Navy Accommodation Woes – Roti, Kapda aur (No) Makaan

Through fingers splayed across his face, Manoj Kumar (RIP) told us that ‘Roti, Kapda aur Makaan’ are basic needs for humans to exist. No one can disagree. Unless of course you are in the Navy, where accommodation woes are not all that uncommon.

Roti – Check. Kapda, Check. Makaan – Umm

Admittedly, the Navy does a fairly good job, wrt provisioning Rotis (and sabzi, milk, chicken etc) as well as Kapda. When it comes to Makaan however, the Navy’s enthusiasm in providing one is about as flat as a Lijjat papad. Mighty irksome too. (I’ve written extensively about this naval peculiarity earlier, for example – about the difficulties in getting a house here and here, and then about the uniqueness of the houses one is finally allotted here.)

Ladies who marry officers under the impression that naval guys are firstly, Class 1 Gazetted Officers, and secondly dashing, get a rude shock on learning that while the dash part of the Officer is alright, it can only take you so far if there is no dashed Makaan to dash into.

The Curious Case of Lieutenant JS

Take Lieutenant JS. JS met a wonderful young lady and with the aim of impressing her, he let it slip in, repeatedly, that he is entitled to government accommodation in tony Colaba, Mumbai during the courtship.  Every alternate sentence of his harped on this attractive theme. No one can resist the charms of living in Colaba of course and the wonderful lady, suitably impressed, said yes.

And that dear reader is when JS’s woes started. Why? Well because while the wonderful lady was planning her house décor in some detail, the Navy chose that very moment to go into full Lijjat papad mode. A longish period of houseless existence followed which dimmed the appeal of the Class 1 Gazetted Officer in the eyes of the wonderful lady somewhat. As one would expect, some marital friction ensued too and dashing JS was left wondering if he had dashed too quickly into marriage.

Be that as it may, he was finally allotted a house in Colaba. If you thought that would send him over the moon, you are right. Dancing like one of those inflatable tube men outside a Dhaba, he sent word to his wife who was away in Delhi, to set sail for Colaba. In the interim he took an ‘appointment’ with the Maintenance Guys (MG); the ones responsible for ‘handing/taking over’ houses as well as their subsequent maintenance.

Enter the MG

Please note here that while the MG are largely the level of clerks, they in recognition of the inverted asymmetry of power, expect to be chauffeured to the concerned dwelling. If one doesn’t do so, one can be left twiddling one’s thumbs at the appointed hour outside the allotted dwelling. Notwithstanding, JS got all the formalities, chauffeuring included, completed in quick time.

JS expected his wife to join him about a week later and thus spent the intervening period dreaming about romantic dinners at Leopold Cafe, evening walks along Colaba Causeway and Kulfi Falooda at Kailash Parbat.

A day before the wonderful lady’s arrival, and he being a man of foresight, he divined that cleaning up the house a bit before the wife’s arrival would only raise his standing in her eyes. Hence, arming himself with buckets, mugs, brooms and mops, he hopped awkwardly onto his scooter. (You must try this – buckets and brooms between your legs. It is anything but Class 1 Gazetted Officer like.)

Alighting in front of his house he strode as majestically as the buckets, mugs, brooms and mops would allow and inserted the key into the door lock.  He may even have been whistling a tune. Imagine his confusion therefore, when he found that the blasted main door would not budge!

Switching off his whistling, he first gently, then not so gently, jiggled the keys. Then his kathak with the cleaning gear yielding no satisfaction, he cursed. Nothing. He circumnavigated the house looking for an opening. Loaded as he was with the buckets, mugs, brooms and mops, his appearance did cause some merriment amongst the neighbours. However, access into the house remained elusive.

At the advice of one of the neighbours, he tried the backdoor and you can imagine his relief when he found it open. He stepped in quickly, but only to find his relief being replaced with disbelief. For, his keen eye showed him that the house seemed to be lacking that one key ingredient that makes a house livable, viz a roof. He used his non keen eye too, to cross check – and could confirm that most of the roof was on the floor in a heap of debris.

This did of course give JS the alluring sight of the smoggy Mumbai sky, but he had a sneaking suspicion that while his wonderful lady did possess an endearing romantic streak, she had also dropped  enough indications that she was a ‘material girl’ – one who would certainly want more of roof and less of sky. Clearly his Navy accommodation woes weren’t over.

He rushed therefore to the Accommodation Lord in understandable panic and remonstrated; not easy mind you because the Accommodation Lord can be a bit pompous, especially if the ‘remonstrator’ is a lowly Lieutenant. The Lord perused the relevant files, flipped the pages, frowned dramatically, and then chuckled, “Oh ah yes. Haha! The last officer had said the house is inhabitable”.  This minor detail had apparently escaped the system. Fortunately for JS, the Lord had to recognize his error and he reluctantly asked JS to return the house.  Justice at last!

The Death of Irony

This needed JS to get in touch with the MG again. Another ‘appointment’ and another bit of chauffeuring saw the Maintenance Guys (MG) being ushered into the house. Now, considering that the goof up was by the ‘system’, you would expect the MG to be a bit sheepish, right? Well, if so, you do not know your a. from your e.  For the MG, after ruminating reflectively for some time, and with utter disregard for something called contrition, said, “Aapko, ‘barrack damages’ ka paisa bharna padega.”

Irony died a thousand deaths that day. All JS could do was take refuge in the Bible – “Where O Death, is thy sting!”