The Trials, Travails and Tribulations of Cadet Gonsalves

This article tells the story of my transformation from civilian life to military life at the National Defence Academy, Pune.

 

Do one thing every day that scares you – Eleanor Roosevelt

The year 1975 began on an ominous note for me. I had two careers to choose from and had done extremely well in my Pre-Degree University exams. But sadly, things didn’t pan out as well as I had hoped. I was selected to join as Direct Entry Deck Cadet on a new construction Bulk Carrier ship for a Shipping Company in which my relative was a Director and of course, I had passed the SSB to join NDA. As it turned out, Pune University went on a flash indefinite strike and I couldn’t get a copy of my mark sheet for admission into NDA or the Shipping line. Then one day in end-August 1975 the mark sheet arrived and I had to make a choice.

I had a family connection with the Academy. My paternal Grand-uncle (Grandmother’s brother), Wille Mascarenhas, was the Architect who designed and built NDA. Plus, three of my uncles (Col Ken Gonsalves 2JSW, Brig Ian DaCosta 19/F and Cmde Emile DaCosta 24/E) had passed out from the portals of NDA. So the inclination to join NDA was stronger than choosing the other option. My parents suggested that I join NDA for two weeks and as per the contract note, I could ask to be released if I didn’t think it suitable.

I packed my trunk and reported to NDA with all the fervour of a new bride.  The Colonel who took my interview said “You’re the last cadet I’m going to admit this term. If you had turned up 2 days later, you would have missed your seat. Okay, let’s see what you have…. You have distinctions in all your subjects in HSSC. You have inter-collegiate sports certificates for 4 x 100 meter relay, swimming (free-style & Breast Stroke) and track -cycling.  I’ve decided to send you to Foxtrot squadron and B-classification. F-squadron has been occupying the left side of the parade ground for too long now. Get her on the right side, Son.”

I reported to F-squadron and knocked on the door of the Squadron Commander. They used to call him ‘Toad’. For some reason he waived me off without seeing me. Perhaps he was too busy with higher affairs of State. But I did notice that he was drawing circles in the Classifieds page of the Times of India.  I couldn’t help but think that he was using his office as a penthouse provision to luxuriate in, in a moment of operational surplus!

So I went to meet my Divisional Officer. The young man was the antithesis of the Colonel in Sudan Block. I noticed a poster on the wall above his table which read: ‘A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step!’ As I entered the room, I felt a sense of condescension. After a long drawn silence he muttered “So, you want to leave after two weeks?” I nodded vigorously and gave my most pleasant smile. He walked towards me and snarled “If ever you bring up this topic again, I’ll rip your heart out and feed it to the dogs!”  Am I clear?” 

I was shell shocked!  It was one of those apocalyptic moments in my life! In one fell swoop he had completely shipwrecked me. It took a few moments before the finer fibres of my ordinary brain began actuating.

“Am I clear”, he bellowed into my ear once again. I could smell the halitosis in his bad breath.

I shouted back, “Yes, Sir”! (This shouting back and forth used to really freak me out!)

“Now, shouldn’t you be attending academic classes at this time?” 

I raced out of the office and headed straight for Sudan Block.

My first day in NDA was a precursor of things to come in the following terms.

I set about looking for B-classification in Sudan block, when I met James Moses (54-56/B). Moses was smoking a cigarette in the toilet and offered to show me my classroom. He seemed to have encyclopaedic knowledge of life on Planet NDA. He proceeded to enlighten me.

“Take my advice and join F-classification. The guys with the lowest IQ levels are sent to F-classification. Here’s how it works – since F-classification guys are genetically handicapped, the question paper is discretely leaked out to them on the day before the exam. In B-classification nobody teaches you. They expect you to learn on your own and pass the exams.”  

I completely swallowed this delicious plan. The short break was over, so Moses suggested we take the shortcut from Sudan Block to Science block from behind.

Soon there was a whistle for us to stop. A Drill Instructor had seen us taking the shortcut and began noting down our names. In a flash, Moses had changed his name tally and squadron badge. “Naam batao” yelled the DI.   Moses said “P Dogra, H sqn, no 11001”. “Kashmiri Pandit hai kya?” Moses then went on to explain how his Kashmiri father had married a Tamil lady and by working in the wheat fields of Punjab, he had acquired a dark tan.

“Theek Hai. Teen ET run karna!” decreed the DI.  

Next, he turned to me and surveyed me with amusement on his face “Naye ho kya? Unifarm (uniform) bhi nahin hai!”

Moses kicked me on my shin with his drill boot and as I bent down in pain he intervened. “Haanji Saab! Convent me padhai kiya hai!   Naam hai  Anil Kumar, L-Squadron, number 11002. Hindi bolne nahin aata!”    

“Oye, Kaanvent iskool aduketed (Convent school educated)”, the DI pointed at me and chuckled at his own inane joke.  “Theek hai! Saat restriction kar lena!”  The creep didn’t realise that the joke was actually on him!

We double-quick marched to Sudan Block in Russo-Prussian style (like they now do at the Wagah border between India and Pakistan). By the time we reached there both the soles of my new Bata shoes had fallen off. I was forced to hobnob on my toes for the rest of the day like the court Jester in King Arthur’s court. We missed the 6^th period, so Moses took me to the bathroom for another cigarette. “Every squadron has two camps one North Indian and other South Indian” Choose carefully which camp you join. For North Indians say words like ‘Balle, Balle!, Ki haal hai puttar!, Oye Chad Yaar!  Chak de Phatte! For South Indians say Vaanakam, Enda Perinda, Mess nu podama and sapadam!” If you want to stay alive join either one of the camps”    

I said “But I’m a Goan. So there must be a West Indian Camp also?”   He shook his head from side to side “Boy, looks like you’re going to get jacked by both the groups!” he sympathized.

“One more thing” he added.  “Drop the surname ‘Gonsalves’. It’s too bizarre.  People will freak out with that name. Call yourself Anil Kumar Singh. The double-barrelled ‘Kumar-Singh’ would be music to both North Indians and South Indians! If you have to give an explanation for ‘Gonsalves’ say ‘Mainu ki patta. Pind da naam tha. Main sirf tractor chalata tha.”

Both of us reported to F-Classification. Mr Ramaiah, Physics teacher, inserted my name on the roll call sheet and shook his head “In two days the second Phase test will start. What are you going to write in the exam?”  I was hoping he would leak the paper to me. But it never happened. With a big zero in both the Phase tests, I set about acquiring a grand CGPA of 1.01 in the final exam and just about cleared for 2^nd term. Regrettably, Moses also didn’t get the leaked papers and had to repeat the 1^st term.

The CGPA system, like the ACR system in the Navy, is obfuscated with a factor called PARB (Performance Appraisal Review Board), which can swing you either side of the line, depending on the sound of your name! PARB is designed to maintain the pyramidal structure of the Navy, to ensure the longitivity of the Admirals, to promote the gaon-wallas, and to give wicked pleasure to a group of old geysers to play a game of dice with your career. It usually works by arbitrarily deducting ACR marks to bring down the number that can be promoted depending on pre-decided vacancies. It’s a real Teaser, because in a race when you’re running against a 100 invisible horses and you think you’re doing pretty well, (because all your COs have shown you the ACR with excellent markings, which you have counter-signed on the first page) you suddenly find yourself at the bottom of the list when you reach the finishing line for promotion!

Luckily for us, in those days besides dim-witted cadets, they also posted dim-witted professors to F-Classification. Ramiah, not having been cast in the NDA mould, was a real compassionate soul. While teaching us maths and physics, he would tell us stories of how he accidently poured tea into his sambhar bowl in a bid to make it to the classes in time! As it turned out, Ramaiah could not for the life of him get the spelling or the pronunciation of my name (Gonsalves) correct. I have a strong suspicion that while he was juggling with my name on the left column, he accidently PARBed the right hand column and promoted me to the second term!  If this is true then I swear that was the only time in my life I got PARBed upwards!  “Not bad!” I thought to myself, my rather weird and eccentric name had come to my rescue after all.

NDA cannot do without the antiquated mosquito net or the Chindet pack. So, that evening I was sent to the MI room to receive a dose of sodium penicillin injection. It was so painful that I felt my hand had been ripped out.

Later at Tea time, after carefully surveying the corridors, I sauntered into the tea room to pick up my tea. When I entered the room I met T Saikya (52/F). I couldn’t make out which camp he belonged to so I said “Vaanakam and Sat-Sri-Akal!” very slowly to search for any change in behavior.  

Saikya was amused “Sho you’re traaying to imfress me with uhore lengwaze skills? Shay shomething in Assamese, you Phokker!” , he said with a semi-chinese takeaway accent. (So, you’re trying to impress me with your language skills) Goblins speak in Gobbledegook and Saikya’s tongue nearly matched it!  Saikya punched me hard in the stomach. I folded over and spilt my tea on his games rig. Saikya was a Half-Blue in boxing. He sized me up and said “ You are the perfect sparring partner for me! Report to me every games period” I almost died of fright!

That evening after dinner, there was a Course Fall-in in Bajri order because some 1^st Termers were regularly arriving late for morning Parade.

Melatonin is the hormone which controls your body clock. Melatonin was beginning to kick into my system by 11pm that day. With my shin hurting, my stomach paining and my left arm amputated, I was just about to retire for the day when Brian Thomas (51/F) walked into my cabin “Tell your pals that tomorrow I’m taking all of you for a cross-country run to 2475. Muster on the Parade ground at 5:30 am sharp.”

“Outstanding”, I said to myself as I collapsed onto my bedbug infested cot and passed out instantly.

They say, the best journeys are not always in straight lines. From that day on, the days at the Academy slipped into a harsh rhythm of PT, drill, classes, cross-country, punishments and more punishments. Unfortunately, whatever zest I had for academics and sports was spontaneously killed by my overwhelming instinct just to keep my head above water.

In the military academies of ancient Greece, raw recruits were compared to Chimera and the Instructors were likened to Bellerophon. Now, Bellerophon was the mythical Greek hero. When he saw a creature that was part goat, part snake and part lion, he declared it a monster and called it ‘Chimera’. Then he proceeded to cut it down, categorizing it into neat understandable boxes, and in the process killed it. However, we celebrate NDA in a different way.

To most of us, NDA is an institution where great value is given to academics, games, drill, procedures, ceremonies, and discipline. It is a place where efficiency is celebrated. It is a place of protocol. It is a melting pot where every new metal has to lose its individuality and subscribe to a collective alloy. It is an organization which believes that if you’re so smart why aren’t you an office bearer.

This is precisely the reason when you join as fresh recruits, still wet behind the ears, the Boffins at NDA see you having no system, no order, no efficiency, no protocol, no discipline, no marching ability and no uniformity, they are bound to be terrified. So, they set about cutting you up into neat little cubes whereby they can understand you, thereby ‘killing’ you. In the process of this great transformation, there obviously would be stories of abuse, neglect, kindness, hope and survival.

Interestingly, it was not the day-to-day acts of abuse and survival that I now prefer to remember, but some amusing lessons.

I couldn’t understand how school-types would openly schmooze with each other. For example, every Academy Cadet Adjutant would ask his school types to leave the auditorium before they started putting the rest to the grind.  What a shame for Office Bearers to publicly give ‘lift’ to their school types and what a shame for the school types to take the ‘lift’ they were offering!  Why couldn’t they stick on with the rest of the crowd and take what was coming in solidarity? If NDA didn’t teach you to have Espirite-de-Corp, then which institution did?

If NDA did not teach you to overcome incipient hate, venality, and personal violence then which place could? I used to see cadets get manhandled quite brutally, for reasons beyond normal comprehension. This was a lesson for a sensible person to refrain from continuing such a practice.

What makes a 17 year old brutalise a 16 year old in the name of discipline? Was there a hidden agenda to make Navy Seals out of all cadets so that one day we could go on an Osama-bin-Laden raid and get Ibrahim Dawood out of Pakistan? But that hasn’t happened yet!

I was chatting with a psychologist friend a few years ago and he had this to say “The isolated, hierarchical and all-male setting at NDA makes the cadets CLOSED (introverts, keeping personal feelings a secret), MASCULINE (hyperactive, dominating, not caring, having own definition of justice), AGGRESSIVE (violent, intolerable, sometimes bestial, brutal and cynical), DEPENDENT (frequently reporting sick, always vigilant). They thus begin to build up ‘type identities’ (school types, place types and language types). Of course all this is a little farfetched, but one can see the point.

Thirty eight years later, as I sit on my easy chair on this hot Sunday afternoon, typing this chronicle, I can say hearteningly that the hooligans I remember at NDA transformed and become professionals and thorough gentlemen.  NDA has a strange way of metamorphosing even the most vociferous dickheads!

What I prided most at NDA was my sanity. I was not prepared to sacrifice it to elbow grease my way into becoming an appointment. I am very proud to say that I passed out as a ‘kachra cadet’! Foxtrot continued to remain on the left hand side of the Parade Ground and Toad and I were responsible for it in our own ways.

In NDA, my cabin used to be my haven in which I could unwind and be hermetically sealed from the rest of the world. There were days when I would run in slushy mud, march to Colonel Bogey with my cycle on my head, roll in the grime, but I could rely on the comfort of a warm bath to return to. And thankfully Foxtrot Squadron bathrooms did a mean shower. 

Another favourite for me was the great big dining room. Sunday breakfast was something to look forward to. They used to serve us these little cubes of butter, which we used to generously slather on hard baked slices of home-made bread, in layers that measured a few microns thick, making it neither visually appealing, nor enhancing the taste and texture of the bread. But what the hell! It was fun to eat 20 toasts and boast about it later. Mess nights were special. Among the mains, the scotch eggs were a hands-down winner. The other standout dish was the chicken Maryland, with all its stuffing. To finish off, it was usually Tipsy pudding, which was sinfully delightful with its dry fruit and tangy flavour.

I never understood why they served Rajma and lentils for dinner, day-in and day-out, for three full years. This was not a good idea as it led to severe flatulence and we were compelled to play a most horrifying and lethal game called ‘Guess-who-silently-farted-in-the-night-fall-in’. It is said that British Generals learnt their strategy on the playgrounds of Eton and Princeton. We learnt ours on the GFCL of F-squadron. All the principles of war had to be applied like concentration, surprise, deceit, etc. The final effect was devastating but extremely satisfying, if one did not get caught!

There is a saying “The future is never what it used to be.”  A few months before joining NDA my future was to command a 100,000 Metric Tonne VLCC (Very Large Crude Carrier) ship somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Now my future had suddenly changed to command a handsome missile Cruiser with missiles, guns, torpedoes, rockets, depth charges and integrated Command Platform. I had taken the first step by joining NDA. Problem was there were a thousand miles left to go!

In retrospect I would say, despite the vicissitudes of life in the academy, I am still glad that I came of age in NDA and that it taught me what it did, although not in a refreshing manner. For those of us who were able to see the right from the wrong at NDA, it’s been an insanely great honour!