit MT le jaange. CO Saab bahadur nu main appe dass deyanga.”  (Don't you worry, Saab ji. We'll let the entire convoy pass. Once the CMP check posts are withdrawn, we'll return at night, load the jeep into the Shaktiman truck and take it back to the Unit MT (Mechanical Transport) park. I'll explain everything to the CO myself.)

The last sentence did little for my ego. “I'll explain everything to the CO myself.” 😠I wondered whether my appointment as Adjutant had already become merely ceremonial. 😠

THE RETURN TO MEERUT

I returned to the convoy and proceeded towards Meerut - considerably more tense than when I had started.

On reaching the cantonment, I checked in correctly and reported to the Commanding Officer:

“Sab Achha, Sir.” (All Okay). Then, with considerable caution, I added: “Sir… there was a small mishap involving the RCL jeep.” I explained the entire episode. The CO listened calmly. No explosion. No shouting. No court martial. He merely asked: “Is the Sub Maj handling it?” I replied in the affirmative. He thought for a moment and simply said: “Then relax.”

And that was the end of my part in the episode.

WEIRD ARE THE WAYS OF PIONEERS!

Looking back after all these years, I realise that what appeared to me then as a near-catastrophe was, in the eyes of the mundas, merely another minor tactical problem requiring an immediate and innovative solution. The accident had happened. The RCL gun had survived. The jeep had survived. The truck driver had learnt a valuable lesson in road safety. ₹1,000 had changed hands. A mud wall had temporarily been converted into a vehicle recovery gate. The jeep had disappeared into a civilian courtyard. And, most importantly…THE CONVOY HAD CONTINUED!

That, ladies and gentlemen, was Fighting First ingenuity. They didn't necessarily follow the road. If there was no road… they simply made one!

“Aut viam inveniam aut faciam.” The moto of XXIII Sikh Pioneers.

(I shall either find a way or make one.)

That, perhaps, was the true spirit of the Descendants of the XXIII Sikh Pioneers.

A LESSON FROM THE PALTAN

Even today, I occasionally get a shiver when I remember the Sub Maj's immortal words:

 “Maarra jeha kloj ho gaya, Saab ji!”

For years I wondered how a jeep carrying an RCL gun could possibly become “slightly closed.” But perhaps that is the real beauty of serving with Fighting First. When confronted with an impossible situation, you don't sit down and ask: “Can this be done?” You simply find a way. And sometimes……if necessary… you break down a mud wall! 😂

The mundas of those days possessed something no manual could teach: initiative, resourcefulness, courage, camaraderie, loyalty - and an almost unbelievable ability to improvise when circumstances demanded it. Their methods may occasionally have been unconventional. Their solutions sometimes questionable. And their vocabulary……certainly not suitable for publication! 😄But their hearts were always in the right place. Those were the men who made life in the Paltan unforgettable.

Those were the men who taught a South Indian Adjutant how to speak Punjabi - including a vocabulary he had never imagined he would acquire! And those are the memories that, decades later, still make me smile.

Such incidents made us fit and strong enough to survive amongst Pioneers - and eventually grow old, fade away and smile, with a treasure chest of memories to savour for the rest of our lives.

And finally, a word of advice to anyone posted to Fighting First:

Never be too inquisitive when you are with Pioneers! Because…“Curiosity killed the cat.” 🐈

But in Fighting First…the Pioneers may just put the cat inside a house, rebuild the wall, and report later that it had got… “MAARRA JEHA KLOJ!” 😂😂😂

- Col Ravi R. Nair (Retd.)-

23rd Commanding Officer

(“Fighting First”)