Who says Drill is the bedrock of discipline!

Remember Emil Foley, the pitiless drill sergeant in ‘An Officer and a Gentleman’? Well our own National Defence Academy (NDA) is populated with drill sergeants who make dear Emil look like a particularly cuddly teddy bear. These merciless Gorillas (also colloquially called ‘Drill Ustads’), are the ones entrusted with the responsibility of converting boys into men by sheer forcefulness of their eyes, tyrannical personalities, and drill. Every cadet at the Academy remembers his Drill Ustad throughout his life, recurrent as his face is, as a prominent protagonist in his nightmares.

My squadron had one such tyrant who liked, for some strange reason to refer to himself as “Kala Nag” (black cobra). This Cobra was a strapping six feet plus Subedar, moustachioed, dark, lean, erect and possessing a personality that had assiduously avoided making any acquaintance with geniality. He took his job very seriously and worked under the mistaken impression that his primary job was to make our lives hell. And because most mornings started with about an hours’ worth of drill practice, our days mostly started with company that could be described as endearing only by stretching the imagination to breaking point.

Now, drill periods at NDA typically start with a ‘turnout inspection’ wherein your shoes needed to be polished to the extent that the Cobra could see his face on them and brass accoutrements brassoed,  till  24 carat gold ornaments would come second best. The shaving must be such that your cheeks could be mistaken for a baby’s bottom. The Khakis that we wore needed to be so starched that the shorts resembled flared rigid skirts wherein, only your legs moved while marching, not the shorts (try to picture it). He checked the soles of our shoes too! But what got the Cobra truly excited was belts. Yes belts. The belts needed to be tightened to an extent that one may die of suffocation, but the Cobra should not be able to shove a finger down the top of your shorts. If he could do so, the Cobra would get a firm grip on your belt, get his face two inches from yours, shake you by the midriff as he would a rag doll, and yell – “Yeh, kya hai, kya hai yeh”. Other than giving us a view of his far from alluring epiglottis, one could never fathom the charm of this manoeuvre.

Ok, please allow me to leave Cobra alone for a moment. Every cadet at NDA must pass what is called a “Drill Square Test” (DST), by in our times, the third term. Failure could even entail relegation. Plus passing the test allowed some extremely desirable ‘privileges’ such as being allowed to grow a moustache! Or, go for outings to Pune (mainly to Fergusson College because that is where the girls were). Every cadet thus wants to pass the test at the earliest.

I have mentioned Genghis Khans in some of my earlier posts, here and here. Genghis Khans at the NDA are basically special sixth termer beasts, chosen as Cadet Sergeant Majors, one in each Squadron. Their charter of duties comprises just one task – keep everyone in a constant state of extreme stress. Now part of the responsibility for making cadets pass the DST was of course the Cobra’s, but our squadron Genghis was under the impression that he is a key player. Plus he, unlike Cobra, had the added advantage of being within the squadron even during off working hours, and hence got ample opportunity to hone our skills from about 2300 hrs to 0400 hrs every night.

Cut now to our second term. We 25 odd were due for our first DST. The thing about NDA is that like with everything else, the DST has its peculiarities. All seniors, Genghis included, did not mind so much if the squadron juniors failed the DST. Cadets who failed could get away with some 2-3 hours of physical rigours as retribution. However, the DST too starts with a turnout inspection; and that is where things get interesting. For some reason, all Genghises at the Academy take extreme umbrage to their disciples failing the turnout inspection; because in their simple minds, while passing the DST for some people with two left feet can be attributed to God’s stinginess when imparting life skills, immaculate turnout was well within one’s sphere of influence.

Say for example, your morning shave was found unsatisfactory. Our Genghis had this charming notion that lack of gentlemanly grooming can be compensated by building up your body strength via various physical ‘exercises’. More to the point however, he also had a, one can say, ludicrous prescription to ensure that such an instance is never repeated – that of making one shave with blanco instead of shaving foam as punishment! Stings like the dickens let me tell you. Likewise, his repertoire was full of other such ‘out of the box’ remedies for poor polishing, improper belt tightening, etc.

Which bring us to Cadet CM. It so happened that the officiating officer found Cadet CM’s sartorial style lacking a bit in the requisite elegance and was declared failed. This put the poor soul in a quandary. Quite full of moral rectitude though he was, he was practical enough to know that letting Genghis in on the truth would have some severe repercussions. Faced with the imminence of danger thus, he divined that if there was a scenario where discarding moral rectitude was more appropriate, nay imperative, he had not come across it. Now, the first drill movement after the turnout inspection is ‘right turn/left turn’; and this is where Cadet CM decided he was chucked out of the test.

The failures as expected were lined up before our none too happy Genghis, who was looking more like Genghis than Genghis himself. Those who had failed in drill movements were discharged peremptorily with some push ups, rolling, or ‘lift up your cycle over your head and run’ kind of corrective measures which are construed as wholesome and fun at NDA. Till it was Cadet CM’s turn. On being asked why he had failed, Cadet CM with sincerity that would make Mahatma Gandhi proud, and eyes positively bulging with innocence, shouted ‘Right Turn, Sir’.

Genghis’ right foot twitched, as if eager to make fulsome and forceful contact with the fleshy parts of Cadet CM’s posterior. However, Genghis, now with a hint of a sly smile which should have warned Cadet CM, merely asked, “Oh I see. Was it not, say, turnout rather than ‘right turn’?” Cadet CM, deciding that stout denial is what would serve him best, replied stoutly, his entire demeanour indicating shock at this blasphemous suggestion, “No, Sir!” Again, the right foot twitched, but remained stationary.

Genghis then beckoned another cadet, (let’s just call him Cadet Deep Throat) who had passed the test. (The error made by Cadet CM was in not taking other coursemates who also happened to be eye witnesses at the same test, into confidence.) Cadet Deep Throat (quite oblivious of the twitching foot), when asked, “what happened to Cadet CM’s test?” replied, his eyes bulging with innocence even more than those of Cadet CM, “Sir, turnout!”, leaving Cadet CM looking like someone extremely disinclined to continue the conversation with Genghis.

And Boy! How this stunning revelation galvanised Genghis into action! The right foot, finally free from self-imposed restraints, traversed in a neat arc that would have done Michel Platini proud and landed with a meaty phat at the seat of Cadet CM’s pants. However, unfortunately for the rest of us, NDA if you ask me, follows this unhealthy and wholly unnecessary dictum called ‘all for one, one for all’. So, all coursemates, those who had passed and those who had failed (including Deep Throat), were in for a long, long night of drills, involving if I remember correctly, running, crawling in gutters, climbing ropes, rolling under coir carpets, push ups, etc etc etc.

Ultimately, four hours later, we were allowed to go. We were relieved, but not Cadet CM. He was not looking forward to the next day with much enthusiasm. Cause he still had to face Kala Nag!

PS – While the above was in jest, we all look back at our Drill Ustads with love. They all, to a man, bid us goodbye when we pass out of the Academy, with pride. We too in turn bid farewell to them with a hint of moistness in our eyes. Is drill the bedrock of discipline? Truly!