Protocol Handshake

THE DAY I ALMOST GROUNDED THE PRESIDENT!

🤔 🪖 Ponderings of a Pongo 🪖🤔

Protocol Hand Shake

         

       It was December 2002, and I was posted as the Group Commander NCC, Mysore.

     One fine morning, I received a rather frantic message from Sub Area Headquarters, Bangalore. The then President of India, His Excellency Dr A P J  Abdul Kalam, was scheduled to land at the Mysore Helipad at 1100 hours on 29 December, en-route to inaugurate a function at the JSS Mutt on the outskirts of Mysore.

     There was one small but rather important detail.

     As per protocol, since the President was also the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, the senior representatives of the Army, Navy and Air Force stationed at the place of his visit were required to receive him at the helipad.

     And, as the senior Armed Forces representative at Mysore, that responsibility had landed squarely in my lap.

     I immediately contacted the District Commissioner and the Commissioner of Police and informed them of the impending visit and of my role in the reception. Both assured me that everything would be taken care of and that all protocols would be duly observed.

     I also coordinated with the local Air Force Station to provide a senior officer for the occasion, while our Naval NCC Commander was detailed to represent the Navy.

     I was rather buoyant. After all, one does not get an opportunity every day to receive the President of India - and, in my case, someone I particularly revered: Dr A.P.J. Abdul Kalam.

     Preparations began in earnest.

     My buddy, trusted lieutenant and perennial ‘Man Friday’, Jagtar Singh, went into full 'Pioneer' mode. 

     The medal ribbons were newly sewn. The medals were buffed until they could probably have doubled as mirrors. New epaulettes and a peak cap were procured from Bangalore. Leather, brass and terrycot were all subjected to Jagtar’s ruthless attention.

     By the time he had finished, I was polished enough to receive not merely the President, but possibly the entire Republic! 

     The President was expected at 1100 hours. We, the three Service representatives, arranged to meet at our RV (rendezvous) at 0830 hours and proceeded together to the helipad.

     As we approached the venue, however, it became apparent that the police had erected security cordons of formidable proportions. Fortunately, we were travelling in my Staff Car, which seemed to possess a certain diplomatic immunity, and we negotiated the cordons without much difficulty.

     On alighting from the vehicle, we encountered a young and smart lady Flight Lieutenant from the Air Force who was manning a specially established ATC (Air Traffic Control) post for the President's landing.

     Amidst the sea of khaki-clad policemen and assorted officials swarming all over the place, the sudden appearance of a few defence officers seemed to come as a relief to her.

    We exchanged salutes and pleasantries and stood together, chatting while awaiting the arrival of the VVIP (very very important Person).

     Soon, however, I discovered that the real battle was not going to be fought at the helipad.

    The venue was overflowing with dignitaries - MPs, MLAs, Ministers, the Mayor, senior civil and police officials, politicians, social workers, religious heads of the Mutt and assorted VIPs (very important persons) whose importance seemed to increase in proportion to the number of people following them.

     Looking at the crowd, I began to wonder how on earth three Service officers were expected to reach the helicopter when it landed. So I approached the Commissioner of Police, a friend of mine, who was in conversation with the District Commissioner.

     I reminded him of my role and requested that we be positioned at a suitable vantage point from which we could move to the aircraft immediately on landing.

     The two Commissioners conferred.

     The Commissioner of Police then disappeared into the crowd and approached a gentleman in traditional attire whose authority was unmistakable - not from his rank or uniform, but from the impressive number of people hanging around him.

     There was a brief consultation.

     The Commissioner returned.

     He had an expression on his face which suggested that he was about to convey some extremely inconvenient news.

     “The President will be received by the Mayor, the MP and a few selected politicians,” he informed me. “You have no role to play. You may go back.”

     For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood him.

    “Excuse me, Commissioner?”

     He repeated it.

     Apparently, protocol had suddenly acquired a local interpretation.

     I politely explained that this was not a matter of personal preference. The President was the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, and the Service representatives were required to receive him at the helipad.

     The two Commissioners remained adamant.

     I remained equally adamant.

     They suggested that I take a seat in the front row of the pandal, where the President would eventually arrive after being received by the chosen dignitaries.

     In other words, I was being invited to watch my own protocol duty from the audience.

     I was now in a quandary.

     There was no time to report the matter to my higher headquarters. The President was already airborne and on his way to Mysore.

     I quickly ran through the options available to me.

     There was, of course, the conventional military solution - follow orders.

     But the difficulty was that I had not received any military order to violate protocol.

     Then I noticed the young Air Force Flight Lieutenant at the ATC post. And suddenly, an idea occurred to me.

     I called her over. In the presence of the Commissioner, I told her, with as much military seriousness as I could muster:

     “Please inform the pilot of the Presidential helicopter - and the Military Secretary accompanying the President - that the Mysore Helipad is not yet ready for landing because the prescribed reception protocols have  not been put in place.”

     The young officer promptly reached for her wireless set.

     That was the moment the Commissioner suddenly discovered the seriousness of the situation.

     “Just a minute!” he said.

     He disappeared again - this time with considerably greater urgency.

     There followed another consultation with the gentleman in traditional attire.

     The Commissioner returned, but the earlier confidence had mysteriously disappeared from his face.

     He came towards us with a rather wry smile.

“Come,” he said. “You and your colleagues may proceed to the helipad.”

     We were escorted to the landing pad.

    And, as if to remove any remaining ambiguity, I was assured that we would be the first to receive the President when he stepped out of the helicopter.

     The battle for protocol had been won.

    The helicopter appeared within minutes, circled the helipad and descended.

     The President stepped out, followed by the Governor and members of his entourage.

     I stepped forward and received Dr Kalam as prescribed.

     He gave me a firm handshake, glanced at my name tab and asked:

     “Nair, where do you hail from Kerala?”

     “Alleppey, Sir.”

     His face lit up.

     “Alleppey - the Venice of the East! My old classmate Mahadeva Iyer is from Alleppey. Do you know him?”

     “Yes, Sir!” I replied, rather gleefully.

     He then moved on to my colleague standing on my left.

     My mission was accomplished.

     Protocol had survived.

     And, more importantly, I had actually received Dr A.P.J. Abdul Kalam.

     As we were leaving, I passed the young Air Force officer who had been manning the ATC post.

     She was beaming.

     “Congratulations, Sir!” she called out.

     I shook her hand.

     “All because of your presence of mind,” I told her. “The moment you reached for that wireless set, the entire situation changed.”

     She looked at me rather curiously.

     Then came the inevitable question.

     “Sir… were you actually serious about asking me to stop the President’s helicopter from landing?”

     I looked at her.

     Paused.

     And with a perfectly straight face replied:

     “Obviously… NOT!”

     “Just a ruse!” -  ''Chumma" !!

     She burst out laughing.

     So there it was - a small tactical deception in the larger cause of protocol.

     I had neither the authority nor the intention to ground the President of India.

     But sometimes, when protocol is being quietly overruled by the politician-bureaucrat nexus, an Army officer has to find a way of reminding everyone that protocol is not merely a suggestion.

     That day, fortunately, my bluff worked.

    And I came away with something far more memorable than a perfectly polished uniform and a Presidential handshake - the satisfaction of having ensured that the uniform I wore was accorded the respect that protocol demanded.

    And somewhere in the background, my Man Friday Jagtar Singh must have been smiling.

     After all, all that polishing had not gone to waste!

     A soldier may occasionally have to use a little imagination - but never at the expense of protocol. 🪖🤔 

     But it is nearly two and half decades hence . Will this work now?🤔

XXIII Sikh Pioneers Moto  

“Aut Viam Invenium Aut Faciam”.

" If you don’t find a Road, make one. !!!."