Knock on the door.

‘Jai Hind Sahab, Gadi le ke aaya sahab’

‘Haan thik hai Yadav.. Aa raha hoon’

He looks in the mirror. Uniform is ok. Shoes are ok. He finishes the morning glass of milk that his buddy had been instructed to bring daily, puts on his camo cap, picks up his jacket and walks out of his room.

‘Yadav, mera ek sleeping bag aur ek ruck sack darwaze par hi rakha hai’

‘Ji sahab’

The driver gets his luggage and puts it at the back of the gypsy. He did not plan to stay overnight, but he knew that in these mountains, anyone can get stuck anywhere.
While the driver turns around the vehicle, he takes a look at his abode. It was a shed, made of mud walls, with tin sheets covering it to make the inverted V. He reflected back to yesterday’s conversation with his Commanding Officer.

‘Morning Sir’, he salutes his smartest.

‘Morning Ankur, come in, take a seat’

While doing it, he was wondering about the task that lay ahead of him. He loved the unpredictability of his profession.

‘Do you know that the communication at Tangsong La Pass is down to only the permanent line?’

So that was it. It would be a fine challenge. It excited him. Tangsong La Pass is the one of the highest motorable passes in the world. Height being close to 18000 ft. An important pass as it was, it was held by the army. Apart from fighting, for which all of us were trained, his unit was also responsible to provide communication to all places where army goes. Be it inside the enemy territory.

‘Yes Sir, I do.’
‘Take a team of two ORs with you to Tangsong La tomorrow, and install the new terminal equipment that we have just received from the higher headquarters.’

Due to bad weather conditions at the pass, and the failure of terminal equipment installed at the pass, the communication was down at Tangsong La. But not completely. The evergreen, though out-dated permanent line on poles which provides only one telephone line was still active, but it was not enough. The troops at Tangsong La deserved more.

‘Roger Sir, I will do that.’

His gypsy started climbing the fierce mountains. As he reached 15000 ft, he observed that the weather changed and it started snowing.

‘Gadi dheere chalana Yadav’, He said after he saw a memorial stone at one dangerous turn with the name of an officer and his driver engraved on it.

But he realized soon enough that there was no need for him to say so. The snowfall had turned into a snow blizzard, and the visibility had fallen down to 20 m. Yadav could not drive at more than 10 Kmph.

When they reached Tangsong La, and they reached with great difficulty, it was heartening to see a JCO and two jawans coming out in the cold to receive them. They were taken to a Bukhari warmed up room and served hot tea and dry fruits. After that, they immediately went on work.

The Army doctors say that one should not stay at Tangsong La for more than 15 minutes if he has not acclimitized. Their work could take more than 3 hours.

When one hour had passed, and he was inside the communication shed and ensuring the installation, the JCO incharge at Tangsong La came inside.

‘Sahab Bahar kuch civilian tourists aaye hain’

‘Yahan pe?? Civilians??’ He went outside and saw two guys and a girl standing near two pulsars. They were all roughly his age. And they were shivering like anything.

‘Hello sir, could we get some fire anywhere here, my sister here specially is feeling very cold’.

‘Yeah sure, come inside this shed’ They went inside, and he asked them to remove their shoes in front of the Bukhari. They complied. As he expected, their feet were soaked.

‘Sahab inke liye chai banwaiye. Whatever in the world are you guys doing out here?’

‘Sir, we were on an adventure trip. We guessed that in the middle of August we wont face much trouble here. We crossed this pass only day before yesterday, then ‘to’ it was completely fine.’

‘Pl don’t address me as Sir. Call me Capt Ankur. Yeah I know, you should never trust these mountains. They behave funny. And even if you were on an adventure trip, you ought to have hired enfields atleast. These pulsars cant do you any good here.’

‘Yes.. uh.. Capt, we realized that now. The damned bikes are getting stuck in the snow everywhere. And everytime we have to get down and push. That’s why our feet are so drenched. We need to reach back to Leh today only, till how far down is this snow?’

‘About 20 more Kms. And I would advise you not to stay here for more than 15 minutes. The oxygen content at this height is really low. Will you be able to keep going?’ He looked towards the girl.

He could see that the girl was having a very rough time. She was wearing a fashionable but a thin jacket, which he assumed could not even resist slight rainfall, let alone a snow blizzard. She was white with cold, She was shivering so much that she could hardly speak anything, and she kept rubbing her hands, that too feebly.

‘Sir that’s what I wanted to ask. Is there any mode of transportation here for her. I mean any 4 wheeler. We could the take bikes down.’

She could come in his gypsy, he thought. But he knew that his work would not get over before another 2 hours. He could not possibly make them wait for so long here. He also could not send his driver down with the lone girl, and stay put himself for the night at the pass. He had to get back to his unit today only.
The troops at Tangsong La could survive one more day with one telephone connection. However, he knew that it would be very very difficult for her to survive this day without falling sick. Hell, people without proper precautions and clothing had died out here.

But what would he tell this JCO here, who was so eagerly waiting for his one call to his home. Worse, what would he tell his Commanding Officer, who had been given a specific time by his seniors to establish communication at this place? It took a while before he could come up with an answer.
The truth.

‘ She can come in my gypsy if that’s not a problem. We’ll leave in 10 mins.

‘Thank you sir, that would be great. Thank you so much.’

It could either ruin or enhance his image in the eyes of his commander. But it would definitely devastate his image in his own eyes if he decides not to help this girl and something happens to her later.

‘You guys will drive your bikes ahead of me, and keep it in the first or second gear in the downslope.’

‘Ok.’

When the girl came out of the shed, she started furiously trembling and clattering her teeth. He offered his ‘made for siachen’ Jacket and gloves to her. Seeing this, his driver offered him his jacket but he said that your feeling comfortable is more important on these dangerous tracks. He started feeling cold in a while. He remembered the time in IMA, when in the middle of the night in Dehradun’s december cold, they were made to strip down to swimming trunks and pour icy cold water on themselves. Slowly. He had ordered his body to take it. Like a trained soldier, this time again, he ordered his body to take it.

They reached Leh in about four hours. The whole while he was feeling tense about the repercussions of not following the commander’s orders. The girl could sense that he was disturbed about something. She did not utter a single word the entire way. While getting down in front of the hotel they were putting up at, she handed a small piece of paper in his hand. After tons of thanks by both the guys, the girl smiled very very weakly and said only one thing to him as he was driven away.

‘Hats off to Indian Army Officers….’

And that teared out all the fear from his heart.

Disclaimer: The story is a mixture of truth and more of fiction. There is no pass named Tangsong La. All the things about communication being down and terminal eqpt being installed are imaginary. I had gone there for an entirely different purpose. And what was written on the piece of paper is none of your business.

7th day in the Indian Military Academy, Dehradun.

Class time.

Instructor(with profound seriousness and emphasis): Gentlemen, weapons are like condoms. Holding them and not using them is much wiser than not holding them when you ‘urgently’ require them.

The class giggled without making a sound. It was my 7th day in the academy. No, my memory isnt so sharp. Those who are in the army know that you cannot possibly clearly remember your academy days. You sweat, sweat and sweat more, go back to your cabin(room) and sleep. That is, if you get the chance to sleep. I remember because I used to keep a record, a personal diary. A line or two for each day.

I was a software engineer before joining the army. I used to get up at 10, 11, sometimes even 12 to go to office. My manager used to come before 9:30. She never said anything to me about coming late to office. I liked to think that that was because I used to deliver products (softwares) always before the deadline. I was good at my job. But there was this one time when she had remarked about me coming late to office. I had missed an important meeting of the team, which was at 10:30 am. And she had done that too very politely.

‘Ankur, you missed a meeting this morning. Didn’t you get the schedule last friday?

You should have come a little early.’

‘Sorry Prachi, it wont happen again.’ I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t even feeling ashamed.

‘Ok.’

She was a sweet team lead. Later ofcourse, a dog who was suffering from rabies bit me and died, and I joined the army. The dog was a sucker for some respect. It didn’t know that earning it could make it go doubly crazy.

8th day in IMA.

We were asked to report at 3:45 am (Yep, that’s the time, and we had slept at 11:30 pm) with packed breakfast collected, and small pack prepared. (The small pack contains emergency stuff like food, water, extra pair of shoes, socks, shaving kit, which is a must, but what the hell, everything including the sui dhaga for knitting a button of your shirt which might break while you roll in mud, is a must.)

So basically, the preparing of this small pack requires a considerable amount of time. Specially when at 3 am, in the mess of your cabin, you cant find your sui dhaga. However, as you get to know later, EVERYTHING IN THIS WORLD can be managed in the last minute, and that’s one of the numerous important lessons that army teaches you about life. I also managed my sui dhaga at the last minute and arrived at the fall-in sharp at 3:46.

The senior was looking at me in a very strange way. Like a perfect bollywood villian. With his head tilted halfway to one side.

‘Yaaa Ankur, Why so late?’ (I have observed that in the army, people tend to say ‘Yaaa’ a lot. They rather sing it.)

“‘So’” late?? I thought. What the f*** man, I am a minute late.

‘Sorry Sir, it wont happen again.’ I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t at all feeling ashamed.

‘You don’t say sorry in the army. Because you cannot EVER be sorry for what you do. I’ll have you right now’ (That’s another one of the cliches I hated people using in the army. Literally it meant he would eat me, which is grose, figuratively, it meant he would punish me.)

He was noway sweet like Prachi. He made me jump continuously with the 5 kg pack on for 15 minutes. What are 15 minutes? I would have thought, if I would have still been the software engineer. I hadnt realized it yet.

My body was in agony. My heart was screaming. “’This is what I deserve for coming a MINUTE late?? For god’s sake, it was just a MINUTE’” I sweated and sweated.
And as if he read my mind, he said,

‘In a minute, you can be made to pray for your life. It requires just a minute. You’ll realize it.’

“’Bulshit”’, and I jumped. I just wanted him to stop me. Every second became painful after a while.

Every s-e-c-o-n-d.

My knees hurt the next several days.

21st day in IMA

Assistant Adjutant(who is responsible for drill, which btw means marching n all): ‘GC Ankur Srivastava. Why don’t your knees touch your chest when you stamp? Are you trying to sham in front of me?’

‘No sir, not at all’

The ‘not at all’ was not required. If you speak a word more than ‘Yes sir’ or ‘No sir’, you’re had. (Yeah, I got the cliché too)

‘Sahab, is GC ko teen Restrictions dijiye.’

‘Ji sahab’ The drill ustaad said.

Ass Adju (now to the entire squad): ‘Gentlemen, there would be girls watching you right now from outside the gates of this great institution. Your stamping will be such that it will make them all go watery. Is that clear?’

He turned back and added..

‘And by that I don’t mean tears in their eyes.’

The squad giggled without making a sound. I couldn’t resist a tiny grin to appear.

‘Sahab isko teen aur restrictions dijiye’

29th day in IMA

There is only one way to tie laces on your shoes in the army. They would teach you that first. And if you don’t comply, they would have your happiness. (Now that’s another cliché, means essentially the same)

This fine morning of 29th day in IMA, I was standing imperturbed in the drill square, sure that no drill ustaad could point out some mistake in my dress. When suddenly I heard someone growl.

‘HAAARRRPPP! GRAAAHHPP!! MAKRA, KACHRA, NALAYAK, GCCC!!!’ And he was looking towards me.

‘Ji sahab’

‘YE KAISE BANDHE HAIN LACES??’ I looked down.

‘NEECHE DEKHNE KO KISNE KAHA TUMSE????!!!!’

My insides shouted ‘“NEECHE NAHI DEKHUNGA TO PATA KAISE CHALEGA KI MAINE KAISE LACES BANDHE HAIN??”’ And these were the men I was wishing to comd and earn respect from.
He made me keep leaping like a frog for the next 1 hour. In front of the whole academy.

One h-o-u-r.

For tying laces the incorrect way.

30th day in IMA

The entry in my diary for the 30th day.

My insides are crying after yesterday. I feel humiliated. I feel burnt. When I was tying my laces today in the morning, I was again in a hurry. I was again making the mistake. And I watched a teardrop fell on my shoes. And this is what went through your mind Ankur, in case you forget.
‘Not again for this small thing. Not again for this. No.’
And you swallowed to clear your soar throat and tied it as it was taught Ankur.
You tied it as it was taught.

‘Oh not the second string again’

He has broken the second string of the guitar while playing a song. The problem with that is, that he only keeps one set of strings extra with him. And he had already used the second one of the spare set.

Now he would have to go Connaught place, or if he would want to buy the same product much cheaper, to Dariyaganj, which is in old delhi, reaching where can cause a migraine.

‘Man, I cant go to old delhi again for a stupid single string. I mean, its ok if you wanna buy a guitar. But for a single string? The same problem comes when you gotta buy a Plectrum’

Plectrum is the small triangular plastic thing through which you struck the strings of the guitar. You cant find a plectrum anywhere except a good music shop. And there were hardly any near his place. Or so he thought.

‘Let me try and find out here in Dwarka’

He had recently shifted to Dwarka. While driving, he suddenly came across a two storeyed structure with Rhythm Divine Academy of Music and Fine Arts written on it. He entered enthusiastically and found a lady sitting in a hall, in front of a desk, who looked like the owner as well as the manager.

‘Yes’

‘Ma’am do you teach how to play guitar here too?’

‘Yes we do’

‘Ok then, I guess you would know where, in the nearby area, can I buy guitar strings from?’ (Please don’t say Dariyaganj)

‘You can get them right here.. Which one do you want?’

‘Really??? Oh, the second’ (Sighs of relief)

‘Monu betaaa, guitar ki ek nayi second string nikal de’

‘Madam store mein check karna padega, upar to nahi hai’

‘Thik hai tum le aao… uh.. He would have to get it from the store, it will take 5 minutes, why don’t you sit down’

A batch of students just appeared out of a room. All were kids; age varying from 7-8 to 14-15. Some were holding guitars, some were just carrying bags.

‘What else do you teach here?’

‘We have got courses for keyboard, drums, and flute in music, and kathak and western in dance’

‘wow’

‘So, you are also learning guitar??’

‘Uh.. I know how to play.. Although the learning process never stops I guess’ (Smiles)

(Smiles back) ‘ok, how long have you been playing?’

‘Around 7 years’

(eyes widening) ‘So, you are like a proper guitarist, or you know other instruments also?’

(Smiles) ‘Well, I can play keyboard and drums too’

‘Do you teach also?’

‘I haven’t professionally. Otherwise I have’ (Ok lady, I see where this conversation is going)

‘What do you do otherwise?’

‘I am in the army’

(Blown look) ‘You are an army officer??’

‘uh.. Yes ma’am, I am on leave currently’

‘Ok.. ‘ Monu enters with the string.

‘Here is your string’

He paid for it and left. A thought kept bothering him. It was his dream to teach music to children. There was even a time when a wild fascination had become his goal. He wanted to open several Indian Institutes of Music, on the lines of IITs and IIMs. He decided to go back.

‘Ma’am, I don’t know whether you would consider this appropriate or not, but if you need an instructor for the next 16 days, I will be available.. And I wont charge anything..’

(Smiles) ‘uh.. Ok.. Actually we do wanted a substitute for our Keyboard instructor, He sometimes is not available.. But before that, we would like you to meet him and show him your skill a little.. If you don’t mind..’

‘Not at all.. when and where?’

‘Give me your contact no, I’ll let you know’

It turns out that the instructor of the school himself wanted to learn a few techniques of playing from him. Naturally he was taken in. He usually gets to teach once in 2-3 days for 3-4 hours. His heart rejuvenates everytime.

Air India Flight 126 from Chicago to New Delhi..

Lots of Indians Aboard..

Maximum Gujratis..

15 Hours..

As you get shit tired just by sitting, you stand near the emergency exit doors of the aircraft from time to time..

A lobby develops in a short while.. and keeps changing..

Conversation with Gujrati No 1:

‘Hi’

‘Hello’

‘You are going to Delhi?’

‘Yeah I guess’ (snort) ‘Isn’t the flight going there too?’ (he does not only look stupid.. he is stupid)

‘Oh, the flight goes to Ahemdabad and Hyderabad also after that’

‘Oh sorry, that ways, yes, Delhi.. But I have to go to Ladakh after that’

‘Ladakh??’ (eyes opening wide, eyebrows stretched, and head swaying)

‘Its in J&K’ (Hello)

‘Oh right.. So, you belong from that place?’

‘HAHA.. Do I look like a Ladakhi to you?’

‘I’m sorry, I havent stayed in India much’

‘Yeah, I can see that. Ladakhis look more like Chinese. Not like you and me.’

‘Hmm. So, what do you do in Ladakh?’

‘I am in the army, I am posted there’

‘Woh!! Army man huh? Now you dont look much like an army man too’ (Smiles hideously)

‘Yeah, but you see, Indian army requires stamina and endurance, not bulk and an enormous belly like yours’ (fucker)

(Grins, stays quiet and after a while goes back to his seat)

Conversation with Gujrati No 2:

‘Is this sandwich for free?’

‘I guess so, people have been coming and picking them up’

‘Aah’ (starts opening the packet of one, and pockets another)

‘So, you have not tried this sandwich?’

‘Ah, No, I am not hungry’

‘Who said I am? (laughes) Kha lo pi lo yar, aur is duniya mein rakha hi kya hai?’

‘Yeah..’ (Now this idiotic person will tell me about philosophy?)

‘What do you do anyway’

‘Uh.. well.. I am a musician. Yeah! A guitarist’

‘Oh.. Nice.. Where is your guitar yaar? Why dont you entertain all of us here? As such, all the passengers are getting so bored..’

‘Haha.. No, thanks’

‘How much do you earn anyway?’

‘Allright. Please excuse me..’

‘Oh dont get offended yaar.. I was just curious how much do these intrumentalists earn yaar’

‘More than what your materialistic and orthodox mind can imagine yaar, they earn contentment’ (Leaves the passageway)

A few minutes later observes Gujarati No 1 has joined Gujarati No 2 and both have hit it off like school time bum chums.

Prayers for getting out of the plane asap.

Drill seems to be the most trying thing in the academy. The biggest torture in doing drill everyday for the pop practice is not the sweat, the heat, the incessant ‘kadam badal’ or ‘changing march’, the continuous ‘swing back’ or ‘height de’ (not that these are not tortures themselves, they definitely surely are) but the biggest one is how the heck do you manage to keep your shirts clean. And then they want us to wear an impeccable uniform every damn day.

What happens, as many of you might not be aware, specially my friends from the software industry who sit in their air conditioned office day in day out, who do not shred one drop of pasina, is that after 2-3 hours of continuous drill, all the pores of your body are opened because some liquid wants to flow out. If you happen to taste it, just like we get a chance of doing it daily, I am sure you wouldn’t like it.

Now because of this liquid flowing out, in a short while, your body perceives that if this continues it might just dehydrate, and therefore it makes you feel thirsty. Obviously you cannot replenish the liquid loss from your body by just licking the same off from your own body, as that is not humanly possible. However, come to think of it, it is humanly possible to lick it off someone else’s body, probably the one standing just in front of you who is also excreting as much liquid as you. But that would be a grotesque way of quenching your thirst. Eeyuk..

Ok, forget that. This thirst makes you feel that you’ll die any moment. And what adds to this dying moment is the rashes developed both in your under arms and your private parts invariably through the never ending swinging of your arms and legs respectively. The 50% of the water along with much of the salt in your body that excretes out in the form of S.W.E.A.T, does not act as a lubricant. Trust me. In fact, it acts as a catalyst in the development of these rashes.

Now the water which forms a vital part of the sweat evaporates, but what about the salt? I’ll tell you. The salt, ladies and gentlemen, penetrates through the vest, and sticks tightly to the shirt and makes the Olive Green, Olive Green and White. Nonetheless, the white patches on the OG shirt makes wonderful modern art, the beauty of which lies in the unpredictability of its pattern. Every fucking day, the patches are of different shape, and at different unimaginable locations. There is absolutely no regularity at all.

So, that’s how your shirt gets screwed every day. And you have only three pairs of them. And since the washer man comes only twice in a week, and there are 7 days in the same, you are smart enough to calculate that you gotta wash them yourself in between. And that is what I don’t like putting my time and energy in. Specially at a place where they are trying to exhaust my energy everyday.

LET ME CONSERVE IT A LITTLE FOLKS..

I MEAN, COME ON!!! HOW THE DAMNED HELL DOES IT MATTER WHETHER THE OG I WEAR TO DRILL PRACTICE, (I EMPHASIZE, DRILL “PRACTICE”) HAS WHITE PATCHES OR NOT??

INSTEAD OF PUNISHING SUCH A PERSON, SHOULDN’T YOU AWARD HIM? CUZ HE HAS SWEATED THE MOST??

Wait.. I just gave myself an idea there..

THE MAX WHITE IN A WEEK AWARD GOES TO……. GC Ankur Srivastava!! (With a huge round of applause from the entire academy)

Yeah, I have a weird way of imagining things.. :D..

But you tell me, wouldn’t that be both fun and fair?

Crushes. Siddharth and Nikita. Twelth standard.

Chemistry teacher Mrs Taneja was saying something. She stopped midway and started writing equations on the board. But Siddharth couldn’t register her words today. He was a good student. Amongst the toppers. And one of Mrs Taneja’s favorite.
He thought about the reason why he was feeling so dejected today. He knew the answer. Nikki had bunked the school today. He kept glancing towards her empty seat. Just two rows ahead of his.

Siddharth liked her a lot. For him, Nikki was a fun loving, vivacious girl, who did not worry a lot about exams, boards, entrance tests, who was damn pretty and who wore a superb dimple every time she used to smile. And she used to smile a lot.

He used to write a diary. And in that diary, he would write every day about her. Special long entries were made the days he would have conversations with her. Admiring every movement of her eyes, noticing every expression of her cute face, everything he used to pen down.

Was it love? Or just another infatuation, just another crush. There were times when he felt strongly that it was indeed love, but there were other times as well, more often than not; that he thought that it was just a crush. A very powerful one, though.

He felt guilty. He had to concentrate on his studies, do very well in the boards, as well as the entrance exams of various professional institutes. There was a lot of competition, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to clear any of them if he gets messed up with distractions. Nikki was a distraction. He had to get her out of his head. But then he would glance at her, in the class, and forget.

He decided that this couldn’t work any longer. He knew that he couldn’t remove Nikki out of his world. As she was there, right there in front of his eyes every day. There must be a solution. One day, he found it. He decided that he would fool his heart. Nikki was not to be a distraction for him. He made a pact, that if he wants to get Nikki in his life, he would have to study hard, and clear his exams. To get her, he would have to lose his sleep, burn the midnight oil, and read.

This solution soon started failing. Because there was this basic flaw. His mind and his heart were not disconnected. Out of desperation, without realizing, slowly, he made himself believe to very great extent, that he could only get Nikki if he studies hard. This belief soon converted into a conviction. A promise made by some higher authority.

He started decreasing the small conversations he used to have with her, and started distancing from her. He observed her only when she was occupied with something, but dreamed about her every night. As he studied harder and harder, he felt he was getting close. She became his motivation. His power, his pleasure, and his pain. But only in his thoughts.

But today, when she was not there in the class, he was feeling jittery. He tried concentrating in the subject but just couldn’t.

Has it backfired? Now he couldn’t concentrate without her distant presence. Is she alright? He hoped nothing had happened to her. She never used to bunk school.

—————————————-xx——————————————-

Nikita’s mom was serving her a medicine, after a good breakfast. When she was not looking, Nikita slid the tablet in the pocket of her shirt and drank the water. She had pretended to be sick. She was disturbed, but not physically, and wanted a break from the school.

Day before, she had eaten a lot of onions with her dinner. She knew it would make her vomit, and she purposefully did so, in the presence of her father. His father naturally thought she was ill, and instructed her mother to take care of her tomorrow. She was not to go to school.

Nikita had done the same act, around a year back, when she was confident that she would fail the math half yearly exam which was to be held the next day. She had missed the exam, with almost no repercussions. It was certainly better than to have failed in the subject. The reason behind her contrived plot. But today the reason was different. She needed to think things over. She needed some peace of mind. Ashish had asked her out yesterday.

Nikita knew that she was good looking. Counted amongst the cutest in the class. She also knew that there were quite a number of boys who were crazy about her. Many of them had even approached her; she had ignored all of them. Refused politely but firmly. As none of them were even close to the kind of guy she wanted in her life. She could puke till death before going out with some of them. Ashish was different. He was a good friend. But she didn’t like him that way also.

It wasn’t that she was very high headed or there weren’t any guys who were smart. There were 2-3 extremely cute guys, but they were the centre of attention of all girls. Every girl of her class was trying to woo them in all manners. Some of which were even despicable. Like exposing skin, seducing in ways she thought were disgraceful. And the bad part was that the cute guys fell for all of it. They would go out with the girl wearing the shortest skirt. In this psychological way, they almost exhorted all girls to wear short skirts. The girl not wearing one now, was considered a behnji.

Albeit, there was one guy she thought was different from others. He was not as dashing as the guys mentioned above, but certainly cute in his special way, and was definitely smart. He had a terrific persona about him. He kept quiet most of the time, was very intelligent, and the envy of most of the wanna-be’s. His name was Siddharth.

Nikita had seen Siddharth initially glancing towards her from time to time. She had grown used to guys staring at her, passing comments and ‘singing filthy songs in the bus at her’ things, but ofcourse she had drawn a line. Anyone crossing it was in for some big trouble. A new guy in the class glancing stealthily was just normal.

Then one day she saw him speak in the class. Siddharth was giving a presentation on a topic in chemistry. Nikita got her first chance to observe him closely, as he was always 2 rows behind, and she found he had a tremendous personality. The way he spoke, his accent, his voice was so good. It had a mysterious kind of a feeling about it. During the lecture, he was focused towards getting the subject across, and also didn’t let anyone get bored as he kept cracking trivial jokes in between. They were not very funny, but the way he delivered them was. Last but not the least; he had beautiful, large, and innocent eyes.

She fell for him. And in about a month’s time, was heads over heals about him. She knew siddharth was a bit reserved and a conventional person. She liked that part about him. But she couldn’t just ask him out because of the same reason, or become very bold in front of him. He wouldn’t like that. And she wanted him to like her intellectually too. She would study math, the subject she hated the most, to just strike up an intelligent conversation with him. While studying, she would give up. Then she would look at the only pic she had of him, and start off again.

She still remembered the day clearly when Siddharth had asked her the question. ‘Can I call you Nikki?’. She had felt her heart skipping a beat, had blushed and gone red, had answered ‘yes’, and had smiled. She was the happiest girl in the world that day. She knew in her heart that he also had a crush on her. But her mind said otherwise sometimes. Nevertheless, she had thought of giving hints. And then she would wait. Wait for him to propose.

But for the last few days, she thought he had started ignoring her. He stopped responding to the usual hints she gave to have a conversation. He would walk past by without looking at her. She was perturbed first, and later angry. Her feelings sometimes also moved towards hatred. What did he think of himself? Her ego was hurt, and she wanted to dignify herself. She wanted to teach him a lesson.

She decided to say a yes to Ashish.

Once upon a time, there were two mice, Billu and Pinki. Both Billu and Pinki were good friends of each other, and used to share all their experiences with one another.

One day, they both were travelling casually in a household’s kitchen and accidently found a huge piece of cheese. Now they both wanted to have it all, but since they were good friends they decided that they would divide it into two equal pieces and then have the halves individually. Pinki had to leave urgently to crap somewhere, as she was feeling the pressure immensely, and moreover she thought it would be good to consume the cheese empty stomached. It told Billu that in the meantime, he could divide the cheese into two equal pieces. She trusted billu to do it without any guile.

So, the guileless billu, now all alone, kept scratching his head till he came up with an idea to divide the cheese into the two halves. He decided to break the cheese arbitrarily and keep the two pieces on two sides of a weighing machine (called Tarazu) and transfer weight appropriately till both the weighs are equal. He started the process with umpteen enthusiasm. He broke the cheese into two pieces and decided to eat small parts on both pieces till they weighed exactly the same. He was a brilliant mouse.

He ate on one side a little. The other side became heavy. He ate on the other side. The first one looked heavy. He bit on the first side again. Dammit, the other side seemed heavy again. He kept on repeating this, and out of supreme frustration, did not realize that slowly he was eating the whole cheese all by himself. By the time he did realize it, it was too late. He had finished all of it.

Naturally, when Pinki came back, she noticed the cheese gone and thought billu had ditched her. She felt furious, turned her back to him, and never talked with him again in her whole life. Billu, feeling tremendously remorseful, was walking on the road thereafter, did not notice a truck coming by, came under it and got squashed to a cheesy liquid form.

They say that reincarnation happens for real. If that is true, I am certain the Billu the mouse’s soul has found its place in a human named Mr Nathulal, who happens to be my barber. Similar to Billu the mouse’s frustration of making both the pieces of the cheese equal, my barber gets frustrated of making both the sides of my hair equal. Similar to Billu the mouse’s continuous eating of the cheese in a sincere attempt to make them equal ultimately results in finishing off all of it, my barber keeps on cutting both sides of my hair until he finishes all of it.

And when he shows his art in the mirror to you, you inherit Pinky’s soul in an instant, cry in horror, feel furious about it, abuse Nathulal of being stupid, turn your back to him and walk off in a rude way. But then, when you hear the Billu’s story, you slowly realize its not his fault..

Previously on ‘Retracing SSB’: Despite being tricked into getting up early on day 3, Ankur maintains a good mood while taking the psychology test. The good smile on his face soon converts into a chronic frown, as he goes through the PPT, WAT, SRT, and answers some of the most simple looking yet difficult questions, help being provided by his brain at the last moment when its exterior is scratched. He also goes through a mortifying experience in the name of an interview, misused and humiliated being his predominant emotions. Surprisingly, the interviewer chooses to commend his performance, in turn uplifting his dashed hopes by a small margin…

When I become an officer, and if I get appointed as a GTO (Group Task Officer) to conduct the tests for SSB candidates, I’ll conduct the same in the evening. That was the promise I made to myself while listening to the CHM instructing us to report at 5:30 am the next day. I mean come on dude, it is D-A-R-K outside at 5:30 in the morning. What do you expect me to do without any sunlight? Dance naked?  

I then started wondering that there could be a swimsuit round next, with the officers’ wives being the serious judges, and the officers themselves sitting and belly laughing as spectators. And with their kids munching popcorn, drinking cola, eating mutton seekh kebabs, and betting enthusiastically on who would win, I realized it could be a perfect, wholesome family entertainment thing. Hmm… Another promise I made to myself. To include this round in SSB, if it’s not already there.

I was not supposed to have breakfast. I started wondering again. What was the point in not having breakfast? What can they make me do without breakfast that they cannot with one? My mind was swimming with nauseating ideas. And then there was this dress code. White t-shirt, white shorts, white socks, and white PT shoes. Now if you have ever studied at a Kendriya Vidyalaya, you would know exactly, which kind of PT shoes I am talking about.

But before I elaborate on that, let me take you a few weeks back when a couple of my worthy friends who had been through the SSB process earlier, told me that this type of attire is required. As I possessed none of the articles, I had to purchase all of them. But I was a happy man.

Shopping, in my firm opinion, is a hobby perfected by people who are stressed about everything going on in their lives. It gives them a clean motive to kill time, a reason to forget all, and an orgasm when something is bought. As the SSB reporting date was drawing closer, I realized I was really getting stressed. How do I get a relief (or a release)? I shop.

Apart from the shoes, the articles were quite difficult to find in the first place. I ultimately had to subdue my pride by purchasing them from a school uniform shop. Obviously, I wanted the white shorts for my younger brother who studies in 4th. And surely, the saleswomen would have understood that I and my cool bro can have the same waist size, the reason I have to try them on. Anyhow, I bought these garments and they got me all excited and aroused. But I reached the point of no return only when my eyes picked up a pair of brand new, white Adidas sports shoes. What followed was a heavenly climax.

However, when I unveiled my shoes with true fascination in my eyes, here at SSB, expecting everyone to gape at it with sheer respect, I was humiliated again. Instead of jaws dropping, I could hear the sadist bastards chuckling to themselves. They told me that my godly sports shoes won’t do me any good here because the GTO expects everyone to wear proper PT shoes. ‘What’s that?’ I asked in disgust. ‘The kind that you wear in the PT period in a KV’. ‘I have never studied at a KV’. And then he showed me.

Proper PT shoes were not made of leather or canvas. They were just a pair of thin cloths that you wrap around your feet through which even a decently sharp pebble could penetrate. It was time for me to make a face again, just when Chest Number 7 (same guy who was Chest Number 21 before the screening) reminded me his golden words from day 1. ‘You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do, Mate’.

My fears were duly quelled when the CHM asked us to run at 5:30 in the morning. That was why we did not have breakfast. Quite prudent, I must say. And it was also beautiful. When 25 men run together in files of 3-4 wearing the same dress and same shoes, with the dawn approaching and birds chirping, the thuds produced on the road remind you of the training scenes that you have seen in the innumerous Hollywood war flicks. I became Tom Cruise in an instant; I smiled and I ran with all my heart, ignoring easily the agony in my legs and lungs.

But the agony increased with every passing step, and Tom Cruise’s smile dissolved into a large opening to increase the intake of oxygen. As it did not feel enough, instead of running in the front, Tom Cruise slowed down and started running in the center. Then in the end. Before the distance between Tom Cruise and the extras could increase to a distinguishable measure, the CHM asked us to stop. This gave Tom Cruise hope and he happily caught up, shoved through the extras and took his place in the front again. Yeah, Tom Cruise, the true ‘actor’, would have done the same, I thought. So much for his integrity. Tch tch.

Now what would you expect after this great warm up? Individual obstacles? The famous snake race? At least some group tasks which require some physical activity? Right? Wrong. After running for about a mile, when our hearts are pumping fresh blood to our systems, when we are sweating like pigs, when we are ready and want more, the GTO wants us to sit and have GROUP DISCUSSIONS! I mean IQ, psychology tests are all fine, but don’t they conduct some tests on common sense? How the heck did he become an officer?

We were divided into three groups and the group discussion started.

Chest Number 4 has a difficulty in speaking. At first you don’t come to know that, because he just doesn’t speak. Chest Number 5 is speaking well, to the point that I am a little impressed. He also stops everyone in the middle of the discussion, and says ‘Ok, gentlemen, lets give Chest Number 4 a chance to speak.’ A very nice thing to do, I thought. Chest Number 4 mumbles something to himself. No 7 cuts in and continues the discussion. I also manage to make my mark by chipping in two or three fresh ideas.

Chest Number 5 says again, ‘Ok gentlemen, lets hear what Chest Number 4 has to say about this’. All right dude, you have made your point. We know that you can moderate. No 4 doesn’t have anything to say, even if he does he can’t express it properly. What’s the point? Anyway, I smiled and thought maybe he really wants to hear No 4’s opinions. No 4 again mutters something inaudible. People get a little frustrated. After about a minute, No 5 screams again ‘ok gentlemen, why don’t we ask Chest Number 4 to say something’. Overkill mate! No 4 mumbles something, though this time I doubt it was anything related to the discussion. Nasty abuses in his mother tongue directed at No 5 were more like it.

Military planning was a complete chaos. The GTO had showed us a huge map where in we had to imagine ourselves to be in it, we had some resources and there were simultaneous pseudo attacks by terrorists in different areas. We had to plan the course of our action through a discussion. We had been given 5 minutes to first think about our plan. More than enough! My mind came up with the perfect plan in less than 2 minutes. I had every reason to start the discussion. And so I started gladly with all the aplomb required. But before I could show the trump card of my whole scheme, I was cut, mutilated and marred by everyone else.

In about a minute, there were more than 2 people speaking. More people joined in to get heard and soon everyone was shouting. I wanted to scream too, but then I remembered the way my voice turns into a screech when I try to speak louder, and thought that the GTO wouldn’t be able to bear it. So, I decided to rest my vocal chords and let the extras shout. The extras concluded without my compliance. However, after the conclusion the officer asked if anyone wanted to add something. I presented my trump card immediately, and while I expected the GTO to stop the universe to ponder over it, look at my Chest Number to make a note in his file, No 5 had the audacity to rephrase my point in his own words, befuddling the GTO, I believe, as to who thought of it in the first place.

More nasty abuses at No 5. This time in Hindi. And this time from my conscience.

If the questionnaire in the psychology test made me scratch my head, the group tasks made me scratch my entire body in order to switch on the bulb of intelligence. We had been given a plank, a balli, 2 ropes, a drum and were told to cross some obstacles made up of benches, more drums, triangular shaped rods, hooks, A’s, T’s and god knows what! All were painted in different colors. Colors meant rules. White meant we could stand on it and also keep our load (the heavy drum), blue meant we could stand but couldn’t keep the load, Red meant we couldn’t do either. Everything else, apart from the two colors, like the GROUND, was out of bounds. And if we have to cross more than 2 feet, we were not allowed to exhibit our long jumping capability, but had to make use of the items mentioned above.

The officer gave us a set of four progressively difficult obstacles to cross, and asked us how much time we would take. ‘Not more than 15 minutes sir’. That was No 3. And all of them were nodding their heads in agreement. They were out of their minds. I tried talking some sense to them but the officer himself, smirking, said he would give us 40 minutes. We could only finish the first obstacle in 30 damn minutes in which a lot of guys collectively had to scratch each others’ obnoxious body parts.

The GTO, sitting and wearing shades, had already finished his morning cup of tea, and was getting tired. He finally lost all hope, and made the rest of the tasks very simple for us by changing rules several times. ‘Ok gentlemen, convert all Blue into White and see if you can do it now’. Despair. ‘Ok, Gentlemen, consider the Red is also white’. Dejection. ‘Ok Gentlemen, I get the point, this way you would be able to do it. NOW JUST CROSS IT’. Disgust! And then he would also say that we did well. Is the Indian Army full of phonies? I had wondered to myself.   

Finally the time had come for the snake race. I had heard that this was the most exciting task of all at an SSB. As I told you earlier, we had been divided into 3 groups of 8 candidates each. Snake Race was the competition between these groups. Every group had to select a war cry and cross some physical obstacles carrying the longest greenish snake you would have ever seen. I hope you did not just gasp, because then you would be just an idiot. It’s not a real snake; it’s more like an elongated rug.

I had wanted my group’s war cry to be ‘Jai Ho’, being the Oscar wining musician’s greatest fan. But the extras looked at me like I was a cockroach, and decided on ‘Vande Mataram’ instead. Probably they didn’t know that that was a song from the same artist, so I smugly agreed. I still believed that the GTO’s wouldn’t be able to bear my screech, so I just mouthed the war cry, while the extras screamed. And then we got busy in crossing the physical mountains in front of us. A few of them:

A broad rope ladder: where you treat the snake like a real snake; throw it around everywhere as you have to be on all your fours, lest you fall and break your jaw.

3 horizontal rods with 2 foot vertical space between them: You have to make a figure of 8, (this is a test of your imagination power; try!) and make the snake also follow the same path. It becomes very confusing after a while.

2 walls, both around 10 feet tall: You might not believe me when I say that I was the first one from our group to have climbed those walls in practically fraction of seconds.  I, ahem, had been practicing some chin ups at home for this very moment.

Like that there were many more..

I had noticed, while I was standing on one of the walls, helping No 7 to climb, that all the GTO’s were simply smiling at the spectacle, smoking, and sipping their second cup of tea.

While every spare breadth of the candidates was immediately vented out in screaming their war cry, while they sweated, excruciated, and tortured themselves, the GTO’s kept smiling and kept munching their dipped-in-tea-biscuits.

That was the moment when I became sure that I wanted to be on that side someday…

That was the moment when the GTO’s must have heard a new screech…

My screech…

VANDEEE MAATARAM !!!!

 

 

Pooja: So wouldn’t you like to say something to your Readers, sweetu?

Ankur: Aah, yes, thanks for reminding me Poo.  I thank all the readers from the bottom of my heart if they have reached till here. This one had become just too long and I doubt if anyone can even complete it at one go, lest he/she is a voracious reader, or a great fan.

Pooja: Well, I would have read it at one go.. (in a singing tune that agitates all men)

Ankur(supresses the agitation and smiles back): Well, that’s because of a different reason! You are my Power, my Pleasure, and also my Pain… Poo… Haha..

Pooja(blushes and smacks him lightly): What happens on Day 5?

Ankur: Day 5 was the day when I got hurt in individual obstacles, and despite that I participated in an extempore, a command task, and another group task. The results were announced on the following day, but I plan to include that in my next post itself and end it all. But Day 5 will come only on the basis of the review I get from my readers. If they are tired of this SSB thing, I’ll stop this meaningless crap, and start with something new.

Pooja : ok, stop! Now you are making it more lengthy. Besides, I am hungry..

Ankur: I know.. cuz I am hungry too. Is that telepathy?  or are you just a part of my soul? (winks at the readers) Lets go and grab a bite at Dominos….

Previously on ‘Retracing SSB’: He was bitten by mosquitoes. He fell for a contrived plot wherein he had to forsake his bath. His breakfast was a mess. Yet, when his intelligence was tested, when his imagination to make up a story was evaluated, when the time came for a group discussion, Ankur was among the best. Blissful confidence was oozing out of him, but he was careful not to let it possess him. As he knew that among the screened 24 candidates, there lay a competition which was of a far more significance…

For a while, the trees looked greener, the skies looked bluer, the street puppy looked cuter, and even Bhopal did not seem to be a bad place. Everything fell into place; I realized that they had provided us with mosquito nets that had been in the cupboard all along, but only for the delightful, screened in candidates to discover. This time, I was careful to sleep as early as 9:30 and get up at 4 so that I could carry out the mundane activities of a morning with immense contentment, even before they could cut the water supply at 4:45. But they had me again. They didn’t cut the supply at 4:45. They didn’t cut it at 5:15. They didn’t cut it at all.

However, even this wicked machination couldn’t let me down. In the one hour I had to myself, I just stood at the open corridor facing a cool breeze, the jack of ipod in my ears, and looked at the stars as they faded away slowly to a subtle and demure dawn. I saw a few chaps had also got ready with me, and for a while I thought that they had been tricked too. Just when I was about to speak to them with empathy in my heart, I saw them sitting comfortably with books on SSB on their laps, and I realized that they had got up early not out of constraint, but out of choice. The empathy metamorphosed into disdain and I was back to the sidereal aspects of the fading away stars. SSB was my least concern, and happy thoughts, some of which I would not like to reveal here, possessed me in that one hour.

It was with a smile that I entered the hall to give the psychology test, a smile when I was given a thick booklet wherein I had to write my responses, a smile when an officer was barking out instructions. When he asked us to write our true responses and not under any circumstances, manipulate them, I believed him. When he said that we would be shown one by one, 12 pictures for 30 seconds each, and after each one of them, we would be given 4 minutes to write a story on the corresponding space in our booklets, I believed him, I smiled and I felt that this should go as smooth as silk. And when he finally asked us if we were ready for the Picture Perception Test (PPT), it was with a smile that I said ‘Yes Sir’.

However, the smile turned into a frown by the time PPT got over. I had written good stories of which some were touchy, and some witty. I remember in one story, I had made my female character slap her would be husband, when he had proposed her, asking him what the heck took him so long to do so. I had concluded that story with the couple having two children, a boy and a girl, and even named them as balloo and pinki. I wonder what the psychologist would have made out of that. But that was just one story. What was troubling was the sight of the 12 stories I had written at one go. All my thoughts, my feelings, my strengths, my weaknesses were out there in ways I can’t express here.

After the PPT, we had WAT i.e. Word Association Test. In this test, 60 words were flashed on a screen for 15 seconds each and we had to pen down the first thought that comes to our mind when we see the word. It was quite simple. Unlike Situation Reaction Test (SRT) where you require a little rethinking. Here, you are given 60 situations and are asked to write what your character would do when he faces them. For example, “His younger brother is seriously ill, and the doctor says that he should undergo an operation immediately. He cannot afford the cost of the operation. He …….?”. Here, I know you would be tempted to make your character a typical sensitive bollywood hero, and then make him rob a bank, but you must quell that urge. For, the psychologist might call you a psycho and fail you. Instead, you should follow bapu’s non violence principles, and then take a loan from the same bank.

Then there were some stupid questions, like what are your parents’, your teachers’/employers’, and your friends’/colleagues’ opinion about you, who you are, and who you would like to become. And the bastards had given us only 10 minutes to write all that. I kept scratching my head for so long that the officer must have thought I have lice in my hair. He was looking at me as if, I thought, at any moment he would come to me and apprise me of the latest shampoos available in the market, and suggest me to have a bath on the day I actually had one. But I mean come on; I have an opinion about all those people, now how am I supposed to know what they think of me unless I ask them? Even if I write something, won’t it be something that I wish they thought of me, which in any case, might be far from the truth? And then they also expect us to be honest. It was clearly a paradox. And what kind of people think of ‘Who I am’ and ‘Who I would like to become’ everyday? He should be glad I was only scratching my head, and not other parts of the body as well.

The frown grew into a scowl when I was asked to stay back, as Chest Number 1 to 4 had to be interviewed that day itself. I was Chest Number 2 after the screening. Much to my embarrassment, people had started calling me ‘No 2’, very conveniently skipping the term ‘Chest’. I don’t know whether you know what we call No 2 here in this country, but trust me; you can’t feel proud about it. No 1 went in for the interview and we waited. The waiting room was an exact replica of the waiting rooms we have in hospitals, super old magazines kept on the table, and an electronic device which sings a tune when the number changes on its screen. And you do not feel any different also. But of course, here the doctor is not going to inspect you for your betterment.

Too ro roo ro roo.. No 2 flashed. I did not feel nervous. While going in, ‘Nothing to hide, just be honest’ was the promise I made to myself. While coming out, I felt as naked as any baby just out of its mother’s womb. And I also wanted to cry like one. That man had misused my honesty, and had asked me questions, the answers to which I wouldn’t reveal to any person I’ve just met. But because of my promise, my integrity, and his strong glare, I answered all of them. The main agenda of the interview was not me as a person. It was me and my weaknesses. Rather, just the weaknesses. Oh yes, he asks you your strengths also, but I am not a fool to believe that my strengths were counted at all. The least he could do was not yawn while I was expressing them.

‘What if I were to ask your friend Puneet, the three things Ankur should improve upon himself?’ ‘What if I were to ask your father, the three things Ankur should improve upon himself?’ ‘What if I were to ask your manager, the three things…. ?’ I’ll give you their numbers Col, WHY DON’T YOU DO THE HONORS AND ASK THEM YOURSELF? I furiously wanted to point out. But I couldn’t. Because he is so saccharinely polite, he makes you so comfortable, and he glares at you so intensely, reminding you of Dumbledore in Harry Potter, i.e. only when you are telling your weaknesses (when you tell your strengths, he will drink water, and look here and there), that you bare it all, without even protesting. It was not very different from the medicals, where in front of a surgical specialist; you do have to bare it all, literally. There also the doctor is interested only in your private parts, barely glancing above your waist.

However, there was a reason for me to feel slightly hopeful. After 1 hour and 5 minutes of intense peeping, when he finally felt satisfied, he offered me to ask a question, if I had one. And I had asked gloomily ‘What are my chances’ with a sad smile, expecting him to make a solemn face and shake his head in denial. Instead, he grinned from ear to ear, and said ‘That also depends on your psychology test, the GTO…’. ‘No, according to you sir, this interview’ I interrupted. ‘Well, you did fine. Nothing wrong. Apart from that, let the results speak for itself Ankur!’ ‘Good Job’, he added with a smile when I got up to shake his hand.

And a small part of me believed him…

How does he perform in the Group Tasks? How does he manage to climb 2 walls in the famous snake race? What about the 2 group discussions and Military planning?

Find these answers in Ankur’s upcoming post.. Day 4!!

Only on your favorite blog..  Lexuscages!! (yeaahhh, phui, phui, phuiiiii…)

Previously on ‘Retracing SSB’: On day 1, Ankur managed to reach Bhopal well before the right time, but that didn’t stop him committing some blunders like appearing without a call letter and forgetting his roll number. He managed to infuriate the CHM and the JCO and was appalled at the thought of rising early and taking IQ tests the next morning…

Mosquitoes! Another reason why you should never step on this place. The sheer size of one mosquito can make you tremble in fear. At night, they seem to carry you to a different world, a world where they parry your blows skillfully, laugh at you, and bite you. Again, again and yet again. Some of them are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew. They fill themselves up with so much of your blood that in drunken stupor they start using their legs for commuting instead of their wings; they may come under your weight when you turn over in your bed, and splash to an ecstatic death, giving you a false sense of victory in the morning. However, some are not that foolish, they know their limits and remain sober, but are sadist enough to invite more of their monstrous friends.

Although, I am also a little grateful to them as they helped me get up early. Or should I say, they didn’t let me sleep at all in the first place. Whatever! The point is that I could get up early, as early as 4:45, bruised but proud. Just like a soldier who had got some but had also killed some. That was about the time when I heard a ruckus outside. Somebody was screaming ‘pani gaya’. I took me a while to fully comprehend its meaning. Was this chap saying that there was no water left in the bathroom? At 4:45 in the morning, was he suggesting that I should have got up still earlier? It’s true that we had been told by an officer on day 1 that there is a shortage of water. Apparently, the Bhopal Lake, which is main source of water here, had dried up (what did I tell you about the creepy hotness here). But earlier than 4:45?? Oh Come on!!

At this juncture, I would like to ask you a question. Have you ever brushed your teeth while they are clattering? It is NOT funny. Not at all. As there was no water left in the taps, I had to make use of the icy cool drinking water taken from the cooler, to brush my teeth. They make your teeth clatter. And as you would have guessed, having a bath using that water was out of the question. I went back and got all dressed up in formals, ready to have my breakfast in the candidate’s mess, the timing of which was from 5:45 to 6:30. Precisely at 5:45, I heard another scream.. ‘pani aa gayaa’.. What an appropriate time for the bastards to release water in those taps, I thought. It was sabotage, they had tricked me. They left me with an option of either taking a bath or having breakfast. As any other sane 23 year old boy, I chose the latter.

Porridge poured over my butter cube, with jam sliding in between, bread floating on the same compounded liquid, and the 2 boiled eggs as rolling rocks in the sea. That was breakfast. No; they don’t use what we call ‘katoris’ here. And when I felt a little disgusted at the sight, and made a face, Chest Number 21 who sat across said, “The same thing happens in your stomach, so technically, what’s the difference?”. This guy talks sense, I thought and ate the thing in peace.

The IQ tests were simple. I mean any engineer could solve them with one hand behind their back. Aahaa! But there lie the catch. All 77 of us were engineers. I cursed and hoped that they weren’t any smarter. After these tests, we were asked to look at a hazy picture and write a story on it. The story should obviously not be a mere description of the picture, but should move around some characters that you have to imagine. After that, there was a group discussion, where in front of three senior officers, we were asked to narrate our stories first, and then through a discussion, come to a common story. I thought that the discussion would continue for 10-15 minutes at the least. That is the norm at the mba entrance GD’s. But here, we had only opened the discussion to different perspectives when the officer asked us to stop. I felt it went on for about 3-4 minutes. The officer even had the guts to call it a fruitful discussion. Yeah right, fruitful is my arse officer, I had thought.

Ok, I hate to disrupt the flow, but did you know that Dr. APJ Abdul Kalam, Amitabh Bachhan, and even Sharukh Khan had tried their hands at SSB in their times but couldn’t clear it? Yes, that is true. Even I didn’t know before coming here. But by the time I left Bhopal, all I had in my memory cells was this piece of information. Overloaded to the brim. Before the announcement of any results, there would be three different officers who would convey this info in three different places at three different times in the day. Their intention is however, very noble, and also wise. People who make it, introduce themselves as ‘Hello everyone! I cleared something which even Sharukh couldn’t’. People who don’t make it, visualize themselves as the next president of India. A complete win-win situation. These army people are smart, I tell you.

It was time for results. After a long speech by an officer in the auditorium, where yet another dose of ‘Bachhan Sharukh’ logic was provided, he said that if you do not meet our requirements, it doesn’t mean you are not capable of tackling things outside. He also cited some personal examples, like some of his friends who could not make it here, and were successful businessmen today. Blah blah blah. Get it over with officer, I could hear everyone hissing.

Tension was building up, and Ankur felt as if the whole auditorium was becoming hotter and more silent every second. He could hear his own heart ramming against his chest, and even when he felt satisfied with his performance, he was shit scared. After all, he had a reputation to protect. He could not be screened out. It was announced in serial order.

Chest Number 4..

(what if he skips?)

Chest Number 9…

(a smile..)

How will Ankur perform in the psychology test the next day? How did he tackle the interview that went on for more than an hour? What made him feel as if he was being X-RAYed?

Coming soon on lexuscages… Day 3!