Watch-keeping Worries

Jun 1979-Jun 1980

After completing our Midshipman's time, we shipped our Sub-Lieutenant stripes and were rewarded with a paid holiday lasting a complete year- unbelievable but true. The Navy sent us to practically all the various naval establishments across the length and breadth of the country for short courses in various subjects ranging from Diving to Electricity and Navigation to Supply duties. Those were perhaps the happiest days of my career.

Jun 1980 - Jun 1981

Having completed our Sub-Lieutenant courses we were posted to various ships for the first time in our individual capacities as under-trainee watch-keeping officers. I was directed to report on board INS Amba, at Bombay by 12 Jun 1980. The moment of truth had arrived as I set foot on the gangway of Amba, late in the evening. I said to myself "This is it! I'm now on my own. My career in the Navy has finally started."  S Lt NS Rao (53/NDA) was on duty at the gangway to receive me. He welcomed me with a warm smile and a hearty hand-shake which did much to de-congeal the chilling apprehension that had descended upon me as I approached the ship. He showed me to my cabin and said "I'll meet you in the Wardroom at dinner time."

At the Elbow-Bender two morose, middle-aged bar-flies in 6A's were having a drink. One was at the bar collecting his drink, while the other was seated in a corner on a piece of furniture. I guessed they were SD Officers. The one at the bar had a dark pudginess about his neck and a very definite bulge at his waistline. He stood no more than five feet four inches from the ground. His kamarband was below his waistline and both the laces of his shoes were untied. I was at the door making an entry into the room when he collected his drink and having stepped on his own shoe laces, catapulted across the room straight into my arms. After adjusting his turban which had trained to 90 degrees on his head, he began shouting "Oye, dekh nahin sakta!" (Watch where you’re going) But he was a jovial Khalsa and offered me my first drink "Ek double large whiskey Saab ke liye", he thundered to the barman, while cautioning me "on this ship we don't stand drinks for each other - everybody signs for his own drink. Second drink onwards is yours" The drink tasted like rubbing alcohol, but it had broken the ice and we began talking. When NS Rao and I sat down to dinner, I noticed that both his shoe laces were still untied, as he continued to prattle with his counterpart.

The next morning I went to the Ship's Office and handed over my reporting Gen-Form to the Master-At-Arms. He took me to meet the First-Lieutenant of the ship. The 1^st Lt had a strange sense of humour. He gazed at me with vague alarm as I snapped off my best NDA salute in Navy style. "Well", he said at last. "What can I do for you?" "Sub Lt Gonsalves reporting on board, sir", I said with a smile.  The MAA prompted him "We have to assign him some duties sir." The 1^St Lt looked at me and asked "Any preferences?"  "Er, Hmm, Well ….No sir, anything will do", I said after clearing my throat. "Then you'll be Assistant Gunnery Officer, Assistant Canteen Officer, Assistant Supply Officer, Assistant Shipwright Officer, Assistant Mess Officer, Assistant …" Then he went on to ask the MAA "Anybody on defaulter list?"  "Nobody sir", replied the MAA "But the LSA reported two bags of Aatta and one tin of Cooking oil missing - He says he'll make it up by next month" "Woh  Kaise?" he asked. The MAA replied "Bhagwan Jaane!"

The MAA then marched me to meet The Ship's Commander. Like snakes and ladders we wended our way up and down various decks, up and down companion ways and across rows of cabins. The old sailor set a rapid pace and between keeping up with him and proudly answering meticulously the first salutes ever thrown in my direction, I arrived panting at the Commander's Office. The Ship's Commander shook hands and after a brief introduction said "The Fleet Athletics Championships are going on. We are faring pretty badly. I want you to take charge of our water polo team and win a couple of matches. Can you do that for me son?" Flattered by his faith in me but alarmed by his poorly developed sense of timing and training for athletics, I distinguished myself with a smart reply "Yes sir, certainly sir", without having the faintest idea of what I was getting into. When I left his cabin I had a feeling of cement in my stomach but I continued to waddle about exuding confidence. Soon the Captain's coxswain came up to me and bellowed at the ceiling "Captain's compliments sir"

I stood at the entrance of the Captain's cabin and announced myself "Sub Lt Gonsalves sir". Before I could lose my salute the Captain walked across with his hand extended and said "Welcome on board."  The Captain of Amba was a tall man with a charming personality.  At first he appeared a bit shy and soft spoken (endearingly so) but was warm and affable and exquisitely courteous. He cut a lean and youthful figure at 45 and could easily pass off as ten years younger. He had an avuncular gentleness, a great sense of humour and instant wit but all fenced with an immoveable will and a strong determination. He was a Helicopter pilot. (Later he became C-in-C and VCNS). Many years later as Fleet Commander, he would often surprise everybody by speaking fluent Punjabi and Urdu. When the Captain finished with me about 45 minutes later, I felt pretty confident of going to battle under his command, if ever I had to. He continues to be in my private Hall of Fame.

That evening I marshalled a ragtag bunch of unwilling volunteers for the water polo event. As I held a council of war, they were standing at the swimming pool looking at me like pall bearers at a funeral. Unbelievably none of them could float for more than 3 minutes, let alone swim. After about one hour of serious practice (mainly me giving instructions like a demented Admiral going into battle) I asked if anyone knew the rules of the game (how many players in each team, method of counting the score, etc.) - no one had the slightest clue, including me. "Never mind, just listen for cues from me during the game", I said very bravely. 

In our very first match, we were pitted against the CCDT team (Diving team of the Navy).  The match started and I got hold of the ball, swam across a few lengths and jumped up high to pitch it at the opposite goal.  One of the divers caught hold of my swimming trunk with an improvised hook on his ring finger and ripped it in two pieces. Before I knew it, the trunk was hanging at half-mast and in the shape of a Commodore's Burgee. Having 'Kargilled' me successfully, the bunch of Hariyana Jaats who made up the opposite team, were giggling away like school girls and had eyes twinkling with mirth. For me, the match had ended even before it started.  It was incredible how easily I had fallen into this trap.

I ran back to the dressing room with whatever was left of the trunks and with my family jewels firmly encased in both hands, much to the amusement of all the spectators. Even my team mates, realising the full possibilities of the situation, started vibrating uncontrollably and making spastic movements of eyes, mouth and body - a condition brought about by a mixture of concern for me, suppressed laughter and keen anticipation of impending doom.  I dressed in about 10 seconds and with my shoes on the wrong feet left the scene of my naval defeat as fast as my legs could carry me. I don't remember the match thereafter, but I believe that I had acquitted myself honourably and done my best for ship, Fleet, Navy and country.

The following Saturday the Commander decided to exercise action stations. When the Action Alarm was pressed I ran to NSR and asked him "what am I supposed to do?" "I don't know" he replied "Just put on your helmet, anti-flash gear, life jacket and report to Gunnery Officer." I was made coxswain of the life boat. I managed to lower the boat into the water in three minutes flat, which was noticed by the Captain. Action having being completed and the ship saved, Action Stations were called off. Later the Captain called me and told me that I would be taking over duties of Captain's Secretary after NSR left the ship on transfer.

When the time came for NS Rao’s transfer, he let me onto a small secret. He said "When the Old Man takes too much time rummaging through the mail after evening secure, I ring his wife and inform her that Captain will be late from work. She promptly calls up the Captain and within a few minutes the Old Man packs up and leaves the ship." I thought this was a brilliant idea. The following Monday I wanted to go into town early, so I rang up the wife to try the trick. A little later the Old Man called me to his cabin and said "For God’s sake man, it's only 5 PM, could you be so kind enough to give me till 5:30 before calling her up?"

Rumours were constantly afloat that Amba would sail to all the ports on the Western and Eastern Coast. But nothing happened for the first three months and after each flurry of excitement the ship and its crew settled down further into its torpor. Before I left the ship, Amba made one valiant effort and sailed to Okha, Porbandar, Ratnagiri and Goa. We had the most marvellous time visiting Gir sanctuary, Bapu's house, eating Haphus mangos and freaking out on Goan (not Goanese!, as many people say) fish curry and rice. While at Goa we visited Anjuna beach, where a few Third Class European nudes were strutting their stuff. The SD officers were most enamoured with what they saw. One of them got a slap for making a close examination of a hippie woman's vital statistics. But our Romeo was heartbroken and grief-stricken "Aay, hai, kya Kudi thi!  Mazaa aa gaya!” To smoothen his nerves, the jilted lover downed a couple of feni shots in quick succession at a nearby pub. Having left his lady-love (of ten seconds) back on the beach, he kept cannoning and ricocheting into us like a goods train at Pune Junction, till we reached the ship.

I was awarded the watch keeping ticket without much fuss, since I wanted to do the diving course at Cochin. After passing the preliminary test I reported to Diving school and was doing pretty well for the first two weeks when disaster struck. I had a loose stomach and accompanying low grade fever from wolfing down some pungent roadside food at the convivial House-of-Commons the previous evening, near Cochin Harbour terminus. Instead of buying some Digene or Furoxone medicine, I reported sick. The quack on evening duty frightened the hell out of me and booked me for Typhoid, much to my dismay. I was admitted in INHS Sanjeevani for about two weeks (nothing came out of it), by which time the diving course was coming to an end and with it my dreams of making some tax-free pocket money every month went down the hatch.

 

Eventually, I spent about ten months on board Amba. I was given two full months leave before my next posting came to a new construction ship at Calcutta. I actually quailed at the thought of leaving Amba, which had become a second home to me. But the other officers were quick to point out that only the best are selected for new construction ships "Go for it- you won't regret it!"  I didn't have the faintest idea of what was waiting in store for me in my next appointment.