There was a breed of British officers who on completing their service with the Indian Army chose to stay back rather than return to the native land. Colonel Mac was one of the flock. Having spent over half a century in the subcontinent, he proudly claimed to be a natural Indian and settled down in a wayside town in the North-East.
A diehard professional, known to be stickler for traditions, he had extended an open invitation for anyone in olive green to call on him. Coincidentally, I happened to be transiting through the remote town to take up my maiden assignment in the unit. Enthusiastic to make a sound debut, I thought it opportune to take a few tips from the seasoned soldier.
The Colonel was attired in his Sunday best and was excited to have a keen greenhorn of the same regiment as a visitor. He complimented me profusely for choosing to join Infantry, the “Queen of Battle”. Over meticulously laid out tea, he shared the salient traits of my regiment. “Our men are tough as rock, easy with trust but never accept betrayal,” summed up the Colonel. As war clouds were building up, the veteran’s recipe to “live to fight another day” was: “ Personal weapon is the most valuable limb of the body; hence handle it with extreme care. The closer you remain to Mother Earth, the safer you are. And treat the buddy like a Siamese Twin.” After a pause he went on to add: “An officer leads by example and his location is always at the head of the pack”.
While taking a walk through his bungalow, Mac stopped by the shoe rack and pointed to the neatly laid out footwear. With a mischievous smile, he let out the secret of his charismatic personality, attributing it to strict pecking order. “The seniormost is a pair of fleets with which I start the day and last one in the lineup, the dancing shoes, are to wind up the evening”. While showing me one of the family photographs, he expressed regrets about his son not joining the Army. “He is a bloody poopy civilian! Even had a heart attack recently,” lamented the old man.
As I prepared to take leave, he narrated an anecdote while escorting me out to the gate. Recalling his days as a young Lieutenant, he said the first prized acquisition then, was a bicycle. He reminisced that the owner of the bicycle store in a particular military station was a retired Sergeant. As part of freebies by way of accessories, the Sergeant gave a choice of either a “stand” or a “carrier’. The metaphoric justification was that as an officer one had the option to either pursue a “career” and go up the ladder, or take a “stand’ to abide by one’s conviction.
Elaborating further he continued: “In case you keep taking a ‘stand’ all through your service, then be prepared to end up as a Major. On the other hand, as a ‘career’ seeking individual, there is a good chance to rise to be a General”. “What sir, if one wants to pursue both,” I asked.
Mac took a deep breath, and patting my shoulder softly, whispered: “You mean burning candle at both ends? Perhaps a hybrid product, a Major-General”. Firmly pumping my hand, the veteran wished me God’s speed and happy hunting with the parting words: “Life offers choices! For a soldier the only choice is ‘Service before Self’, a price one ought to be proud to pay, for the faith reposed by fellow countrymen”.
A diehard professional, known to be stickler for traditions, he had extended an open invitation for anyone in olive green to call on him. Coincidentally, I happened to be transiting through the remote town to take up my maiden assignment in the unit. Enthusiastic to make a sound debut, I thought it opportune to take a few tips from the seasoned soldier.
The Colonel was attired in his Sunday best and was excited to have a keen greenhorn of the same regiment as a visitor. He complimented me profusely for choosing to join Infantry, the “Queen of Battle”. Over meticulously laid out tea, he shared the salient traits of my regiment. “Our men are tough as rock, easy with trust but never accept betrayal,” summed up the Colonel. As war clouds were building up, the veteran’s recipe to “live to fight another day” was: “ Personal weapon is the most valuable limb of the body; hence handle it with extreme care. The closer you remain to Mother Earth, the safer you are. And treat the buddy like a Siamese Twin.” After a pause he went on to add: “An officer leads by example and his location is always at the head of the pack”.
While taking a walk through his bungalow, Mac stopped by the shoe rack and pointed to the neatly laid out footwear. With a mischievous smile, he let out the secret of his charismatic personality, attributing it to strict pecking order. “The seniormost is a pair of fleets with which I start the day and last one in the lineup, the dancing shoes, are to wind up the evening”. While showing me one of the family photographs, he expressed regrets about his son not joining the Army. “He is a bloody poopy civilian! Even had a heart attack recently,” lamented the old man.
As I prepared to take leave, he narrated an anecdote while escorting me out to the gate. Recalling his days as a young Lieutenant, he said the first prized acquisition then, was a bicycle. He reminisced that the owner of the bicycle store in a particular military station was a retired Sergeant. As part of freebies by way of accessories, the Sergeant gave a choice of either a “stand” or a “carrier’. The metaphoric justification was that as an officer one had the option to either pursue a “career” and go up the ladder, or take a “stand’ to abide by one’s conviction.
Elaborating further he continued: “In case you keep taking a ‘stand’ all through your service, then be prepared to end up as a Major. On the other hand, as a ‘career’ seeking individual, there is a good chance to rise to be a General”. “What sir, if one wants to pursue both,” I asked.
Mac took a deep breath, and patting my shoulder softly, whispered: “You mean burning candle at both ends? Perhaps a hybrid product, a Major-General”. Firmly pumping my hand, the veteran wished me God’s speed and happy hunting with the parting words: “Life offers choices! For a soldier the only choice is ‘Service before Self’, a price one ought to be proud to pay, for the faith reposed by fellow countrymen”.
Source: The Tribune, Chandigarh, India
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