Story Telling and Grandparents

Air Vice Marshal VM Tiwari on retirement from the Air Force along with Commander Chopra from the navy, started an NGO ‘Bal Vikas Bharati’, which is devoted to overall development of children. One of the aims of the NGO is, ‘to tell stories to children for their all round development’. He delivered a lecture in JVV in early February 2012, highlighting their cause. During the course of his presentation Tiwari noted that they chose story telling as it is the most inexpensive method of inculcating the spirit of enquiry and imagination in children. They have set up libraries in 60 locations all around India and conduct story telling sessions for the under privileged children, igniting their imagination. He added that story telling is a very effective tool to make children imbibe culture, mythology, science and so on.

In my generation, children grew up listening to the stories that their grandparents and parents told. In the absence of any radio or TV, story telling developed as an art form and thrived. Stories from the Mahabharata, Ramayana, Panchatantra, the Vikram and Betal series were very common and frequently narrated to children. The purpose of storytelling was many. Probably it was a carry forward from the days, when there was no print and all prose was committed to memory. In any case stories filled the gap till children learnt how to read for themselves. In school we had our Hindi teacher DRS and Sanskrit teacher KST (Kamapala Story Teller) keeping us endlessly occupied with gripping stories from mythology and history.

Apart from all these high value benefits, storytelling created a bond between children and their elders. All my outstation cousins used to congregate without fail in our grandparents place for the summer holidays in Gavipuram. Dinners were invariably on the terrace, with all of us sitting in a circle on the floor and having ‘Kai Tuthu oota’ ( a Kannada phrase, meaning ‘hand fed food’) The dish is centrally mixed in a vessel and the nominated elder feeds the children one by one by hand, each receiving a helping of food. While ‘Kai Tuthu oota’ was in progress, we would listen to endless stories and later fall asleep contented and dream the night away.

We continued the same traditions with our children. Whenever we visited my B I L’s house in Bangalore in Jayanagar during the summer vacations, all the children used to be fed ‘Kai Tuthu oota’ accompanied by endless stories.

With our children growing up and their marriage, storytelling took a back seat. With the arrival of grand children, the art of storytelling once again came to the forefront. All children love stories – more the better. Children love simple stories with a happy ending and preferably a story which never ends. Both Ayaan and Samara enjoy hearing stories narrated by their grandparents. My wife prefers to take the traditional route and read out well known stories from books. I on the other hand invent stories and make up as I go along. In my earlier blog http://samundarbaba.blogspot.in/2010/05/trip-to-lonavala.html - I wrote “Our GS needs to hear at least 3 stories prior to sleeping. In the manual of "Roles and Responsibilities of Grand Parents Vol I - Apr 2007" issued by our daughter, storytelling is my part of ship. I enjoy story telling. It’s unlike answering questions. Here you have the liberty of letting your imagination run wild and a few inaccuracies are allowed. Normally I start with the 'Bad Wood Cutter' story which is very loosely structured; it can take on many other sub stories without losing sight of the main story. These sub stories change every day. The characters and the plot vary according to the mood and there is a very high chance of making our GS sleep. Sometimes you get caught and GS says, "Tata, last time you told me that the crow went to the sparrow's house and now you are telling it all ulta pulta”. One has to be very alert and on guard to protect one’s reputation as a good story teller. Never attempt any story telling after a good beer session - continuity and plot are generally the victims. 

Samara on the other hand wants stories devoid of any violence. People or animals getting hurt is a big ‘no no’ or else she will say, “Tata I don’t want this story, it’s scary” and so on. Her favourite story is about Tata losing all his hair– how the crow wanted to build a good nest for her children and plucked all the hair of Tata’s head. The crow built a lovely nest wherein all her chicks lived happily ever after.



I find story telling extremely therapeutic. During my retirement farewell drink, when called upon to say a few words, I said “I will miss the navy very much … the thing I will miss the most is a captive audience” – meaning a posse of juniors who would gather around whenever you narrated an incident or a story or a joke. One thing good about the navy or for that matter the army and air force is the unfailing regularity with which your narrations become interesting and successful – especially if you are their reporting officer. The juniors are forever ready to listen attentively to your jokes, laugh loudly and appear to enjoy themselves. On retirement you disinherit this great privilege and have to make do with wife and children. It’s common to see your dear ones showing three or five fingers meaning, “Baba, we have heard this one five times and so on.”

Suddenly all this isolation comes to an end with the arrival of the grandchildren. You are their hero. They love the closeness and the attention you shower on them and they are proud and happy to be in your company. They earnestly ask you to tell them stories which they genuinely enjoy listening. They have, with one loving smile, restored your status to ‘being wanted’.

My advice to all grandparents – spend as much time with the grand children as possible, go on walks, picnics, treks, tell stories – they make you feel wanted and important. It is the best healing touch one can get at your age. Enjoy them, for before you know it, they are reading on their own or are out in the world living out their own stories.

A good soup for your aging soul.

The Big Fat Indian Wedding

The Big Fat Indian Wedding

Like any other activity in India, weddings are very much a public affair. All the ingredients of a truly Indian function can be found in a wedding. Lots of unconnected people, uncontrolled noise, nonstop music, endless religious ceremonies, unbridled children, over dressed women of all ages, a posse of bored males, scrumptious food and a highly stressed bride and the groom come together in a marriage hall to celebrate ‘The Big Fat Indian Wedding’. The ensuing cacophony symbolizes what India is all about. In a lot of ways the marriage hall resembles a mini India.

In some families the concept of an ‘Arranged Marriage’ still rules the roost. The parents find a suitable match for their offspring through the ‘Friends and Relatives’ network or through religious organizations. If these channels fail, ads in the newspapers are resorted to or marriage bureaus are contacted to find a match. Perhaps the most interesting part of this phenomenon is the matrimonial ads. Check this one out-" Wanted a groom for slim, fair ,thirty year old, looks much younger, never married, 5ft, sweet, homely, caring, responsible, intelligent chartered accountant, well versed in home activities, extremely good working, exceptionally sincere, dedicated, emotional, sincere….” Reading this ad, one immediately visualizes a goddess or a Cinderella type of girl, waiting to be married. If one goes by these ads, all Indian girls are the epitome of beauty, brains and character. Equally interesting is an ad which reads, "Virgin bachelor boy, 39 but looks 30 really, 180 cms. tall, fair, very handsome, vegetarian, non-smoker, teetotaler, MA Psychology, registered for PhD, permanent confirmed lecturer at Delhi University, author of books, been to USA to present original theoretical research findings, most likely to achieve fame, owns own big bungalow in South Delhi." How boring can one get ? The deal can get further complicated with religion, caste and horoscope coming into play.

Fortunately for us, our children found their own life partners. One day my son came home and started decorating his room with a variety of candles and balloons. Mother dear asked him “Hello! What’s happening? We have electricity at home.” To which he gave a very nonchalant reply ,“I am proposing to Shubhra today”. Anirban proposed to daughter dear in a very exclusive restaurant in the outskirts of Bangalore called ‘Grasshopper ‘. He had booked the entire place and had it lit with candles and soft music to set the mood. In fact, I proposed to Jai on the New Year’s Eve night of 31 Dec 1974 after being sufficiently fortified with XXX. Jai said, ‘I’ll think about it’ in a very mature tone and then immediately ran and informed her mother, who very wisely and with wry humour said,” If he repeats his proposal again in the morning, we’ll see.”

After finding a suitable match, there are a number of activities to be completed – Foremost among them is setting an auspicious date; the marriage hall has to be booked and the engagement has to organized, the priest to be selected, catering etc. Then comes the difficult part of purchasing saris and jewellery, how many, the colours, type, where, when (and for us, it was more a question of HOW. ). The father keeps visiting the bank on a regular basis till the manager whispers, ‘All empty.’

The actual ‘kick off’ starts with the distribution of the invitation card. These cards are printed in hundreds and distributed very freely to all and sundry. Normally there are no set rules when it comes to inviting people for the wedding – the more the merrier. My uncle Mr. Sreenivasa Rao used to narrate a joke - Major Smith on receiving a marriage invitation which said, among other things, “request the pleasure of your company,” –took his entire company of 120 soldiers to the wedding! Often we receive invitations marked ‘Prabhakar and family ‘and if the writer of the invite is busy, it simply reads, ‘Prabhakar and fly’. Knowing the bride or the groom or their parents is not a must. We just want to inform everyone around that ‘a wedding is on’ in the family. Probably in yester years when the immediate social group was a village – every Rama, Krishna and Lakshmana was invited. The tradition continues. However in our case we prepared a criterion for inviting people to the wedding. Priority went to the friends and acquaintances of the bride and the groom. Next in line were our friends and relatives who knew our children. Many protracted meetings later we were able to prune the list down to “Absolutely Must Invite! ”

In the cultural crucible called India many customs and traditions have got intermixed. Idlis and dosas crossed the Vindhyas soon after the British left; in return, the south received salwar kameezes and aloo parathas. In this great amalgamation, the ‘Mehndi’ and ‘Sangeet’ have fully entrenched themselves in the South and bring in a large amount of colour, fun and gaiety to an otherwise serious, ritual bound weddings. The girls in the family practice endlessly till they reach professional standards. During my niece Shreya’s wedding, I was roped into the dance as ‘Superhero Kandasamy’. The song and dance ‘Excuse me, Mr. Kandasamy’ with eight pretty girls, was an instant hit in the Sangeet. The irony of the event was the presence of Suchitra the original singer at the Sangeet.

Another USP of the Indian wedding is the ETA (Expected Time of Arrival) – one can arrive at any time as long as you are not the bride, the groom or their parents. It’s an open house and everyone feels free to come and go whenever they want. The hall is open, breakfast onwards till lunch and in some cases all the way to dinner. The policy is, ‘walk in, walk out’. Some arrive early in the morning and partake in all the celebrations and all the meals and go home contented. The busy ‘working lot’ arrive just before lunch time and leave immediately thereafter. Some come in much later to wish the couple and have snacks and so on. I distinctly remember an acquaintance coming to the wedding of my friend’s daughter, bang on at 8am, having a hefty breakfast and thereafter proceeding straight to the retiring room to nurse a terrible hangover from the previous night’s ‘Sangeet’ ceremony. The poor soul surfaced in time for lunch, having missed the entire marriage. Through the Indian lens, there was nothing amiss.

The religious ceremonies that accompany any marriage are well past their shelf life. Nobody understands the hymns, shlokas and the sacred chanting – I doubt whether the priest himself understands their meaning. At our daughter’s wedding the two priests who were brothers got into an argument over the sequence, one claiming that the other was repeating the hymns over and over again. Our ‘S in L’ from Shillong, had to bear the brunt of all the protracted ceremonies in silence. Not being used to squatting for more than a few minutes, he looked at me in such a way which when deciphered meant, ‘Baba I prefer kashiyatra to this!’ (In this ceremony, the groom pretends to leave for Kashi, a pilgrimage center to devote himself to God and a life of prayer. He carries a walking stick and other meager essentials with him, to imply that he is not interested in becoming a householder. The girl's father intervenes and requests him to accept his daughter as his life partner. He exhorts him to fulfill his responsibilities as a householder and thus follow what is written in the scriptures. The groom relents and returns to the marriage hall where he is received by the bride). At some weddings, written explanations are handed over to all the invitees. In some others, a selected person translates the whole proceedings from Sanskrit to English. All this continues unabated, in the midst of blaring music from the nadaswaram (an instrument not unlike the clarinet) played by the wedding musicians.

The invitees themselves are not really interested in the proceedings as such. Some mothers have come to find suitable brides for their sons and similarly grooms for their daughters. Some are busy catching up with their relatives and friends. An exception to the run of the mill invitees, is a small group of enterprising males, who after depositing their wives in the hall, become extremely restless and start surveying the hall for likeminded mates. On locating such mates, their eyes meet, secret signals are exchanged and then they quietly disappear to the nearest watering hole, to once again surface in the hall, just in time for lunch. After a few beers or a G and T, this contented lot spread bonhomie all around. I belong to this unholy nexus.

The lunch itself is a big jamboree with the invitees running around to find a suitable chair to sit on. The scene has all the trappings of an army battalion charging to conquer an important post. Once seated you are treated to an elaborate Indian lunch. Another interesting aspect of the lunch is - one can sit anywhere. In this melee, I have often been separated from my wife and ended up having lunch alone and having to wait a long time for her to finish. In this carnival like atmosphere, anyone can enter the hall and partake of an excellent meal. In our college days, we used to joke about a friend of ours who made a habit of attending marriage lunches uninvited. If by chance the girl’s side enquired about his identity, he would quickly say, “I am from the boy’s side,” and vice versa. When accosted by both the parties together he would retort, “I’m from the music party”. If there is a large crowd present for the meal, there may be several ‘Panktis’ (Batches) of people being served food. In the earlier days, there were no chairs and tables and one had to sit on the floor and eat. The posse of waiters would come to serve food dressed in a dhoti or a wet towel tied up to knee length. Whenever they bent down to serve, the opposite side was treated to the ultimate ‘Vishwaroopa Darshana’ experience. (Vishwaroop refers to the ultimate God appearing in a form that incorporates the complete creation or universe in it).

Then there is the reception in the evening, wherein the bride and the groom come all decked up and sit on a dais. There is no dress code for the invitees. The men come dressed in various forms – suits, band gala coats, dhotis, plain trousers and so on. The women generally wear a rich silk sari supported by extravagant make up and an equally exaggerated hairdo. The invitees queue up to meet the couple, hand over the gift, wish them and stand for a photo op. This can be a very taxing experience. I remember attending a reception of a very popular local doctor who had invited half the city. The queue was so long, we had to bribe our way to the dais. Once, I had to sit through a reception, waiting for my chance to wish the couple, next to a huge speaker which was blaring out “ABBA’s ‘I am a Tiger’, wherein ‘I’m a tiger’ is repeated 64 times. Recently we went to attend a very high profile wedding –the ‘who’s who’ of Bangalore and New Delhi were there – the ex PM, Secretaries to the GOI, military and police brass, business tycoons and many others. Here again, we were not spared the queue. The saving grace was a well stocked bar and gourmet food in the adjoining hall. I did a quick calculation and figured that the queue would disappear in about two hours. I thereafter went on to spend a most eventful ‘two hours’ outside. Long live ’Johnnie Walker’! Liquor is served in very few receptions. With your favourite tipple in hand, it is easier to tackle an Indian wedding. The people, the atmosphere, the ambiance, conversation and food are rendered instantly fascinating. One’s mood gets elevated and one invariably begins to enjoy the wedding.

Our whole family once went to attend a quiet church wedding with our grand children. In contrast to the noisy Hindu weddings, the atmosphere was very solemn and a sense of seriousness prevailed. The priest was conducting the ceremony with an air of authority and his majestic voice echoed from the high ceiling of the church. In the background, unknown to all of us, my grandson had noticed my granddaughter holding a marriage card which he did not have. Like a hungry cheetah, he stealthily pounced on her and took possession of the card. In retaliation, my GD went into vocal overdrive and let out an ear splitting shriek. Thereafter the mothers and grandparents carried out an extremely speedy evacuation, putting the ’Miracle of Dunkirk’ to shame.

In recent years, a marriage from being a simple religious ceremony for solemnizing the union of a male and female in wedlock has become a platform for displaying power, wealth and social status. Receptions have become complex entertainment programs complete with Event Managers, RJs & Masters of Ceremonies’. Film stars, popular musicians, politicians, sport men are paid to attend the reception. Elaborate theme stages are erected, famous chefs are flow in, Ikebana artists make flower arrangements, making the evening nothing but a vulgar exhibition of the material world. The essence of the wedding, the bride and groom are lost in this spectacle of opulence. Agarwal, an Indian born metals commodities trader and investor, hosted the wedding of his daughter Vinita in Venice from 12 – 14 May 2011. It is reported that singer Shakira was paid a whooping 15 million USD to sing during the celebrations.

All said and done, Indian weddings can be great fun and good ‘time pass’; something like eating peanuts on a train, waiting for your stop to arrive.

Remembering My Flag Lieutenant Days with Admiral Narpati Datta

An aide-de-camp is a personal assistant, secretary, foremost personal aide or adjutant to a person of high rank, usually a senior military officer or a head of state. In the navy, this appointment is referred to as ‘Flag Lieutenant’. Young Lieutenants are appointed as ‘Flag Lieutenant’ to the Chief of Naval Staff, the Commander – in – Chief and the Fleet Commanders. Closeness to authority, glamour and the excellent exposure the job offers, makes it a very attractive and sought after appointment. Many young lieutenants aspire to become ‘Flags’ to an Admiral hoping they themselves would become one at a later date.


It was summer of 1973 and I was serving on board the Cadet Training Ship INS Tir as the Cadets Divisional Officer (CDO) to the first batch of Bangladeshi cadets. One fine morning I was told to proceed to the Fleet Office to be interviewed by Rear Admiral Narpati Datta – The Flag Officer Commanding Western Fleet (FOCWF) – for appointment as Flag Lieutenant. A month later I received my appointment to INS Mysore the Flag Ship as Flags to FOCWF .I joined the ship in Chennai in the month of June 1973.


A Flag Lieutenant has a number of responsibilities to discharge and all of them revolve essentially around the admiral. ‘Flags’ makes all appointments for the admiral, accompanies him to all meetings, seminars, other official functions, ships’ sorties, and out station visits, manages his retinue of cooks, stewards, boat crew, coxswain as well as his household staff of dhobi, gardeners and chauffeur and coordinates receptions, cocktails and dinners etc. Essentially Flags is an admiral’s ‘Man Friday’ in uniform. From the time the Admiral gets up, the Flags is on call till he retires at night. In this niche job role, the Flags and the Admiral get very close and in a matter of time a special bond develops between the two, which is unique.


So over a period of 16 months as Flags, I developed a relationship which bordered on reverence, hero worship and total loyalty to the ‘old man’. During this period I went through a cocktail of emotions - excitement, enjoyment, exasperation, tiredness, stress and in the end I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. The job had its highs and lows, comic interludes, mad moments in addition to an urge to run away from it all. Eventually, I ended up the gainer, absorbing all the experiences and the learning that came along with them. I was too young and inexperienced to have observed anything at the tactical or strategic level – my recollections were mainly related to – my day to day life as a Flags.


I decided to capture these experiences and moments which were unique not only to that time and age but also to the Navy as it was then. Naturally all my recollection is related to my association with the Admiral – on one hand a 24 year old rookie naval officer and on the other, a very successful old sea dog.

As Fleet Commander

The admiral came to the fleet with rich and varied experience; having served in important and critical appointments in Naval Head Quarters, diplomatic missions abroad and having been in command of ships at sea. He looked very handsome with the broad forehead of a thinker, which he was. He was a man of few words, very polite, slightly shy and reserved. He was very polished, sophisticated and carried himself with a lot dignity. He enjoyed playing golf, sailing and playing tennis regularly till his shoulder would get dislocated – which happened quite often. He loved sports. A well travelled man; he had a well developed taste for good food and good living. He dressed nattily and surrounded himself with many ‘objects d’ art’.

When I joined him, the Fleet Operations Officer told me, “Flags, you will have a wonderful time with him, he can’t even hurt a fly”. A Fleet Commander’s job is probably the most demanding, challenging and accountable job in the navy – the pressures and expectations of the job is so high, it takes a toll on all who hold the office. All incumbents deviate temporarily from their set pattern of behavior and exhibit traits which occur only when faced with high risk and high profile jobs. Narpati Datta was no exception to this strange phenomenon.

  After a good lunch I was relaxing on the Quarter Deck of Mysore when the Fleet Gunnery Officer, Lt Cdr Keki Pestonji came and informed me that I would be accompanying the admiral for a ‘Cadet Class’ Dinghy race as his crew. My very first outing with the admiral was to the famous and elite ‘Royal Madras Yacht Club’ Chennai- It was the first sailing Club in the South of India. It was founded in 1911 by the then Chairman of the Madras Port Trust – Mr. Francis Spring, in what was called the Timber Pond area of the Madras harbor. Sailing is a very complicated sport and requires adequate practice before one attempts to enter a race. I had no clue of sailing and had never sailed. No amount of pleading had any effect on Keki and the dye was cast. Keki was a big bully and continued further with his third degree torture. He issued a stern warning, “At no cost should the admiral get to know that you are a rookie”. I felt ‘keel hauling’ would have been a safer option than crewing for the admiral.


The race started and we were blessed with good and fair winds behind us. In a short time we sailed through the first two legs with comparative ease. While making a turn, the admiral gave me a series of instructions which I could not follow and as a result we almost capsized. In the ensuing fright and confusion, I lost the card on which the details of the course were marked. Consequently the admiral had difficulty in identifying the marker buoys – one thing lead to another and we ended up last in the race. The journey back to the ship in the car was filled with an ominous silence. What a way to start my innings as a flags!


I ate all my meals with the admiral on his table. I was a permanent figure, while the rest of the staff came in turns and joined the table. I would sit for breakfast and watch the admiral with admiration, as he made an incision on the mango at its equator and inserted a spoon and slowly eased the seed out dividing the mango into two neat hemispheres, ready to be eaten. The whole operation used to be carried out very deftly with the precision of a surgeon. I had been watching this with the utmost interest and amazement for a long time until one day I decided to undertake this very precise operation. All was well on the operation plate until the seed jumped out and very nimbly landed on the admiral’s crisp snow white uniform. I had left an indelible mark. The admiral just said, ‘Oopsy Daisy!!!’ and continued with his breakfast chitchat.


At the time when the admiral took over as the Fleet Commander, due to a variety of reasons the Fleet House had been reduced to a dump. The Fleet House, located in Navy Nagar, Colaba, is a very fine example of the colonial style of architecture with a driveway, garden, fountain, several car garages and staff quarters. The main building stands majestically tall, with large drawing rooms, several bed rooms with tall ceilings and sky lights. One look at the house and the admiral refused to shift until it was restored to its original glory. The renovation work became my direct responsibility. Renowned personalities such as architect Charles Correa and artist Anjolie Ela Menon were his friends and they offered help – at the other end of the spectrum was an unimaginative and rule book oriented ‘Military Engineering Service’ (MES) - a dichotomy of sorts. With back breaking effort, we were able to restore the house in six month’s time and the admiral finally moved in. He invited the MES staff one evening for a drink and during the party a new MES chair came apart. That was last time I saw the ‘Garrison Engineer’.


Mrs. Uma Datta decided to join the admiral in Mumbai. On the way back from the railway station Mrs. Datta spoke nonstop in Punjabi to me – seeing me flustered and confused, the steward came to my rescue and informed her that I was not a Punjabi ‘Prabhakar’ but a South Indian ‘Prabhakar’. Within a very short time of her arrival the house appeared classy, neat and clean. The garden acquired a new look with Chinese grass, Chrysanthemums, Gerberas and Petunias. I learnt a lot about gardening under her tutelage.

During the holidays the entire Datta clan arrived - which included their pretty daughters – Malini and Radhika, a young son - Vivek, a cousin - Pinky, some girl friends and the admiral’s mother in law. Soon the house became a beehive of activity. I soon announced that I was getting engaged to Jayanti – with so many girls in the house, Mrs. Datta was visibly relieved on hearing the news. They immediately invited Jayanti for a formal sitting-in lunch at the Fleet House. The Admiral suddenly noticed that Jai was not making any progress. Jai was a vegetarian and I had not informed the steward, who by then had served her a dash of chicken curry. As I was chickening out, the admiral looked at me and said ‘Oopsy Daisey!’ his favorite expression, when things went harmlessly wrong. Jai’s plate was quickly switched for a new one and the lunch continued smoothly thereafter.


Initially the Fleet Office was located near the Destroyer wharf, above the Command Diving Team office. This ramshackle set up had no toilets and one had to use the overcrowded and filthy dockyard toilet for all nature’s calls. One fine afternoon I found the Admiral pacing in his cabin and feeling extremely uncomfortable. INS Trishul, which was berthed very close by, was immediately selected by me to relieve the admiral of his discomfort. A very stern looking admiral arrived unannounced at the ship’s gangway and without uttering a word headed straight to the Captain’s cabin. While the admiral was away, the ship staff gathered around me to find out why the admiral had come on board – to add to their woes – the Captain of the ship had decided to call it a day and had quietly pushed off home – the Engineering Officer said “I hope it’s not the oil contamination incident, how did he come to know, the Executive officer had a different theory –”we are overdue in submitting the ‘Board of Enquiry Report’ and so on. He left the ship immediately after exchanging a few pleasantries. The visit to the ship remained a mystery to many for a long time.

One evening I was relaxing in the Western Naval command Mess having a drink, in a bar aptly named ‘Elbow Bender’ when the Admiral’s driver Zakaria suddenly made his appearance and said, ‘Admiral sa’ab bula rahe hain. Sa’ab gusse mein hai’. On reaching the Fleet House, I found the admiral pointing to a whisky glass which had water at the bottom and whisky like liquid floating on top. When I started investigating this very rare and strange phenomenon with Leading Steward Om Prakash, I realized that the steward had served the admiral a large peg of ‘gun oil’ which was inadvertently stored in a Johnny Walker bottle. On pouring water, the oil naturally floated to the top and created confusion in the household. Whenever Mrs. Datta went out of Mumbai, she used to leave behind a bottle of whisky to be used by the admiral – this time around it was ‘gun oil’!



It was an extremely important week. The Western fleet was preparing for the ‘Prime Minister’s day at sea. Mrs. Indira Gandhi was to inspect the fleet. Preparations were in full swing. Two days prior to the PM’s day at sea a rehearsal was conducted taking all the foreign Naval Advisors and Attaches to sea. Many things went awry. The Anti Submarine Rocket firing did not go well; some ships were badly out of station, V/UHF communication was terrible and overall the admiral was displeased with the performance. We returned to harbor and the admiral by now was in an extremely foul mood, resembling a tempestuous, stormy and unpredictable sea. He then decided to have a haircut. Poor Master Chief steward Jayal got it in the neck for not carrying a spare set of uniforms – next in line was the khalifa (barber) whose hands started shivering with nervousness, making it impossible for him to cut the admiral’s hair. All this upset the admiral even more – rendering the khalifa totally non operational and hors de combat.

While all this was in progress, I was wondering when my turn would come. I dropped the admiral at the Fleet House and went to the mess to change into ‘Red Sea Rig’ to attend the evening’s reception for the visiting Naval Advisors and Attaches on board INS Mysore. I changed as quickly as one could with one’s left arm in plaster. As I reached the Fleet House, to my astonishment I found the entire staff at the gate. Unable to fathom the reason, I thought of the worst. They informed me that the admiral had left on foot to Lion Gate - a good 6 kms away. I started trembling in fear and finally managed to catch up with the admiral in front of the Army Mess which was nearby. The driver got such a terrible dressing down; I did not dare to accompany the admiral to the ship. Instead I walked back to the mess and sat with my close friend Rags and wept on his shoulder and decided to call it a day as Flags. An hour or so later the driver came to the mess and said, ‘Admiral sa’ab bula rahe hain.’ – by now a familiar phrase. I knocked at the drawing room door and he said, “Good evening Flags, come have a drink.” The whole atmosphere had changed and I stood there stunned. Gasping for words, I said, “No thank you sir, my friend is with me.” He said, “Ask your friend to join us too”. With tears of joy, I went back to the mess after a very refreshing drink.



DCNS,CNS Admiral SN Kholi,Fleet Commander and self 



The Admiral as a young lieutenant was Flags to Admiral Sir Charles Thomas Mark Pizey *GBE, CB, DSO & Bar the Chief of Naval Staff from 1951 to 55 , who was himself a Flag Lieutenant toVice-Admiral Sir W.A. Howard Kelly in the Mediterranean. As the story goes, Admiral Pizey would often take off from office for a round of golf, leaving young Datta to remain in the office with lights on, till such time the Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, left South Block. During a reception the PM is believed to have said, “There are only two hard working people in my government – myself and Admiral Pizey.”


The admiral once told me how efficient he was as a Flag Lieutenant. To illustrate his point he narrated two incidents. On a visit to the old INS Rana, as his admiral was signing the visitor’s book the generator failed, enveloping the entire ship in darkness. In no time, young Datta pulled out a torch from his pocket and let the process continue - avoiding embarrassment all around. On another occasion in a reception at the Rashtrapati Bhavan, he saw Mrs. Phyllis Pizey sulking in a corner. Lt. Datta approached her and politely enquired if there was anything wrong; she is supposed to have replied, “The dance is on and I am not wearing dancing shoes.” To which the Flags said,” Not to worry ma’am, I have carried an extra pair in the car”. All smiles and face aglow, Mrs. Phyllis Pizey made her way to the dance floor. Such was his foresight.


On one occasion the admiral had invited a number of prominent people for a sitting in dinner in the ‘Admiral’s Cabin’ on board the flag ship INS Mysore. As all the guests settled down to a good dinner, they discovered Mr. Tarneja missing. Dinner was getting delayed and from the other end of the table the admiral gave me a sharp look – which when decoded meant, ‘What are you doing? Go fetch him at once!’. I found the missing guest in the toilet and informed him about the urgency and beseeched him to return to his chair. In return he pleaded delay, saying his dentures were refusing to cooperate. I had a tough time explaining ‘The case of toothless banker’ to the agitated admiral. His choice of guests for parties was extremely interesting – on one occasion we had Nutan the actress, Atom Bomb Raja Ramanna and the West Indies off spinner Lance Gibbs at the table - an explosive and spinning combination.


I learnt a lot under him. He used to say, “Whenever I call you to my cabin, you must come with a note book and a pen”. The day I took over command of a ship, the first thing I did was to present a pen and note book to all my officers and repeat what the admiral had said. Even to this day I follow his practice. He showed me the beauty of Burl tables, introduced me to the exotic flavor of ‘Glenfiddich single malt’ and developed in me a taste for crystal. I sailed to Bandar Abass and flew to Tehran with him and stayed with the Ambassador Mr. RD Sathe. He called on Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, Shahanshah of Iran. He wrote a very perceptive report of his visit to Iran, which resulted in the creation of a new post - ‘Naval Attaché’ in Tehran. We also visited Persepolis. Back home we visited Madurai, Meenakshi, Kanchipuram and drove down to Munnar from Kochi.I enjoyed travelling with him as one could get to hear about a number of interesting incidents. His dinner table talk with the High Commissioner to UK during the 1971 Indo Pak war – left a very big impression on the analytical ability of Commodore NP Datta.


As I look back, his handling of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s visit to the Maldives in 1974 was a huge success. She carried back with her a very good impression of the Western Fleet and appeared to be extremely impressed with the admiral. She was very generous and eloquent in her praise at the end of a state dinner.  http://samundarbaba.blogspot.com/2011/03/indira-gandhi-stayed-with-us-on-board.html


I continued to meet him later on during my service in the navy. I made a number of visits to ‘Mazagon House’ when he was the CMD of Mazdocks. One afternoon I went along with him for lunch, where I happened to meet the Big B. He came home when we were in Marine Drive and I met him a few times in New Delhi as well.


The Financial Express article ‘An Officer and Gentleman’ reported “In the early hours of October 10th 2003, the country lost one of its finest post-independence naval officers, defence planners and strategic thinkers. Vice Admiral Nar Pati Datta was killed by a speeding private Blueline bus in Delhi. He may have died tragically and in circumstances that raise larger questions about road safety, but he lived and worked a life of uncompromising dignity. Everyone who knew him was struck by that unique combination which is now so rare: impressive achievements moored to gracious charm and complete modesty.

May his soul rest in peace.

WISHING ALL READERS OF MY BLOG - A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR - 2012

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It was indeed a very eventful 2011 for me and I do hope it was the same to all my readers. In 2010, I had viewership from 38 countries and this year it has swelled to 83.This feat has brought immense satisfaction and happiness to me. I have always maintained that ‘All good things in life are free’ – pursuit of happiness cost very little. All the ingredients are already there in front of us to be picked up and embraced. Early morning walks, wishing your friends and acquaintances, gardening, offer to help in a small way, a small donation to the needy, foray into the kitchen to indulge in cooking, reading a good book, and writing for your own sake are some of the easiest ways to feel happy. Here, we elders have a lot to learn from the children. Their happiness drivers are extremely simple – sighting a loved one, something familiar – a toy, friend, song, book or a TV program

Like in the movie – ‘Fiddler on the Roof’- Tevye sings “ Because of our traditions we have kept our balance for many many years, here in Anateveka we have traditions for everything, how to eat, how to sleep ,how to work ,how to wear clothes” and so on.

We also believe in traditions and why not. Come 17^th of Dec – daughter, S IN L, Ayaan, Agastya and Aarin landed up at home for the holidays. Accompanying me to the airport to receive them was my GD ‘Samara’ all excited to meet up with her cousins. Battle plans were put into action. There were lots of changes in the ‘Battle Order’ published in 2010. My daughter had warned me’ Baba, the twins now walk and run around a lot and you have to be extremely careful – the moment they find the door open, they run out – no stopping them’ – ‘they are very inquisitive, they open the fridge, washing machine, oven and anything which can be opened” “they climb on chairs, tables, cots and the rest’ the briefing went on. Our strategy was nullified as, in addition to our fearsome foursome, ‘Saanika and Sambhav’ twins from our neighbor’s house joined the ‘Task Force’. Command and control posed a big problem. The entire Task Force was left to me and Man Friday – Rohan Dada. We had to constantly rely on our neighbor’s domestic help ‘Shoba’ to engage the younger twins – showing them cats ,dogs, squirrels, birds, butterflies, leaves, tree twigs, in the colony. Perimeter defense was established and strictly enforced. Inspire of our best efforts – Agastya one afternoon broke the high security cordon and was found loitering behind our cluster. Ayaan too gave us anxious moments. High voltage fun continued unabated till 2^nd Jan when the whole family departed. Like in the earlier holidays, I had to take a break from golf – the ultimate sacrifice from a father to a daughter. In all, Akhila deserves to be praised and congratulated for her tremendous effort and patience in looking after three sons.

The entire 'Task Force'

 On 18^th Dec, I was invited by a local TV station ‘Janashree’ to participate in an 1hr panel discussion on ‘Vijay Divas’ – titled  ‘War and After’. I understand the program was well received and the station had 3 reruns thereafter.

Satyanarayana Pooja was conducted on 24^th Dec evening with great fervor. Ayaan at 5 years was the most inquisitive, wanting to know everything the priest did. Why is he ringing the bell, why are they throwing flowers, washing hand, what is that burning, why curd, ghee and sugar and the list was endless. He wanted to participate in every activity. Poor Samara would constantly endeavor to cool Ayaan down without any success. She would say Ayaaaaaaan don’t do it, in an extremely high pitched voice – enough to break all glasses in the vicinity – resembling a soprano robusto. In the end the priest was feeling a bit exasperated and appeared to be running out of patience. From time to time the priest would sternly tell Ayaan to keep quiet and listen to him. After the priest left, the family decided to conduct all future festivals at our own terms with a pre recorded cassette and no priest. Fortunately for the priest, the twins slept through the entire proceedings. I shudder to imagine, what would have been the outcome with their involvement also.



Pooja in progress



On 24^th Dec all of us closed up for the ‘Christmas Barbeque’ party. It was great fun bonding with the children, grand children, extended family and a few close friends. This year it was a little subdued and with lesser people. The only difference was keeping the twins away from the fire. Somehow we always end up making much more and eating leftovers. For once the amount of food cooked was sufficient and nothing was carried forward to the next day. A very satisfying feeling. As a thumb rule you require 4 KG chicken for 10 people, provided there is nothing else.

Akhila's birthday bash and the X Mass Barbeque

We hired a tempo for our trip to Chikmagaluru, so that all of us could be together. We had booked ‘Hidden Valley’ which is owned and managed by Aranha Homes, a hospitality company based in Bangalore, Karnataka. Road up to Hassan (NH 48) is excellent and the ride was smooth. We started very early and the children slept through most of the time. After a brief stop for breakfast we reached the resort at 1400 hours to be greeted by the manager, Mr Suraj for a hot and tasty lunch. It takes about 6 hrs from home in North Bangalore to the resort.

After Breakfast

Located in the foothills of Mullayanagiri range Chikmagaluru is famous for coffee, it is known as the coffee land of karnataka. Chikmagaluru which literally means younger daughter's town - Chikka + Magala + Ooru (in Kannada). Chikmagaluru is located at an elevation of 1037 meters (3,400 feet) .The temperature of the city however varies from 11-20 °C during winter to 25-32 °C during summer. My mother was born in a coffee estate by the name of ‘Javali’ 34 Km from Chikmagaluru. My Grand Mother – Lakshmi Bai hails from this area and her father Sri Ganesh Rao Gurjer was a very well known planter. Presently her brother Prabhakar Gurjer resides in Koppa.

The hidden valley is located in a 30 acre patch of coffee estate. The resort offers a lot for children to do in terms of outdoor activity. We went for trek inside the plantation and the children had lots of fun collecting coffee fruits, pepper pods, wild oranges, lemon and some eggs of unknown bird. Rohan dada did fishing in the manmade pond and the children were really excited in seeing him catch ‘Rohu’. Samara insisted that the fish should be returned to the lake, which Rohan very obediently followed, himself being an animal lover. We went in a paddle boat quite frequently. Whenever the twins got bored we took them to see Turkeys and Rabbits.

Examining rabbits

There are roosters, hens and chicks to keep you occupied with their "cock-a-doodle-doo". We played carom during the day and generally relaxed gazing at the greenery and dozing off in the quietness and solitude of the estate.

Hidden Valley Resort From A Distance

Man Made Pond

Blue Sky Silver Oak Trees Winding Pepper Creepers



The entire clan



Mr Brown rooster and his clan

A Robust fire

Suraj and his team prepared some good and tasty food for us on all the days. The portions were really large and wholesome. Pakodas in the evening were  excellent. Bon fire on one day and barbecue the next day added lots of zing into the night. The Hundred Pipers played their music every night without fail after sunset – which is in fact early and descends extremely fast. The nights are are cold and one does require a sweater or a shawl to keep warm.

During the year, in May 2011, I took over as the Honorary Secretary of Jalvayu Vihar, to keep myself occupied and more importantly to fulfill the urge of giving back something to the society. It is a tough job – keeping 540 households happy and satisfied. There is a lot to write on that score, which I will be doing separately. We organized a ’New Year Ball’ on 31^st December Night. The event was sponsored by Reliance Digital, Tanishq and Trident Hyundai amongst others. The music and ambiance were great and 320 residents and their guests were treated to a lovely and memorable party.



Valley by night

On best behaviour

Trekking in the estate

Father and son bonding

Thy Das clan without the twins

Every reason to look tired

Photo op for me

The drive to the valley



Samara posing


 



With all the children

  

Badminton in progress

Rohan with his prized catch

A game of pauper

Jai had excellent results in their first 10^th board exam and the school has leap froged and etched a place for itself in Bangalore as a good school -www.freedom-international.in.Vivek and Shubra have been extremely busy the whole of 2011 and Chumbak - www.chumbak.in - now has 80,000 followers and have brought out a number of interesting and innovative products. Anirban and Kwan www.kwan.in continue to grow from strength to strength and cherish being India’s largest and most powerful Entertainment, Fashion, Celebrity & Sports Management Company

So ended 2011 on a very happy note.