Defence Family Humour. The Lady and the Commander in Chief. A home is where the heart is – Part 2

The Lady and the Commander in Chief. A home is where the heart is – Part 2

Dear readers. You will recall that in an earlier post (and you can refresh your minds here) I had said that I would enlighten you all on the sequence of events leading up to me getting my first house in the Navy. Well, here is the tale.

To recap a bit, we (that is the wife and I) got married in 1990 while I was posted in Mumbai; but the Navy, a strong votary for building resilience, had ignored the small matter of providing us a house. We shifted to Kochi thereafter and the Navy’s resolve in keeping us ‘houseless’ did not dim a bit. Fortunately, the Navy has this concept of ‘seniority’ which is essentially a sort of ‘IOU’ that one can carry from one station to another, equal to the number of months that one has been without a house. When we shifted from Kochi to Visakhapatnam thus, I had about 28 months of ‘seniority’, which as per the grapevine, was enough for us to get a house in Visakhapatnam immediately. 

Accordingly, I put in my application for a house (in triplicate, duly countersigned), the very first day on reaching Visakhapatnam. The Wife meanwhile, with the sunny optimism that wives are prone to, started planning purchases of pastel hued cushion covers and Pochampalli print curtains in expectation of getting a house soon. We hoped to get the house on the first Wednesday (houses are allotted once a week on a Wednesday). The first Wednesday came. I got up bright and early, shampooed and scented self, and set out for my ship, my demeanour the very epitome of exuberant cheer. I think I hummed a song too. Reached the ship and scanned the ‘accommodation allotment orders’ only to become the epitome of despondency, as I couldn’t sight my name. Consoled myself that maybe there were some minor administrative delays. Told The Wife so in the evening and we resigned ourselves to a further week of waiting. Next Wednesday, same humming, same cheer, same shampoo, same scent. Same scanning of the orders. Guess what? Same despondency. No Lieutenant Rakesh Kumar Dahiya on the list!

As you can guess, this put me off quite a bit and if I resembled a kid who opens his birthday present only to find a book on Algebra inside, it would be barely adequate to describe my mood. I headed for our Headquarters, this time the epitome of perplexed anger. All matters to do with accommodation are dealt with by an officer called unimaginatively, the Command Quartering Officer, (CQO) and it was to his office that I rushed. Now, I may be wrong, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the CQOs of the Navy are appointed so, after a deep selection process where the only qualifications needed, were the appearance of a stuffed frog and a strong distaste for helpfulness.

I put my case to the CQO.

‘Ah!’, he replied, ‘I remember your case.’ I perked up considerably.

‘Your seniority certificate is in the wrong format’ he added. I unperked, and dashed quickly at that.

‘But Sir, this was the certificate given to me by the CQO of Kochi’ I replied, this time the very epitome of righteous indignation.

‘That is your problem. I cannot do anything about it. Write to CQO Kochi and get the correct certificate’, he replied with all the empathy of our Finance Minister towards the middle class.

‘But Sir, that would take 2-3 months!’ (Those were the days without email, phones, faxes, etc. The Navy did have snail mail. Snail mail that a snail sedated with Calmpose would best by a wide margin.)

‘Haha! I like your optimism’ he replied condescendingly, ‘4-5 months may be more accurate, however.’

Needless to say, I was now the epitome of one crestfallen. I returned to our transit accomodation that day and the breathless excitement on The Wife’s face as she gushed over the pastel hued cushion covers she had purchased that very morning, made it excruciatingly difficult for a loving husband like me, to prick her optimism. The Wife, bless her, took this blow with admirable stoicism, and packed away the cushion covers. We commiserated with each other the whole night and as I set out for my ship the next morning, she bid me goodbye, without even the barest hint of the fiendish plan that had formed in her mind.

I reached my ship at about 0900 hrs and at 0930 hrs all hell broke loose. It started with a call from the Commander in Chief’s (CinC) office. His Assistant, a Captain – ‘Please come and collect your wife from the CinC’s office.

You will understand when I say that all I could muster was a baffled, ‘Eh?’ The good Captain repeated his earlier statement with some acerbity. ‘And make it quick’ he barked.

I picked up my trusted steed, my LML Vespa NV and headed there, all the while my heart aflutter and beating at 140 bpm. I was ushered into the CinC’s office (let’s just randomly call him Vice Admiral BG) to see The Wife seated opposite the CinC, daintily sipping a cup of tea, with the insouciance of a Cleopatra. My heart accelerated to 160 bpm. VAdm BG, on his part was not displaying insouciance of any kind, and if at all he resembled Cleopatra, it was a Cleopatra suffering from an acute case of constipation.  He looked towards me with complete and wholesome truculence, and though no words were exchanged, it was clear that his look was screaming, ‘GET YOUR WIFE THE HELL OUTTA MY OFFICE, NOW!’.

With VAdm BG as a witness, I had to use all my persuasive skills (which generally are of a very high order, but at that moment all I could do was blabber incoherently like a blithering idiot) for The Wife was firm that she would leave the office only after we were allotted a house. Finally, seeing that her husband was about to have a coronary episode, and VAdm BG an apoplectic fit, she acquiesced and we headed out. Everyone in the CinC’s Secretariat was relieved of course, but none more than the CinC. He even offered his car with pilot escort and blazing sirens, to drop her to the our Transit accommodation.

I dropped The Wife to the Transit accommodation and reached the ship to see my Commanding Officer pacing near the brow (the plank by which one embarks a ship) and pawing the deck like an enraged bull – an enraged bull just aching to hook his horns up my backside. ‘Go and meet the Fleet Commander, he wants to have a word with you immediately.’ Apparently, though those were the days without mobile phones, bad news had its own way of travelling faster than Phantom even (who if you recall, moved faster than eye can see.)

I was ushered into an Admiral’s office (let’s just call this one, equally randomly, Rear Admiral PJJ) for the second time within 45 minutes, which I am sure would be a record of sorts for a lowly Lieutenant. I had scarcely stepped into his office on legs that were, I am not ashamed to say, a bit wobbly, when a volley of biting speech hit me with a force that left my ears ringing. The volley went on for five minutes till RADM PJJ paused mid froth. I was relieved but then apparently, he had merely dipped into the introduction of what he had to say, for the pause was only to sip some water. He continued with the main body of his monologue, and over next ten minutes showed me that he was never one to economise when he had something to say. Most colourful stuff too.

Thrown out of his office a torrid 15 minutes later, I was still reeling when I reached the ship, only to find my Commanding Officer still there. His eyes were, very evidently, keen to meet mine. Mine were, and you will empathise, extremely reluctant to meet his. Fortunately, though one could sense that he had a burning desire to add some vignettes of his own, he had no time to do so, for the CQO’s boss at Headquarters too was eager to have a dialogue with me. (Since my memory fails me, let’s just say he was a Very Important Bloke – VIB)

I was getting a bit weary by now of this dreary eagerness of the highest echelons of the Navy to converse with me. However, onto my steed I was again. And I was ushered in to VIB’s office.

VIB, the very epitome of lugubriousness – ‘What happened?’

I explained.

VIB – ‘But this was a minor issue. This could have been easily resolved.’

I agreed, but pointed out that the stuffed frog had expressed his inability to do anything.

‘You could have just walked into my office. Where was the need to get the CinC involved?’

‘Ha!’ is what I wanted to say, stingingly, but obviously I couldn’t. He continued with a lecture on the importance of protocols, business procedures, rules and etiquette.  He paused with a sad look on his face.

I agreed of course and got for the first time, an opportunity to apologise, which I did, with all the emphasis at my disposal. That seemed to do the trick, for on completion of my half of the dialogue, he gloomily, and almost reluctantly, pushed a paper across the table towards me. It was an ‘out of turn’ allotment letter to a house with my name on it. Hallelujah!

And that is how ladies and gentlemen, I got my first house in the Navy. 18 Zameer, Naval Park. I rushed to our transit accommodation that evening, again with a song on my lips, and the very epitome (I really seem to be fond of this word) of unadulterated and exuberant cheer!