EARLY DAYS-REAL EARLY
But life actually began at 0415, to report to a 2nd
termer at 0445 for a turnout check. He would then escort them to a 3rd termer
for a further check. The 4th term Corporal Cadet would see them at 0515 and
pass them for a check with the 5th term Sergeant Cadet at 0530. One
of them would then be detailed to announce "Foxtrot Squadron, 5 min to
muster," reminding the entire Squadron to hurry up. He would then announce
the Muster at the top of his voice, so that all were down by 0540, with their
bicycles at their side, fully serviceable and squeaky-clean. Muster would see
them all lined up outside, split into three groups, one per floor. These groups
were called Divisions, each Division having its own 4th term Corporal, 5th term
Sergeant and 6th term Division Cadet Captain, or DCC. Each Division had an
Officer in charge, of the rank of Captain or equivalent. No 6th termer attended muster-the privileges
of seniority. Muster was a sort of roll call, with the Sergeants reporting full
strength to the CSM, who would then inform the SCC accordingly. The SCC would
inform one of the Divisional Officers that the Squadron was at full strength
for Muster, adding details of any Cadets who were ill or due to go to the
Hospital at 0600.
The CSM would carry out a random check in the interim.
God help any cadet checked. He would say, "See me at 1330 in FSMO" or
any uniform that took his fancy. The Sergeant would be ticked off later and the
defaulter would get it in the neck after the CSM had finished with him. Most
punishments were rough, but healthy, like running around the block with one's
bicycle held over one's head. They built up stamina. The most common punishment
was push-ups. These were painful, yet healthy. Front or back rolling, i.e.
somersaults forwards or backwards were acceptable, as they were part of one's
PT and one had to pass a Front and Back Roll Test. Often, one was referred to a
good cross-country runner and he would say, "PT rig at 1330. We will run
up 2475," the name of a hill that was at an altitude of 2475 feet above
mean sea level. It could even be 2562, another hill in the area.
Often, the punishment would be delayed to Sunday
morning, when a number of defaulters would go up both hills or even Sinhagad
Fort. The last was torture, as it involved an 8 mile run across the Dam that
created Khadakvasla Lake, a steep climb to 4720 feet and an equally long return
trip. Four tough hours of cross-country, but still acceptable.He learned to
dread what was called a 'Cabin Cupboard', where his cabin would be checked for
proper layout and cleanliness. There was no way out and he saw where all the
seniors found dust. He had seen his CSM remove his tubular mosquito rod and put
his little finger in to pull out dust. The CSM had ordered him to put the rod
in his mouth and breathe in; he just couldn't forget the bout of chest-racking
coughs that ensued. He naturally expected to be punished and duly was.
Not all punishments were healthy. There were the
sadistic bums who would call one out into the sun-baked tarmac in front of the
Squadron, bikes over ones' head, but bare-foot. Blisters would develop as the
soles of one's feet felt like they were being roasted. Sometimes, one would be
ordered to strip to one's shorts and front or back-roll over the tarmac, each
contact with the hot surface becoming more and more agonizing. Evening
punishments saw one climbing to 'seventh heaven' and then carrying out pull-ups,
leaving bloodied fingers as the strands cut through the skin. Sheer pain would
force one to let go and drop. There were some unstable seniors who would spray
the floor with thumbtacks, letting one drop onto them without a care in the
world. Even worse was getting under the hut-shaped newspaper rack and running
with it upstairs and downstairs. The shinbones hurt like the devil, one's
foreleg got skinned but one carried on.
In a way even such punishments were acceptable as they
increased one's threshold of pain by a considerable margin. Then came the
stupid idiots who would order one to back-roll downstairs, getting hurt in the
process. Such injuries weren't too severe, except when a sadist would order one
to wear Riding uniform with the Chindit pack and its add-ons like a
water-bottle and ammo pouches full of sand. The pack weighed over thirty Kilos,
but that was of no concern. Fortunately the authorities banned this when one
fresher sadly broke his spine in the course of his punishment. It was a pity that
it took such a tragedy for the authorities to step in.
The worst was Mental Torture. The Squadron would be
asked to fall-in in the Central Lobby in divisions at 2130 or so on Saturday
and then be asked to stay absolutely still till 0600 on Sunday. Some junior
cadets would collapse but that was their own demise. He would be picked up and
dumped under a piercingly cold shower, only to return soaking wet and back into
the line-up. Some times, punishments could be fun. One cadet named Dinky, since deceased, had an electric
guitar and he would ensure that freshers each term would be punished together.
They would all climb onto the cycle sheds in the rectangular area that was
enclosed by the four squadrons that formed a Battalion. The guitar would blare
and all freshers would dance on the roof of the sheds, to the generous applause
of many.
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