Lucky grimaced at the big leather boots that lay near her bed. They looked more like a torture contraption than boots. The damn things came with metal strips, 13 nails in the front half of the sole, and a heel adorned with a horseshoe. Of all the shoes she had encountered in the 20 plus years of her life, this was by far the most bizarre. Wondering if the horseshoe was placed for good luck, she tightened the polished-to-perfection black leather belt of her uniform. From what she had heard on the grapevine, she would need all the luck the horseshoe on her boots could bring.
The boots weighed a kilo and a half, but the drill that awaited them was worse. It was the mother of all pains, was the consensus.
Nutty struggled with the shoelaces of her heavy, ankle-length boots. ‘Saala,’ she cursed, trying to tighten the laces through the dozen eyelets before passing it through the loop at the back and tying them around. Feat performed, she stood up and stretched. It was going to be a long day. One that was likely to turn out to be more gruelling than the previous one.
For Shiny, it was just another ordeal that had to be faced before wearing the stars on her lapels. She didn’t like marching. At school, she had successfully managed to avoid participating in the parades, but now it was mandatory, and from what she had heard, the damn thing was a regular pain. One had to pass the drill test to obtain an out pass, without which one could not go out of the academy. Every cadet worth his or her salt gave extra attention to the exercise. Added to that were the terrifying stories of authoritarian drill ustads. All said, she wasn’t looking forward to her first drill.
The only person who seemed excited about the drill was Billi. She had several accomplishments to her credit, right from being a senior NCC cadet, to being the flag-bearer of her school, to having taken part in the Republic Day parade with the hand-picked squad of NCC cadets. This was one area where she was confident of beating everyone.
A day earlier, the four friends had gone through the painstaking task of shaping their newly issued berets to their heads. It required a lot of skill and patience to shape it to perfection. Working under Shiny’s instructions, who had in turn been instructed by Aaron, they soaked the brand new berets in hot water for a few minutes. Once they were soaking wet, they wrung out the excess water and placed the wet beret on their heads as per Aaron’s directive. The guy was proving to be a boon for the girls. A keen cadet, he tried to maintain a lead over the other cadets and never hesitated in sharing his newly acquired tricks and tips with his heartthrob.
Although it sounded easy, shaping the beret to fit the contours of one’s head required practice as well as expertise. Fortunately, Lucky was gifted with both.
The result of the task was a perfectly shaped beret on her head, along with a runny nose and a headache. Sitting for a long time with the wet beret on her head had done its bit.
It was still dark when the LCs set out for the parade ground. Unlike on the other days, none of them chattered. Anxiety had sealed their mouths. Apart from Zojila and Phillora, a company of GCs had lined up on the ground.
Suddenly, a huge figure detached itself from the shadows and stood before the cadets. His uniform was laden with several medals. The imposing soldier with a fearsome moustache turned out to be the dreaded drill ustad, Havaldar Satyaprakash Yadav, called Sappy by the cadets. It was a misnomer. For the ustad was anything but sappy.
Confidence oozing, Billi greeted the ustad, ‘Good morning, ustad.’
A loud grunt emerged from under the moustache.
A dress inspection began in earnest. Sappy marched up to Billi, who was the first one in the line, and stared at her beret. It seemed to meet his stringent criteria, so he switched his attention to the tightness of her belt, the sharpness of the trouser crease and the polishing of the brass work and boots.
It was agonizing to stand still while the inspection went on, but she didn’t dare fidget. To earn the wrath of the ustad was to commit suicide, for he wielded substantial powers. Punishing the cadets by allotting extra duties and drills was a habit with the ustads.
‘Left foot up,’ the ustad commanded. He proceeded to inspect the soles of Billi’s drill boots. ‘Left foot down. Right foot up,’ he barked. The process was repeated.
Luckily, all the nails and the horseshoe stuck on the sole were intact. He went around her, trying to find a reason to holler. It took all of four minutes for Sappy to complete his inspection.
Finally, satisfied with her get-up, he grunted and moved to the next cadet. Grunting was Sappy’s way of showing approval, albeit grudgingly.
Across the ground, however, the Phillora girls were having a bad time. Their ustad, having got up from the wrong side of the bed, was shouting in an irritated manner.
‘Loose belt,’ his voice boomed across the ground.
Not to be outdone, Sappy shouted in an equally loud voice, ‘Small head, big beret.’ He had picked on Saddie, who had not shaped her beret to perfection, and it slouched tiredly on her head.
‘Loose lace,’ came the voice from the other end.
It seemed like a contest between the two ustads. While one seemed to find everything loose, the other was bent upon finding as many faults as possible.
‘Loose screw,’ Lucky mumbled under her breath. She had been sniffling all through the night and now fever was making her body weak. Yet, the poor girl soldiered on.
Billi, who had turned her head to see the goings-on at the Phillora end, was immediately hauled up for the crime.
‘Nonsense lady cadet, look front,’ Sappy yelled in an eardrum-splitting decibel. ‘No discipline.’
Although the ustads at the academy were some of the best jawans and were excellent in their respective fields, their tenuous grasp of English was the butt of many jokes.
Sappy marched to the rear of the row and several LCs were categorized as ‘nonsense’. The LCs realized it was one of his favourite words. Anything that didn’t meet his approval was ‘nonsense’. A similar scene was being enacted at the Phillora end, which was full of nonsense cadets. It offered some consolation to the Zojila girls. According to the two ustads, almost all the lady cadets were nonsense and useless, since many of them had been hauled up for loose belts and berets. Some were nonsense because of twisted boot laces, some for scruffy boots, and some for their slouching posture. A couple of LCs were nonsense for no reason other than looking the ustad in the eye. It was the biggest crime of all.
Lucky, with her constant sniffling, drew a barrage of nonsenses, with Saddie in close contest.
The drill began in full earnest, once the inspection was over.
‘Tez Chal (Quick March),’ hollered Sappy. The command was followed by an order to Tham (Halt).
Diligently, the girls continued to march.
Right turn, left turn and about turn, they marched like automatons, terrified of being singled out by the hawk-eyed ustad.
Their efforts were rewarded by the words – shocking and nonsense. The ustad demonstrated the correct way of marching, his legs going high up and then coming down with force, so the boots hit the ground in a fierce manner.
In a few minutes, the entire lot of LCs were banging their feet on the parade ground, the nails on their boots hitting the ground to generate as much sound as possible. No matter how hard they tried, the ustad continued to remain dissatisfied with their performances.
‘High! High!’ he bellowed in his foghorn voice. ‘Foot upar utha.’
Just then an aircraft flew over them. It lowered its landing gear to land on the runway just beyond the academy.
‘Nonsense cadets. Udhar kya dekh raha hai. What are you staring at?’ he shouted.
‘Bang your feet harder till the aircraft begins to wobble,’ he shouted louder, trying to drown out the noise of the aircraft.
‘He’s a raving lunatic,’ muttered Lucky breathlessly, as she jumped up and banged her feet on the ground. Both the ustads, competing with each other, continued shouting like mad men.
Turning right, turning left, executing about turns, the cadets continued to bang their feet on the ground. By now, every muscle in their bodies had begun a protest march, with knees and ankles joining forces. Their heads were beginning to ache with all that foot-banging. But, there was no let-up in the ustad’s josh. No matter how hard the girls tried, there was no pleasing the ustad. The LCs prayed for the drill period to end.
Sapped of energy, they were finally allowed to leave the ground, but not before they were warned to perform better the next time.
The moaning sounds that floated down the corridors of the company after lights out that night were a testimony to the drill ustad’s efficiency. Disturbed by the loud groans emanating from the neighbouring room, Lucky hobbled towards it. Her legs propped up on a pillow, Nutty lay on the bed, cursing and moaning.
‘Shhhh! Calm down!’ Lucky hissed. ‘You will bring the CSM here with all that moaning.’
‘I can’t help it,’ retorted Nutty. Pointing at her feet, she continued, ‘I have bloody blisters on my feet. How will I wear shoes tomorrow?’
‘Can’t you hear the moaning? You are not the only one suffering.’
‘Bloody ustads are sadists. This is inhuman. I am done with the training.’
‘Do you have some soothing lotion?’ asked Lucky, ignoring her friend’s complaints. ‘Apply it to the blisters and go to sleep. You will be alright.’
‘What sort of drill is this? All that the crazy guys want us to do is jump high and bang our feet. This is no drill.’
‘It’s not a good idea, I agree. But, just like punishments, we have to endure it.’
‘The crazy chap says the sound should be loud enough to surprise the pilot in the aircrafts. Isn’t that a sign of madness?’
‘Egoistic seniors, moody officers, moodier ustads and killing weather, what else can one want?’ said Lucky cynically. She had tried to find the silver lining in the dark clouds, but had failed miserably.
‘If this is the bloody honeymoon phase, I don’t even want to imagine what the post-honeymoon life will look like,’ grumbled Nutty.
‘Let’s cross the bridge when we come to it,’ said Lucky.