Fauji Motto – If it is simple, make it difficult!

As most of my 12 readers will know, I spent 35 years plus in the Navy. And, I loved every moment of it – the camaraderie, the ceremonies, the uniform, everything.  The stand out feature of the Navy however, was the ability of the powers that be, to add a certain zing to life by making the simplest things complicated. I could write a book on this subject, but allow me to leave you with just two examples.

Let us step back to the nineties. Most naval units/organisations then, (as indeed now too), had a somewhat harassed officer looking after ‘logistics’. (I have heard it said that 90% of logisticians give the others a bad name, but I disagree.) This poor soul would need to bear the brunt of much (uncalled for) criticism; balancing the demands for scarce resources from multiple competing departments is rarely an easy job. But then you know God, she likes to keep things in equilibrium. So, while she may have put some harassment into the logistician’s life, she has by way of compensation given him the powers to regulate access to, hold your breath, the Xerox machine! Yes, the Xerox (or more accurately the photostat) machine. Now ye civilians may scoff and consider this power piffling, but in the corridors of naval life, access control to the machine raised your status to that of Sachin Tendulkar.

I remember I was serving on a ship in Mumbai in the 90s and the Xerox machine was still a comparatively new induction on ships. Now what input does a Xerox machine need for it to do what it does? Xerox paper, right? Well, the Navy in its charming way, seemed to have missed this minor detail. So, whilst the machine was available, Xerox paper was scarce. Should we need Xerox paper therefore, we needed to approach our luxuriantly moustachioed logistics officer (LMLO). Picture this scene:-

Supplicant (obsequiously) – “Sir, can I please have some Xerox paper?”

LMLO (imperiously, and oblivious to the stupidity of his question) – “Why?”

Supplicant – “Sir, I wanted something Xeroxed”

LMLO (perhaps hampered by a somewhat limited vocabulary) – “Why?”

Experienced supplicants know that introducing the Commanding Officer’s name into the conversation is always more likely to yield satisfaction in the negotiations, and do so. Then –

LMLO – “How many sheets?”

Supplicant (aim high settle lower being his motto) – “Sir, 100 sheets.”

LMLO (aim low and settle lower being HIS motto) – “Ok, here are 18.”

So, 18 sheets of paper in hand, the supplicant now needed access to the machine, which again was controlled by same gentleman. LMLO would then hand over, somewhat ceremonially, a tiny key (of the Xerox room) attached to a huge metal disc of about eight inches in diameter. Finding the LMLO in a rare good mood one day, I him about this somewhat strange key chain. Apparently, the tiny key often went missing as people would put in into their pockets and forget about it.

“Now”, said the LM triumphantly, “try putting this key chain into your pocket!” Out of box thinking? Check.

Moving on. I was tasked, sometime in the mid 2000s to conduct a two day Conference at Mumbai and put under a ‘Superior’ at HQs for this purpose. I was a bit nervous but then I told myself that quite often in life, things that seem difficult are actually simple once you get down to it. I was so wrong.

The Superior gave me some stirring words of encouragement essentially centred around, ‘Do a good job or else ill kick your butt’ and then generally left me alone. Obviously, any such major task would comprise many simple mini tasks. Well, what I learnt that day was that, the many simple mini tasks were the ones that tended to get your undies into a knot!

Any enterprise such as this would entail looking into accommodation, transport, projection system, seating arrangements, refreshments, etc etc – all seemingly easy tasks individually. ‘Haha!’

I needed firstly a vehicle to move around and hence, full of self importance at being in charge of such an important Conference, I called the motor transport guy (MTG) –

Me – “I need a transport, and pronto.”

MTG – “Why?”

I explained.

MTG (I’m sure chuckling mentally at my naivety) – “Fill up a transport requisition form in triplicate. Get is countersigned by your Commanding Officer, then get it authorised by the motor transport guy at the HQs. He will keep one copy. Get balance two copies back to me. I will thereafter countersign and give you one copy. Only then can you get a vehicle.”

Pronto my foot! It took me two full days to complete the formalities. The vehicle came on the third day after three plaintive phone calls. And this was for one vehicle! I had to follow the same rigamarole for vehicles for all the attending functionaries and outstation senior officers. Boy, was my brow wet with honest sweat!

Any which way, I was able to progress with much huffing and puffing over chairs, tables, PA system, etc.  (PA systems in the Navy, let me tell you, are temperamental beats. You may test them a thousand times prior the event and they will croon mellifluously, almost like Asha Bhonsle, but come the time for the Chief Guest to speak and they will choose that very moment to become, either coy admirers of Gandhiji’s non cooperation movement, or emit hair raising screeches). Got hold of a Projector too which in my simple mind, was an easy enough task. How wrong I was! Ultimately however, I could lay my hands on one, with a spare bulb in my pocket).

Other sundry requirements also completed, I reported ‘all set’ to my Superior a day prior to the Conference, quite pleased with myself. But you know life, if everything seems under control, one has most likely missed something.

Superior – “Dinner menu all approved?”

Me  – “Yes Sir.”

Superior – “Who approved the menu?”

Me, confidently (but a bit baffled over such a mundane question) – “Me, Sir.”

The Superior started violently, as if someone had, in the words of PG Wodehouse, lit a sutli fire-cracker under the seat of his pants. His expression was clearly of one who was now doubting my mental acuity.

Clutching his brow despairingly, he gave me this prescient advice, “You buffoon, now listen to me carefully. No one, absolutely no one is interested in the quality of the Conference, or the Agenda or the presentations/discussions on doctrines/tactics thereon. All that an attendee looks forward to is the food that he is going to wolf down. The quality of the food is what makes or breaks any Naval Conference. Hence the menu has to be accorded the highest importance and can only be approved by the Commander-in-Chief (CinC).”

Befuddled, but time being of essence,  I hurried in the MTG provided car to the Officer’s Mess seven kilometres away, caught hold of the mess secretary, got hold of three ‘suggested’ menus (one Continental, one India and one Burmese), hurried the seven kilometres back, made a file (you can’t just call the CinC for a verbal approval; an ‘on file’ approval is mandatory – quirks of naval bureaucracy) placed the three menus in a file, made a suitable file noting seeking the CinC’s ‘perusal and kind approval’, got the file routed through three levels (again no file can go to the CinC without at least three other senior officers, appending wholly unnecessary comments) and finally took it to the CinC’s secretariat and submitted it. I then twiddled my thumbs nervously, expecting it to take some time what with the CinC (in my mind), having far more pressing matters on hand. Surprisingly, or maybe because the words ‘Menu’ emblazoned on the file brightened his otherwise drab day, the file came out within 15 minutes. I could see (and it left me with a sneaking suspicion that the CinC was not that busy after all), that he had time to go through all menus and pick the most palatable items. Whew!

Yes, making easy things difficult is our forte in the Forces.