Humiliating lesson in etiquette

RK Prashar

WHEN I was in college, I had opted for the NCC as an extracurricular activity. One day, the annual camp for the senior division (boys) slated to be held at Nangal in Punjab was announced. Everyone in the unit was elated. We launched the preparations. The day before we had to embark on the journey, the NCC officer, Maj Shri Chand Nayyar, also a veteran local cricketer, in his soft baritone voice briefed us on the dos and don’ts at the camp.

Rigged out in regulation uniform, we reached Nangal with gusto. With a stiff-looking Lt Colonel at the helm, the campsite had the semblance of an Army settlement, with patriotism, strict regimentation and respectability.

The same evening, we were produced before the unit’s barber for a mandatory buzz cut. Under the dappled shade of the eucalyptus, the barber had set a ‘deal’ chair with a broad mirror tacked on its trunk. The mirror was more for rear view, reflecting amusing countryside scenes behind.

Soon the camp life progressed. We had been conditioned to be vigilant, like soldiers guarding borders.

One day, I, along with my cadet classmate, was detailed for quarterguard’s duty. After the lights were out, we marched around the encampment to ensure all was set. We hadn’t even allowed hushed confabs in tents housing inmates. In the process, I went overboard when, for a mild infraction, I cuffed a cadet on his cheek for being out to the lavatory at midnight. Stronger he was, and thankfully, he didn’t retaliate.

The next morning, as usual, breakfast call was given. We took turns to have it. Given the sumptuous breakfast, I got irresistibly tempted to have yet another plateful of it. I slinked into the mess and hastily devoured the additional helping.

On my return, my friend told me that the quartermaster was on round and had noticed my indiscretion. Jitters ran down my spine.

When evening came, we assembled for roll call. My heart galloped when the quartermaster called me in front of a staring assemblage of about 400 cadets. Scathingly, he dwelt on my misconduct, explaining that ‘iss ladke ne aaj subah do baar breakfast kiya hai (this boy had breakfast twice today). ‘Aur iss ne iss tarah se desh ka khana barbaad kiya hai’ (and by doing so, he has wasted the country’s ration). ‘Ise sharm ani chahiye’ (he should feel ashamed of himself), he chided me.

Sheepishly, I stood while many in the parade were gloating.

The salutary lecture had proved a boon for me, for it put an early end to my puerile proclivities for misdemeanour. Filled with gratitude, I had made sure to tip my hat to the trim olive-uniformed man before I had departed. Returning my salute, he smiled and patted my shoulder, and I returned home profoundly changed with a marked touch of savoir faire.

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