AN ACCIDENTAL ATTENDANT

Watching the proceedings in the orthopaedics outpatient department of a hospital

The orthopaedics outpatient department (OPD) of the hospital close to where I stay, is always teeming with people. The last time I was there, I counted 109 people. Of them not all were patients. Some were accompanying the patients — ‘attendants’ as per the hospital terminology. So, though it is spacious, the OPD looks crowded.

There are 16 rows of four chairs each in the patients waiting area; so only 64 people can be seated there. A few patients are on wheelchairs. Others have to keep standing. Therefore, often there is a scramble for the seats.

That day it was a particularly busy and crowded OPD. It is always easy to identify orthopaedics (ortho) patients — some of them have plasters on one or more limbs, some have cervical collars for their necks, and some have ortho belts around their chests or waists. Generally, the available seats are offered to the patients. I have seen the ‘hand’ cases getting up and offering their seats to the ‘foot’ cases. But on that day, there were many ‘foot’ cases standing as all the seats were occupied.

The nurse on duty announced on the public address system, “Abubakar”. It was a signal that Abubakar’s waiting period had at last come to an end and he would be the next to be seen by one of the doctors. Abubakar, a frail, old man with both legs in plaster, was in a seat at the farthest corner of the OPD. A young, well-built man, apparently his son, who was standing and dozing nearby, was electrified into action when he heard his father’s name called out. He jumped up, shouted, “Coming, sister” on behalf of his father and started looking for a wheelchair for his father. The nurse could not hear him due to all the noise and the distance. Once again she called out, “Abubakar, is he not here?”

One of the most anxious feelings you can ever have is when, after a long wait, when you are almost there, you are likely to lose your position in the queue. Abubakar Junior must have felt this pang. He did many things in one instant — he shouted again to tell the sister that he was there, he shouted to catch the attention of a ward boy who was wheeling an empty wheelchair nearby and he shouted to his father to get ready. He must have decided at that very instant that it would be futile to wait for the wheelchair to be brought to him. So, he broke through the crowd to be near his father, to bodily lift him up and take him to the doctor.

He did not see the other ward boy wheeling out a young boy, holding two long aluminium crutches, from the plaster room nearby. He did not see the old lady get up slowly from her seat. He did not see the girl with a plaster on her right hand rushing to occupy the vacant seat.

But I, who was watching all this from my corner, clearly saw how he crashed into the young boy’s crutches, how his legs got entangled in the wheel of the wheelchair, how he tried to get up and crashed into the old lady and the girl-in-plaster and went sprawling down with the two falling over him.

The young man was crying out in so much pain that a doctor and a nurse rushed out from their respective stations. One look at him and the doctor ordered that he be rushed to the accident and trauma centre (ATC) in the other wheelchair which had arrived by now. “Who is this patient’s attendant,” asked the sister. Abubakar, who was in a daze blurted out, “I… I am his father.” “Good,” said the nurse, “quickly accompany him to the ATC.”

That’s how Abubakar the patient became Abubakar the accidental attendant that day.

(This was published as an "Open Page Web Special” in "The Hindu" dated 03 October 2021 https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/an-accidental-attendant/article36792600.ece )

WHEN WAR STRIKES HOME

Some of us who grew up in Bhilai in the 1960s have been following the “special military operation” launched by Russia against Ukraine with much sadness. The Bhilai Steel Plant came up as a result of an agreement between India and the Soviet Union in 1955.

My father, the late K. Gururaja Udupa, a postgraduate in metallurgy from the Indian Institute of Science, Bengaluru, was in the first batch of Indian engineers recruited by the plant who were trained in the Soviet Union under the terms of the agreement.

His Autobiography of an Iron and Steel Engineer has one chapter, Training in the USSR. He writes that their batch of 80 engineers left Bombay on September 3, 1956 for Prague, via Cairo and Rome, and thence to Moscow, via Warsaw and Tbilisi.

It being the first time that trainee engineers from India were in Soviet Union, they were much pampered and attracted attention wherever they went. After some days in Moscow, they were divided into three groups: 35 engineers were sent to Zaparostal (also spelt Zaporizhstal) in Zaporizhia to undergo training in steel making and blast furnaces; 40, including my father, went to Azovstal to be trained in rolling mills, foundry and machine shops; and five mining engineers were sent to Krivairog.

Zaporizhia, Azovstal and Krivairog are all in Ukraine. Azovstal Iron and Steel Works is located in Mariupol (formerly Zhdanov). My father and his colleagues who had been sent for a year’s training ended up staying in the Soviet Union for 15 months because the steel plant in Bhilai was not ready.

In those months, they integrated themselves well into the local culture. They had learnt Russian as part of the training. Their social interactions with the steel workers had helped them make lifelong friends.

Back in Bhilai, for the first few years, their bosses were senior engineers from the Soviet Union. One among them was Veniamin Dymshits, who later became Deputy Chairman of the Soviet Council of Ministers. I grew up listening to the names of my father’s bosses — Gaibeyee, Serov and Cherednichenko.

There were nearly 100 engineers from the Soviet Union in Bhilai, many of them with their families. There was a “Russian school” for their children. The area where they lived was called “Russian sector”.

We would attend cultural programmes organised by them, especially during October-November to celebrate the October Revolution. One particular gentleman would belt out popular numbers from Raj Kapoor’s movies, even passionately acting them out. He would bring the house down with his Mera Joota Hai Japani, Yeh Patloon Englistani, Sar Pe Laal Topi Russi, Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani, with emphasis on Russi. He had a red headgear and would dramatically pull out a plastic “heart” with an India map on it. They would present their folk dances in eye-catching colourful attire, with tremendous gusto and foot-tapping music.

Part of life

Many children from Bhilai went to the Soviet Union for higher studies. We felt as though Bhilai had a branch office in the Soviet Union, and we could lay claim to it anytime.

Without getting into the politics and the aspirations of the citizens, the disintegration of Soviet Union into 16 republics had by itself resulted in pangs of sadness among us. It was as though our own house had been divided. It felt as though an important part of our growing-up years in Bhilai was being cancelled out of our lives.

The recent events have opened up those unhealed wounds.

Gagan (name changed on request), my friend from the Bhilai neighbourhood where I grew up is from a family where the elders had experienced death and destruction during their move from Lahore to Amritsar in 1947. His succinct comment a few days go says it all, “In 1947, our neighbours became our enemies. My parents had to abandon everything in Lahore to save their lives. Today, Russians and Ukrainians who had so lovingly taught steel making to my father, are not just killing each other, but are also obliterating our association with them. For me, this is like experiencing another Partition. I wish human beings could learn to live in peace and harmony.”

(This was published in "The Hindu" (Open Page) on 22 May 2022. https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/when-war-strikes-home/article65419326.ece)

WHY ARE MALES INELIGIBLE TO BE NURSES IN THE INDIAN ARMY?

Following the Supreme Court judgment on February 17, 2020 which entitled women officers to permanent commission on par with men, raksha mantri Rajnath Singh had tweeted his support for the decision.

I wholeheartedly welcome Honble Supreme Court’s judgement on giving the Women officers permanent commission in the Armed Forces. PM Shri @narendramodi has supported the idea of permanent commission for women & announced the change in policy in his Independence Day speech in 2018.

— Rajnath Singh (@rajnathsingh) February 17, 2020

The landmark judgment was a step in the right direction to end the bitter struggle of female army officers against “sex stereotypes premised on assumptions about socially ascribed roles of  gender which discriminate against women.” (Para 54). 

The top court had opined, “70 years after the birth of a post-colonial independent state, there is still a need for change in attitudes and mindsets to recognise the commitment to the values of the constitution.” 

Now, the doors of even the National Defence Academy (NDA), Khadakwasla and the Rashtriya Indian Military College (RIMC), Dehradun have been opened for females, after the intervention of the Supreme Court.  

A change in attitudes and mindsets will soon be called for once again as a writ petition, filed by the Indian Professional Nurses Association (IPNA) against the Union of India, is pending in the Delhi high court, seeking the recruitment of male nurses in the Military Nursing Services (MNS). 

“It is very antiquated, very stereotyped. How can you have an entire nursing branch without any males, especially in the Army?” the Indian Express quoted the two-judge bench of the Delhi high court as saying on May 29, 2018.

During the next hearing, in October 2018, the court remarked, “It is gender discrimination, only other way round,” according to an NDTV report. 

The MNS, which provides medical care to the hospitalised soldiers and their dependents in both peace and field locations, traces its origins back to 1888, when the ‘Army Nursing Service’ was formed. This later became the ‘Indian Army Nursing Service’ and subsequently, ‘Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service’. 

The MNS celebrates its Raising Day on October 1, to commemorate the formation of the Indian Military Nursing Service on this day in 1926. Right from 1888, it has remained an all-woman service.  

In the United States, the Army Nurse Corps has been in existence since 1901, but it was only in 1955 that men were allowed to join the Nursing Corps. The British Army has the Queen Alexandra’s Royal Army Nursing Corps (QARANC) and men were only allowed to join the QARANC from 1992. 

So, there is now a precedent for males to serve in the nursing corps of armies in democracies. 

Men have only recently started to take up nursing as a profession in India. In a 2021 paper published in the journal, Human Resources for Health, Karan A. Negandhi et al found that only 20.15% of nurses in India are males.

The males nurses, though barely one-fifth of the total nursing workforce, are fighting the sex stereotype that only women are suited for the job. An in-depth report by Mumbai-based journalist Aarefa Johari, titled The One Profession Where Men are Demanding Equality, brings out the discrimination that male nurses have to face, both within the profession and socially.

In order to join the MNS, a candidate is required to undergo a four-year Bachelor of Science (Nursing) course conducted at the Colleges of Nursing of Armed Forces Medical Services (AFMS).  

Currently, only female candidates are eligible to apply. The candidates have to be unmarried, divorced, legally separated or widows without ‘encumbrances’. They must also be citizens of India, between the ages of 17 and 25. 

Only those who have passed 10+2 or an equivalent examination in their first attempt with Physics, Chemistry, Biology (Botany & Zoology) and English with no less than 50% aggregate marks as regular students from a recognised board or institution are eligible to apply. 

The first stage of the selection process involves shortlisting through NEET (UG) scores. The shortlisted candidates then have to go through a computer based Test of General Intelligence and General English (ToGlGE), which involves answering 40 multiple choice questions in 30 minutes. This is followed by a Psychological Assessment Test (PAT), a qualifying  examination, the marks of which do not count in preparing the merit list.

Candidates are then interviewed by a Board of Officers and finally, have to be declared medically fit by a Special Medical Board, conducted by the AFMS.  

Prior to joining the B. Sc (Nursing) course, the selected candidates are required to sign a bond to serve in the MNS. During training, they are provided with free ration, accommodation, uniform allowance and a monthly stipend. On the successful completion of course, the candidates are granted commission in the MNS. 

There is nothing in the above eligibility conditions which could be held against males to make them ineligible for the B. Sc (Nursing) course. 

So, what lies ahead for the Indian males aspiring to join the MNS? The next date of hearing in the case filed by the IPNA is set for October 13, 2022. Let us hope that even before a nudge from the courts, the Union government revisits the policy and makes the necessary changes to allow males into the MNS.  

Meanwhile, applications from female candidates for admission to the B. Sc (Nursing) course, commencing in 2022 at the Directorate General of Medical Services (DGMS), Integrated Headquarters of Ministry of Defence (Army), have been called for, the last date for which is May 31, 2022.  

(This was published in "The Wire' on 30 May 2022. https://thewire.in/rights/why-are-males-ineligible-to-be-nurses-in-the-indian-army)

THE COURSE MATE WHO WILL BE CHIEF

 On Friday, January 13, 1983, 16 of us newly commissioned officers reached the Bombay Engineer Group and Centre at Kirkee (now known as Khadki) from various parts of India, after availing the mandatory 21 days of post commissioning leave.

Barely a month back we were all in the Indian Military Academy, Dehradun.

On December 10, 1982 the IMA had completed 50 years of its formal inauguration. That day we had proudly participated in the golden jubilee ceremonial parade. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was the chief guest.

14 days later, on December 24, 1982, Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw was the Reviewing Officer for our Passing Out Parade. 484 of us were commissioned into the Indian Army.

And now the 16 of us who were commissioned into THE BOMBAY SAPPERS -- one of the three Groups of the Corps of Engineers -- had reached our Regimental Centre.

We were to spend just 17 days there, that is up to January 30, 1983. Thereafter we were to proceed to the College of Military Engineering (CME) located close by at Dapodi in Pune itself.

We were to undergo the Young Officers (Engineers) Course from January 31, 1983 to July 23, 1983.

Those 17 days at our Regimental Centre were basically to give us a feel of our Corps and to help us learn about the Group's history and its rich traditions.

We were also expected to have a glimpse at the basic training that the soldier recruits of our Corps went through, how they lived and how they trained.

A K Singh, Jaspal Reen, Pankaj Mital and I were from not just the same company at the IMA, but from the same platoon. We knew each other closely.

Ajay Sharma, Arun Sharma, Ashish Ghosh, D S Dahiya, Hari Easwaran, H S Sidhu, Manoj C Pande, M Srinivasan, Rajeev Malik, R K Sharma, Salil Tiwari and S Gautama were from the other companies at the IMA and I had no recollection of having interacted with any of them during our extremely busy and hectic training days at the Academy.

As such, this short stay at our Regimental Centre also provided us an opportunity to know each other.

We would, hereinafter, be the 16 Bombay Sappers course mates of the December 1982 batch, all through our lives.

The American writer James Thurber had famously said, 'Two is company, four is a party, three is a crowd.' And here we were four times four!

The exuberance of youth combined with the high spirits as newly commissioned officers made us quite boisterous.

We had stars on our shoulders which made us officers. But neither did we have an office nor were there any men under our command.

With such a heady cocktail there was plenty of din and noise in the accommodation provided to us.

In all this chatter, by the end of the second day, I was able to make my own impressions of the entire batch.

My very first recollection that day, of the one-sixteenth of us who is to become the 29th Chief of Army Staff (COAS) in a couple of days' time, is that he was the quietest of the lot.

Whenever he spoke, his tone was soft, but his words were measured and to the point. There was nothing, just nothing flippant about his demeanour.

An important facet of his personality would be revealed to me a few days later.

As is the tradition all over the armed forces, officers who report on posting to any unit are welcomed formally into its officers mess in a 'Dining In' party.

The dining-in of newly commissioned officers is thus the first dining-in of their military career.

The Officers Mess at the Bombay Engineer Group (BEG) at Khadki is awe inspiring.

There is grandeur and a touch of class everywhere, in every item of its property and in every brick and stone. Add to it the rich legacy of years of valour, and history of service to the nation.

THE BOMBAY SAPPERS is the only Engineer Group which has a Victoria Cross (Second Lieutenant (later Lieutenant General) Premindra Singh Bhagat), a Param Vir Chakra (Second Lieutenant (later Major) Rama Raghoba Rane (and an Ashok Chakra (Naib Subedar Gurnam Singh (posthumous)).

Any newly commissioned officer entering the BEG Officers Mess is weighed down by the thought of having to live up to such a formidable legacy.

That evening we were the guests of Brigadier (later Lieutenant General) M S Gosain, the Commandant of the BEG and all its officers.

We were made to feel very comfortable; we were pampered and that extra care was taken to make us feel that we were all part of the family of THE BOMBAY SAPPERS.

Then came dinner time. We entered the sprawling main dining hall in which the best cutlery and crockery had been laid out.

No sooner did we occupy our seats as per the seating plan than something happened which was not within familiar territory for me.

I looked up stealthily when this unusual sound started and noticed that from the ceiling of the dining hall there was a network of ropes to which was hanging horizontally a long wooden pole.

There were hooks embedded on the lower portion of this pole. By these hooks was hanging vertically an exquisitely stitched cloth. (See picture)

 The dining hall at the Officers Mess BEG and Centre, Khadki.
The dining hall at the Officers Mess BEG and Centre, Khadki, is the only Officers Mess in India having the pankha just over the dining table.
During the early days when there was no electricity, the pankha was operated by men sitting outside. Now it is by means of an electric motor.Photograph: Kind courtesy Subedar Major B S Kadam

The sound which had attracted my attention was the labyrinth of ropes moving in a well coordinated manner to swing the pole -- and thus the cloth -- in a simple harmonic motion providing the effects of a fan to those seated on the table.

This continued as long as we were having our food and stopped just before the Commandant got up for the customary after-dinner toast.

Actually this had almost ruined my dinner. I was from a non-military background and had never been to any military officers's mess earlier.

Here was this strange contraption about which I had no knowledge, a contraption meant to do what is expected of an electric ceiling fan. But what was providing the movement to it?

All through the dinner, I kept asking myself, "Where are all these ropes leading to? How is this powered, since there seems to be no electric connection anywhere?"

And then a painful thought crossed my mind, "Do these ropes lead to somewhere behind the wall where some human beings are manually pulling these?" I had visions of some wretched men, labouring there almost slave like, for the sake of our comfort.

I started feeling miserable thereafter.

Dinner came to an end and after the formal breaking off we were walking back to our accommodation in small groups of threes and fours.

Manoj and I were in one such group. My mind was still on the slaves when he broached the same subject and expressed the pain he was feeling imagining who would be doing this for our comfort.

It was then that someone who had already seen this earlier piped in that we were getting emotional for nothing.

He explained to us that the Officers Mess was constructed before the advent of electricity. What we had just seen was the pankha installed during the pre-electricity era, meant to keep the dining hall cool.

He added that in those days, yes, the pankha was indeed operated by men who were positioned outside and would pedal with their feet to provide the simple harmonic motion to it.

Those were the days of British rule and the rulers could get away doing any such thing. But now there was no human effort of that kind involved as an electric motor was doing the job.

It was a huge relief to Manoj and me. I do remember Manoj exclaiming, "The thought of some men doing all this for our sake was weighing heavily on me."

That is what characterises Manoj who has always been a leader with compassion in his heart for fellow human beings.

Another character defining incident happened in those 17 days.

Today, the career management of all army officers is centralised in the Military Secretary's (MS) Branch at the Army Headquarters. So even the postings of newly commissioned officers happens through the MS Branch.

Not so in 1982-1983 when we became commissioned officers. The MS Branch allotted us the Corps and the Group. The initial years of our service were thereafter managed by the Group.

The Group Adjutant had the responsibility of allotting a regiment to each of us. Or, to put it in the appropriate terminology, each of us was to be empanelled to an engineer regiment each.

All 16 of us were eagerly waiting to know the regiment which we would be allotted to. That would be where we would be headed to, on completion of our YOs course.

That would be our lifelong home and that would be where our careers would take shape.

One evening Lieutenant Colonel (later Colonel) Vivek Bopaiah made the announcement.

I was allotted the 109 Engineer Regiment. My joy knew no bounds. I felt that I had won a jackpot, because my regiment was then located in Pune itself, within the CME.

Just around the time that I was expected to formally join it in July that year, it was slated to move on an operational role to the field in the North East.

आम के आम गुठिलयों के दाम, a double bonanza for me -- having the regiment next door during the course and moving to field at the end of the course.

In the place vacated by my regiment at CME Pune was to come the 110 Engineer Regiment which was then in the field. Manoj was allotted the 110 Engineer Regiment.

A large percentage of officers would be delighted to be posted to Pune.

Pune is easily one of the best military stations in India. And anyone who has been to CME Pune would swear that there is no military training establishment as well laid out or as well organised or as this and as that, as CME.

Yet, yet here was Second Lieutenant Manoj with single digit days of service, absolutely crestfallen when he was allotted ONE ONE ZERO.

Colonel Bopaiah gave him a patient hearing.

Manoj's argument was quite disarmingly simple. He had spent three years only recently in Pune, as a cadet at the NDA.

He was about to spend another six months in Pune doing the YOs course.

He would join this regiment in Pune on completion of his YOs course and be in the unit in Pune for two to three years. Then he would be nominated to attend the three-year B Tech degree course at CME itself.

Thus, from the time of his commissioning till the end of his degree course, a period of almost five and a half to six years he would be in Pune itself. Instead, he requested that he be posted to any unit in a field area, to get an exposure of field, before compulsorily coming back to CME, Pune, for the degree course.

To the surprise of some of us in the batch who had felt that Colonel Bopaiah would not relent, Manoj emerged successful in his mission. That's how he was allotted the 267 Engineer Regiment which was then in a field area.

This episode speaks volumes of Manoj's character.

Firstly, right from the early days of his military career he has been highly focussed and has willingly chosen the path less trodden.

Years later when the time came, he accepted the challenge to go out of the Corps, from Engineers to the General Cadre which has led him to the coveted appointment of COAS. This is a road no Engineer officer had been able to travel so far.

The credit of shattering this one glass ceiling which had eluded the Sappers will always be that of Manoj.

We hope that in the years to come the path that he has pioneered will motivate more Sapper officers to pursue the dream of becoming COAS.

Secondly, his legendary persuasive skills! From General Manoj Pande you can surely learn one important aspect of life -- one does not have to speak a lot, or speak out loud, or at a high pitch and volume. You can be soft and brief, but you should have depth -- tremendous depth of knowledge and tremendous self belief in what you say and do.

On January 30, 1983, in the evening the 16 of us moved out from BEG and reported to CME for our YOs course which was to commence the next day. The total strength of the YOs course, which included five foreign officers was 63.

Day One onwards Manoj was consistently brilliant throughout the course.

Photograph: Kind courtesy Subedar Major B S Kadam

The student officer standing first in the order of merit in the Engineer YOs course is awarded the 'Silver Grenade'. And no prizes for guessing, the Silver Grenade winner of Engineers 76th YOs course was Manoj.

Photograph: Kind courtesy Subedar Major B S Kadam

The YOs course came to an end on July 23, 1983 and all of us went our different ways.

In these 39 years, I would have met Manoj maybe not more than five or six times. Most of these would have been fleeting moments. I am not from the National Defence Academy Khadakvasla (NDA) nor was I with Manoj in the same company or battalion in IMA. There was no opportunity for both of us to serve together.

As such, I am not in that exalted league of officers who can claim to know him (and his family) better than they know themselves; those who can tell you which is his favourite movie, or what are his favourite dishes and so on. In fact I cannot even claim to be a close friend of Manoj.

But as a course mate and as one of those 16 and one who has followed closely this star in THE BOMBAY SAPPERS firmament, my heart has always swelled with pride seeing his extraordinary brilliance and focus; his commitment and his dedication; his hard work; and his technical as well as tactical knowledge. It is phenomenally heartening to see where he has reached.

On December 10, 1982 when Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had addressed us after reviewing the Golden Jubilee parade, she would not have known that one amongst those standing there would become the COAS thirty nine-and-a-half years down the line. Or did she have some such inkling?

"Military leadership is essentially the projection of the personality and character of the leader, who along with his men represents one of the most ancient, most natural and most effective of all human relationships," she said.

"Most Generals like other leaders have been thoughtful people, who have been able to change history because of their understanding of it.

"As modern defence is total, modern officers must be acquainted with all that affects a nation, with all that strengthens it and raises its morale.

"They must know psychology, economics and technology, no less than what is called military science proper.

"They must keep up with changes in ideas and technologies because change and ever faster change is the only changeless fact of life.

"For effective leadership, training is essential but there must also be an inner quality and strength, personality and breadth of vision."

Thirty nine-and-a-half years later, we have an Army Chief who I can say is exactly in the mould of Indira Gandhi's description of a modern officer and a General.

General Manoj Chandrashekhar Pande, we are immensely proud of you and we wish you all the very best

(This was published in Rediff.com on 29 April 2022 (a day prior to General Manoj C Pandey taking over as COAS. https://www.rediff.com/news/special/the-course-mate-who-will-be-chief/20220429.htm)

DON'T DELAY APPOINTING SERVICE CHIEFS!

 Mr Narendra Modi, in his prime ministerial address to the nation from the ramparts of the Red Fort on August 15, 2019 had announced the decision to create the post of Chief of Defence Staff.

It is said that the agenda of defence reforms is close to Mr Modi's heart. As such, it was widely believed that the vacancy caused by the death of India's first CDS General Bipin Rawat in the tragic helicopter accident on December 8, 2021 would be quickly filled up.

Four months later, we still do not have a CDS.

In many WhatsApp groups, especially those of defence forces veterans, rumours and gossip of behind-the-scenes machinations along with narratives of palace intrigue are doing the rounds regarding the likely next CDS.

The Government announced the name of the successor of General Manoj Mukund Naravane's successor only on Monday, April 18, 2022. General Naravane will superannuate as chief of the army staff on April 30, 2022.

In normal circumstances, the date on which a serving service chief would vacate the chair on superannuation is well known.

If the government of the day would like to set in place a smooth and well-planned changeover and facilitate the incoming chief to chalk out his action plan well in advance, the announcement of a successor needs to be done early.

As a chief designate, the successor should have enough time to get briefed by the environment as well as to put in place the team of personnel to suit his vision.

These activities could take anything up to two months. Hence there was some logic in announcing the names early.

In the past, it was generally believed that the name of an officer designated to succeed a retiring service chief would be announced nearly two months in advance, to allow a planned, smooth changeover to take place.

Not so any more, ever since Mr Narendra Modi-led National Democratic Alliance came to power on May 26, 2014.

Let us look at the data of the last 50 years, that is, from 1972.

The press releases from the Government of India's Press Information Bureau are available on its Web site, from which one may collate this data.

On the day the appointment of a new service chief is confirmed and ready for announcement, the PIB issues a press release.

From 1972, 60 service chiefs have been appointed, 21 in the Indian Army (General G G Bewoor to General M C Pande), 19 in the Indian Navy (Admiral S N Kohli to Admiral R Hari Kumar) and 20 in the Indian Air Force (Air Chief Marshal O P Mehra to Air Chief Marshal V R Chaudhari).

The PIB notification in respect of General BB Bewoor is not available on the PIB Web site.

Amongst the Air Force chiefs, the Press Information Bureau notifications of two -- Air Chief Marshal Dilbagh Singh and Air Chief Marshal S K Kaul -- are also not available.

General Shankar Roy Chowdhary and Air Chief Marshal Denis A La Fontaine took over within a day of appointment by the government because their respective predecessors General B C Joshi and Air Chief Marshal L M Katre died in service.

Admiral Sushil Kumar and Admiral Robin Dhawan took over on the very day their appointment orders were issued as the office was already vacant.

Their respective predecessors, Admiral Vishnu Bhagwat had been removed from office and Admiral D K Joshi had resigned.

So, of the 60, these seven cases are not being considered and we will restrict ourselves to the balance 53.

The data in respect of these 53 officers shows that from 1972 till date, the Government of India has announced the name of any successor service chief on an average 56 days before he is to assume office.

The maximum has been when the government led by Mr Morarji Desai announced Air Chief Marshal Idris Hassan Latif as Air Chief Marshal Hrushikesh Moolgavkar's successor on May 2, 1978.

It was 122 days before he took over on September 1, 1978.

At the other end, Air Chief Marshal Vivek Ram Chaudhari's name as Air Chief Marshal Rakesh Kumar Singh Bhadauria's successor was announced by the current government on September 21, 2021; he took over just nine days later, on September 30, 2021.

Of the 53 appointments in consideration, nine have been under Mr Modi's prime ministership.

The other 44 have been under Mrs Indira Gandhi (10), Mr Morarji Desai (2), Mr Rajiv Gandhi (4), Mr V P Singh (2), Mr P V Narasimha Rao (3), Mr Atal Bihari Vajpayee (5) and Dr Manmohan Singh (14) and one each under Mr Chandra Shekhar, Mr H D Deve Gowda and Mr I K Gujral.

The average number of days in advance of a service chief retiring that the successor's name was announced in these 44 cases, is was 64.

Mr Narendra Modi's government announced Admiral Karambir Singh as Admiral Sunil Lanba's successor on March 23, 2021, 69 days in advance. He took over on May 31, 2021.

Other than this one outlier case, the eight other appointments made by this government follow a pattern.

General Bipin Rawat's name as the next COAS to take over on December 31, 2016 was announced on December 17, 2016.

Air Chief Marshal Birender Singh Dhanoa took over as the Chief of Air Staff on January 1, 2017 after his name was announced barely 13 days earlier, on December 19, 2016. His successor, Air Chief Marshal R K S Bhadauria took over as CAS on September 30, 2019.

His appointment had been announced on September 19, 2019, 11 days earlier.

General Manoj Mukund Naravane's appointment as COAS was announced on December 17, 2019 and 14 days later he took over. And now, Lieutenant General Manoj C Pande's appointment as COAS has been done just 12 days before he is to take over.

The average number of days in these eight cases is 17.

Announcing the name of a successor service chief as late as possible has now become a characteristic of this government. This stands on its head the earlier belief that an early announcement helps in a well-planned and smooth changeover.

Is there any military reform hidden in this somewhere? Or is it in line with Mr Narendra Modi's proclivity to make important announcements giving very little or no notice, like that of demonetisation on November 8, 2016 and total lockdown on March 24, 2020?

Mr Narendra Modi likes to convey an impression about his decisiveness. So why is it that the nation in general and the armed forces in particular have to go through this suspense of 'Who will be the next Chief?' till the final days of the incumbent's tenure?

(This was published in rediff.com on 19 April 2022. https://www.rediff.com/news/column/colonel-k-thammaya-udupa-dont-delaying-appointing-service-chiefs/20220419.htm)

THE POSTMASTER'S CUT

 Today, I opened a recurring deposit (RD) account.

I visited my bank's Web site and, a few clicks later, it was all done.

A few more clicks and the standing instructions had been registered for the monthly transfer of the amount from the savings account to the RD account.

I sat back and relaxed.

After the term of the RD is over, the accumulated amount will be transferred to my savings account.

Technology has made the entire process unbelievably simple.

My mind goes back to the early 1960s, when I was in primary school in Bhilai (now in Chhattisgarh, then in Madhya Pradesh, it is home to the Bhilai Steel Plant).

One evening, my mother announced during dinner that we would open a Cumulative Time Deposit (CTD)* account in the post office.

The words 'time' and 'post office' already existed in my vocabulary.

But what did these two new words, 'cumulative' and 'deposit', mean? Expecting to get some clue, I looked first at Amma and then towards Appa.

But there was no eye contact with anyone.

After her announcement, she was looking at Appa, waiting for his response.

He was pretending to enjoy his dinner and to have not heard Amma.

She persisted, "I have checked from the post office. We will open a monthly CTD account for Rs 50 for 10 years."

My father, who was then earning Rs 480 a month, froze.

The handful of curd rice that he had just put into his mouth remained there for a few extra seconds.

He looked up, eyes clearly showing disbelief.

He then slowly swallowed and said, "Sweet lady, Rs 50? For 10 years?"

When Appa used this tone, with the endearing 'Sweet Lady' thrown in, I knew he was trying to be his most charming self.

"Not now, after a few months when I get the long-overdue arrears," he said and helped himself to some more curd rice.

Amma tossed the ball back into Appa's court with just one word, "Tomorrow."

I looked back at Appa, who knew that he was being set up for a killer shot. But he was not giving up without a fight.

"But not 50. Let us save Rs 25 per month."

Back to Amma.

Just one word again, "50."

Though I was still unable to comprehend what this was all about, I was beginning to enjoy this exchange between pre-decided firm resolve on one side and hitting the ball just to stay alive in the match on the other.

"But, no, never for 10 years. Let us try for five years," said Appa with an air of decisiveness.

Amma was firm, "Rs 50. 10 years. Tomorrow. I will accompany you to the post office after he leaves for school."

I knew that Appa had acquiesced when he did not offer any more arguments but turned his attention to me and explained what savings, and CTD, were all about.

When I returned from school the next day, I was shown a passbook issued by the post office with Appa's name written neatly on it.

For 10 years it was an invaluable document, kept in the cupboard locker and taken out once a month for that visit to the post office.

For the first few months, Appa tried his best to create some financial crisis every month with the hope that Amma would re-think about the savings, but to no avail.

Initially, she took upon herself the sacred ritual of visiting the post office to deposit the instalment.

As the months passed, the CTD became an integral part of our existence.

Every month the Bhilai Steel Plant would credit Appa's salary to his bank account.

On first of the month, he would draw the cash from his bank account.

As soon as he was home, Amma would authoritatively demand Rs 50 and place it in the CTD pass book.

Only the balance amount was available for routine monthly expenses.

Today, a common man can depend on finance and personal wealth-related magazines, television shows and financial planners to help in all finance and personal wealth-related matters.

Most of the advisors would suggest that we should strive to save every month by adopting the formula, 'Income minus Savings = Expenditure' and not fall into the trap of 'Income minus Expenditure = Savings'.

Looking back, I marvel at Amma's intuitive sense. She had cracked this code on her own without the benefit of any books and magazines, without seeing any television programmes and with no financial planner to advise her.

All of us began to feel proud of her effort.

Many a time, Amma asked me to deposit the instalment.

As a young schoolboy, it gave me a feeling of immense responsibility.

I would be at the post office half-an-hour prior to the post-lunch opening time, to be the first at the window.

In those anxious moments, I would check and recheck if the passbook was with me.

I would count those crisp bank notes umpteen times, much to the amusement of those who had queued up behind me.

Finally, when the window opened, I would nervously hand in the passbook and the cash, hoping for everything was right.

"Hope some cash has not slipped suddenly from my hands, without my knowledge."

Or "Hope the post office clerk does not make a mistake while counting the cash."

The gentleman on the other side of the window, probably sensing my anxiety, would try and put me at ease by asking about my school and my studies.

He would rearrange the cash neatly as per the denominations and place them in his cash box, with the other cash, and efficiently slip a rubber band around each wad.

Then he would make a few entries in his register and in the passbook and finally stamp the passbook with the postal date stamp similar to the cancellation mark on postage stamps.

I would return home, relieved as well as satisfied that I had done my bit for the family that day.

When we were to go on vacations, our travel plans would be tailored to ensure that the monthly instalments were never missed.

Or Mathur Aunty, our sweet neighbour, would be spoken to months in advance and requested to do it for us.

As soon as we reached our vacation destination, Amma would send a postcard to Mathur Aunty to inform her that we had reached safely.

The actual intent was to remind her about the CTD.

Not to be outdone, Mathur Aunty would respond with her own postcard, informing Amma about everything happening in Bhilai and casually slipping in the fact that the CTD had been attended to.

Then came the day when the last instalment was paid.

One month later, on the day of the maturity of the deposit, Appa took half-a-day off from work and, along with Amma, went to the post office.

The postmaster congratulated them and was fulsome in his praise that not once in those 120 months had an instalment been missed.

He called for tea and samosas to celebrate one of the rare successful completions of CTD on his watch.

"You must be having some plans for this amount," he asked them.

Appa explained to him that we were on the verge of finalising a land deal in the Udupi-Manipal area, near our hometown in Karnataka.

"The maturity amount will be just about sufficient to buy the land ** where we want to build a house and finally settle down," he proudly informed the postmaster.

The postmaster filled up a few forms which were then signed by Appa.

He announced rather dramatically and formally that the CTD had been closed.

He also informed them that due to a recent enhancement of the interest rates, the maturity value was a few hundred rupees more than what we were expecting.

But when it came to handing over the cash, much to the shock of my parents, he said, "I will not give you the entire amount. Since you are getting some more money than what you were expecting, I want to keep hundred rupees for myself..." and he paused.

Amma and Appa were both shocked.

How could he? The 120 months of struggle to make this happen flashed through Amma's mind.

Appa had already drafted a complaint in his mind, addressed to the prime minister with copies to all concerned about how his hard-earned money...

But before they could actually react, the postmaster pulled out a pen, filled up a form and said, "I am deducting Rs 100. Please sign this."

It was a new CTD account opening form, filled up in Appa's name.

That's how Appa and Amma were happily tricked into opening a new CTD account that day, this time for Rs 100 a month.

*Cumulative Time Deposit (CTD): CTD Accounts were discontinued in the late 1970s. India Post now offers the Post Office Recurring Deposit account.

**My parents spent their sunset years in the house constructed on the land purchased entirely from the CTD savings. Currently I am the occupant of the same immovable property, the location of which is amongst the prime pockets of land in our city. Not a day passes without my feeling a sense of gratitude to my parents for their thrifty habits.

(Published by Rediff.com on 05 November 2021 https://www.rediff.com/news/special/the-postmasters-cut/20211105.htm )