Legend of Cadet JAM: Hilarious NDA Stories of Folklore status

We have all met people who have left lasting impressions on us. Mother Teresa for example. Amitabh Bachchan and The Dalai Lama too. Similarly, long before Social Media, NDA stories had their own influencer, Cadet JAM – the OG.

Obviously, most of my readers would not have met JAM. But for us 300 odd coursemates, his was a life that makes folklore and none can forget his contributions to some unique NDA stories. Amongst his countless sterling qualities, the ones that stood out were his resourcefulness, presence of mind and an unerring ability to find trouble.

Midnight Soirees

Discipline at the Academy is largely left to seniors; Cadet Sergeants, Sergeant Majors (or Genghises – who have figured prominently in my previous writings for example here and here) and Adjutants. And one of the favourite disciplinary measures employed by these seniors was to ask offenders to ‘report’ to them at odd hours of the night, in specific ‘rigs’/uniforms for some calisthenics.

(On an aside, cadets were issued with a large assortment of uniforms such as for drill, Battle Orders, PT, equitation, muftis, etc etc. Some seniors, who preferred not to be bound by rigid norms opted for the eclectic. Like, to give just three examples, the following:-

Superman Order – A swimming costume worn over dungarees, with a raincoat thrown over the shoulders as a cape (NDA provided sleeveless raincoats, as if for this very purpose). One hand raised as if flying, completed the picture.

School Boy Order – White PT shirt and shorts, white socks, black shoes and a tie. With a satchel over one shoulder.

Tant Police Rig – This approximated a Mumbai policeman of those days. It comprised a Navy Blue tunic, Khaki shorts, riding puttees wrapped around the shin, slippers over bare feet, with a side cap to complete the arresting ensemble. Remember the movies of the 1980s? Yes that policeman!)

Okay, back to JAM and NDA stories. One Sergeant GCM, ordered JAM to report to him every night in battle order for a fortnight at 0200 hrs. Fortunately for JAM, he had learnt from experience that Sergeant GCM never actually woke up or opened his cabin door. Once a junior had made his report through the closed door, he would dismiss the ‘reporter’.

Getting into a battle order well past midnight was a tedious affair. One had to wake up, polish the boots, fill the backpack with 767 stipulated items, attach the pack, pouches and water bottle with crisscrossing belts, before donning it all. JAM, always big on economy of effort, opted for an alternative that almost suggested itself.

He would merely don his dressing gown, wear his drill boots over his hands and saunter to about five metres from Sergeant’s cabin. He would then go down on all fours and loudly stomp his way to Sergeant GCM’s cabin. Once outside, he would do a smart one-two-three-one stomp (with his hands of course) and report. Sergeant GCM, well pleased with JAM’s punctuality, would then dismiss him.

These midnight soirees continued for 10 days. Unfortunately, even through his grogginess, Sergeant GCM started getting this hazy feeling that unlike others who came reporting to him at that godforsaken hour, JAM’s disembodied voice, seemed to filter through the bottom of the door.

To think was to act with the Sergeant. So, on the 11^th day, as soon as he heard the knock on the door, he jumped up and opened the door. There was a deeply pregnant silence for a moment.

The Sergeant’s from amazement as he looked down at the incredulous sight of JAM sitting on his haunches, dressing gown, boot shod hands and all.

JAM’s from extreme awkwardness.

Once the Sergeant gathered his scattered wits however, a periodic of frenetic cussing and physical activity naturally ensued. Notwithstanding, an hour later, it came to Sergeant GCM’s consciousness that never ever had he come across a course of action so bold in its concept and so full of ingenuity. Recognizing genius when he saw one, he shook hands with JAM and complimented him. They remain good friends to this day.

NDA Stories 2 – Cadet JAM Meets the Commandant

NDA Stories 2. Training at NDA, as one would expect, comprised a few ‘camps’ to  – teach cadets leadership, infantry life and tactics, map reading, build endurance, etc. The end of every camp would see a camp fire attended by other senior officers and sometimes even the Commandant (a Lt General). It being the military, the Commandant’s presence would imply that one needed to don one’s best-turnout.

JAM was, expectedly, a best-turnout short. So, he did the next best thing and borrowed a pair of dungarees from Cadet PKS. During the dinner, the Commandant happened to walk up to the small group having in its midst the illustrious JAM.  The Commandant, as is the wont with senior officers, was waxing eloquent about, ‘in our days’ and leadership qualities and ‘art of warfare’ and some such. JAM, wanting to appear like one of those proverbial fauji ‘Keen Kumars’, kept nodding vigorously like a school front bencher and uttering some ‘Yes Sirs’ and ‘Indeed Sirs’.

The Commandant was impressed. He noticed that out of all dumb fools, the one with a name tally embossed Cadet PKS, seemed to be a bright spark. Hence, he addressed JAM.

‘Tell me Cadet PKS, what are your views on leadership’.

Cadet JAM never for a moment thinking that the question was for him, looked around for Cadet PKS. Till he noticed that the Commandant’s eyes were piercing him. Fortunately, he recovered his wits in time and mumbled,

“Sir, great leaders are like mosquitoes. No matter what the odds are, they will always find a way into the mosquito net’. 

The flummoxed Commandant, blinked a few times, nodded gravely, and moved on.

NDA Stories 3 – Up Up Killers

NDA Stories 3. Amongst the many peculiarities about the Academy, one that stands out is ‘sportsmanship’. Motivation gurus may well say participation is more important than winning, but in NDA, winning is everything. There are after all (and as repeatedly pointed out to us during training), no runners up in war.

Every sporting competition therefore is a mini war. And just as wars have very voluble supporters in the form of fulminating TV anchors, NDA has its ‘cheering teams’.

The cheering teams of course are strictly hierarchical, where, while second termers such as self and JAM are expected to scream our lungs out, the task of the seniors is only to ensure that the volume of our ‘UP UP KILLERS’ (We were actually in Kilo Sqn. But you will agree ‘up up Kilo’ does not have the same zing), never flagged. So for some 25 second termers in the cheering party, we had an equal number of supervisors, all urging us to cheer louder with periodic incentives in the form of generous kicks on the seat of our pants. 

Once during a football competition, JAM had gone hoarse cheering and felt that he had had enough. Plus, he was shrewd enough to guess that, as with many things fauji,  seeming to put in effort, was a good substitute for actually putting it in. Accordingly, every time all of us went ‘UP, UP,  KIL…LERS’ at max lung capacity, JAM, while exhibiting all appropriate facial contortions, merely moved his lips soundlessly.

Alas, seniors had seen this all before. Unnoticed by JAM one of the suspicious seniors had, unsportingly, shoved his ear right next to JAM’s mouth. Finding that JAM’s decibel levels were not upto standard, a few well aimed kicks to JAM’s posterior followed in quick successions.

The senior wound up his encouragement with some stern warnings to JAM to scream ‘Louder… and… Louder’. JAM by now, was in a to-hell-with-it mood. He therefore, jumped up as if invigorated by the kicks, took on the mantle of head cheerer and started exhorting his own balance 24 coursemates to cheer, well, ‘Louder’. JAM put his heart and soul into it. Let me see if I can get it right – He would half bend his knees, hands by his side. And then throw up his arms overhead while simultaneously stretching up into ‘Taad asana’ and yell ‘Louder’. Repeatedly. The balance 24 nincompoops (me included) meanwhile, got so mesmerized by JAM’s performance that they too started shouting, instead of KIL…LERS, ‘LOU…DER’. So…

JAM – Louder!

Balance nincompoops – LOUDER!!!

The seniors, though confused a bit, were nonetheless appreciative of the volume of the cheering. Only till they noticed that JAM had substituted the ‘er’ of Louder, with ‘aa’.

This minor tweak in pronunciation caused a major tweak in connotation and not surprisingly, the appreciative seniors quickly became rather unappreciative. He was hauled off and not seen by the rest of us till the next morning. I understand he had a long uncomfortable night  – a post mortem of his actions and motivations taking up most of it.    

JAM of course, never won awards for PT or drill. He was respectfully mediocre in Academics too, though he did get a ‘book prize’ for Persian. His discipline and punctuality similarly, and as can be guessed from the foregoing, were borderline. But, but he did win the admiration of us all. A feat far more difficult to achieve.