Nda: The Climb Begins

Watching the rising sun always brings to mind, the dawn of new possibilities. Every morning these days, I go for a morning run and look at the sun arising from far distance. Is today going to be the day I receive my NDA call letter? I had already gone through the rigorous five-day Services Selection Board (SSB) interview, and it was only a matter of making it to the merit list now. I looked at the serenity of the clear blue skies, and wondered if this very moment, Dad was showering his blessings from up above. Half an hour later, I reached home.

“Siddhant, you’re taking Vanshika to her friend’s place today, right?” Mom asked, as I came out of the shower. Vanshika was my cute little sister, four years younger to me.

“Sure Mom,” I replied with a smile, looking at Vanshika arranging her books, and continued, “as long as…”

Before I could finish, the bell rang and I dashed to the door. Something told me, it was the postman. Well, it was!

“Mom, it’s my call letter,” I said exuberantly, and opened the envelope quickly; “I made it.”

“Congratulations my boy,” she said, hugging me warmly.

“What does it say?” she asked, bringing some sweets to offer to the postman.

“Well, other than the official part of the letter, they’ve given the answer I was looking for.”

The text said in bold, on top of the letter—“YES, YOU HAVE IT IN YOU.” The earlier mail I had received before the SSB interview had the following in the brochure—“You’ve been shortlisted amongst thousands. Now we’re looking for the chosen few…DO YOU HAVE IT IN YOU?”

“It says I need to report to NDA by 1500hrs, 10th July 1999,” I continued, “this gives us ten days. They’ve given a list of things to be brought—white towels, white shorts and shirts, and some more items.”

“Shopping starts today,” Vanshika exclaimed, snatching the letter from my hand and hiding it behind her; “treat time!”

“Sure sis,” I said, rushing to get it back as she playfully ran to another corner of the house.

“Mom, I’m going to the National Defence Academy,” I said after a while, bursting with energy and enthusiasm as the feeling sunk in.

“Yes Siddhant and we are all proud of you,” she said with mixed emotions, and gave me a tight hug.

For a moment, I felt sad as the reality struck me. I was going to be away from Mom and Vanshika, and NDA was only the beginning. However, I knew what I was signing up for, and remembered Dad in his uniform with shining medals for inspiration. Yes, this is what I had always wanted in life. After giving a few chocolates to my sweet sis, I bought my letter. I had come to the end of the road I had been traversing all along, and saw a thought balloon pop into my mind. It said— “Dude, from here, the climb begins.”

My alarm went off at around 6 a.m., or maybe I should now say 0600hrs as per military verbiage. The train was on time and Pune station was to arrive at 0830hrs. This 24-hour clock routine was surely going to take some time to settle in. I took one good look at others in my compartment going about their morning routines, sipping tea, and reading the newspaper. It was raining hard and I hoped that the compartment stops in the shaded area of the platform. I had one huge black trunk with my name written on it, and a suitcase. I somehow managed to drag the heavy trunk down to the station and went to the boarding point. Within a few hours, around 30 cadets had gathered. The staff had met the critical mass to leave for NDA.

“Hi, I’m Siddhant,” I said to two other cadets loading their luggage into the bus, which was of typical Olive Green (OG) Army color.

“Hi Siddhant, I’m Vikas and this is Sameer,” one of them said. Vikas was a tall guy, with a bright boyish charm on his face. Sameer had a look of anxiety, as he saw other cadets arrive. His relatively large waistline probably didn’t help his confidence either.

“What a welcome to Pune, right? Awesome weather,” I said.

“Yeah, raining like anything,” Vikas said, helping me push up the trunk.

“Guys let’s go inside, lest this pouring rain drench us in this sweet summer sweat,” Sameer said, opening into a smile finally.

“Hotel California, huh!” I said, humming that line from the classic song, “Yeah, let’s take the final step inside.”

One hour into the bus journey, we reached the outskirts of the city and I saw a sharp U-turn, which was the beginning of the academy. We were now in Khadakwasla (location of NDA).

“Guys, this place where we turned is Chandni-chowk. The academy gate is around 2-3 kms from here,” Vikas shared. “My brother “passed-out” from NDA two years back.”

“Share some tips and tricks with us today Vikas,” Sameer said to him with hope. There was a mild storm brewing in our stomach as we went closer towards the academy.

“Whoa! Saw the text on that board?” I exclaimed, as a big signboard came up after a while.

“First view of NDA 50 ft. ahead,” we said together, and looked ahead intensely in anticipation. The bus continued uphill until the top. We then saw the dome and roof, of what was a magnificent piece of architecture.

“That’s Sudan Block,” Vikas chuckled with a sense of familiarity in terms of the knowledge dump his brother had given. “It’s the administrative building with all the main offices and most of the academic classes,” he continued.

The bus went past the main gate, and entered the endless sprawling campus.

“That’s the Equitation area, where we’ll have our horse riding classes,” Vikas said, pointing towards the left at a large compound with a horseshoe shaped gate.

“Horses have a right of way,” Sameer said, pointing towards the inscription on a signboard.

“Now that’s interesting,” I chuckled, and tried to see if there are any horses in the vicinity. Well, there were none. We then crossed a line of shops, arranged in a big circle.

“Oh, some shops, that’s nice,” I said and promptly threw in a comment, “What is this, a Gole market?”

“Yup,” Vikas said with half a grin, “this in fact, is called the ‘Gole market.’”

Soon we landed at the de-boarding point, which was the Cadets’ Mess. An Army personal had a look at our Identity proofs, and asked us to take our luggage to a building in front of the Mess. This was the E Squadron—Echo Squadron. The rain had thankfully slowed down, and made it easier to drag our trunks and luggage. The Squadron was empty and we decided to regroup at 2000hrs for dinner. We were all carrying a set of formal plain shirt, black trouser and shoes. After keeping the luggage, we got ready for dinner.

“Hey Vikas, so tell us what we should know before the formal Squadron allocation starts tomorrow,” I enquired.

“Basically, it’s a total of six terms of five months each, with around 20 days of term breaks. NDA is divided into 15 Squadrons—Alpha, Bravo and onwards until Oscar (A to O).”

“Tomorrow morning we’ll get allocated to one of these,” Vikas said, continuing his monologue as we walked towards the Mess. “Also, there are four Battalions with 1st, 2nd and 3rd Battalions having four Squadrons each and the 4th Battalion with only three.”

“Okay, so this Echo Squadron is in 2nd Battalion then?” I asked, trying to grasp everything (this is where we were staying tonight).

“Yes,” he continued, “Echo, Foxtrot, Golf and Hunter.”

“Thanks for all these data points,” said Sameer, who was walking silently all this while, probably tensed about what was going to happen tomorrow.

The Mess was colossal with a countless number of tables extending in both directions. We met some other First term cadets, had a quick dinner and came back to the E Squadron building.

“Come here you three, are you strolling in a park?” someone hauled out, when we came near the building. We looked at the door, all windows of the building and all over, but couldn’t locate the source of the voice.

“Over here,” the voice shouted from the right corner of the top floor—the 2nd floor. We started walking towards that edge of the building.

“Double up!” he screamed angrily. We looked quizzically at each other.

“Come running, you lazy bozos,” he shouted. “Wait there, I’m coming down.”

“Are the senior cadets here already?” I asked Vikas, as we saw the person with that voice moving away from the window.

“Some cadets have shorter term breaks, they go late or come early to complete punishments, failed academic/physical tests,” he continued. “No wonder he sounds disgusted.” The senior was down in a moment.

“This is the last day I’m seeing you slimy piece of shitheads walking in my Squadron parade ground like this,” he said, very distinct in his tone and diction. “This is the Echo Squadron, not some wildlife sanctuary that you’re visiting for pleasure.”

We were getting a bit nervous now. What was going to happen next?

“Now get out of my sight, and don’t be seen till tomorrow morning,” he grumbled. “And I dare you not; do not use the central staircase, use only the left and right corner staircases.”

We ran into the building before his sentence ended.

“Vanish!” we heard the voice snarling at us in the background.

“One more thing,” Vikas whispered to us, after reaching the other end of the corridor. “It’s all about privileges here—privileges you get after reaching a particular term. Using central staircase is 6th term privilege, all 1st to 5th termers use the two staircases at either ends of the corridor.”

“Thanks Vikas, let’s call it a day,” I said, having had enough information already.

We went to our cabins, still visibly shaken from the (thankfully) brief interaction with the senior, and got mentally prepared for tomorrow—the first official day at NDA.

The alarm rang up promptly in the morning and I was up for the big day. It was 0810hrs and a swarm of cadets was already standing in front of the Mess.

“Hey Siddhant,” Vikas called out from behind.

“Hi Vikas, good morning,” I replied. The process had started and we joined the line.

“The Adjutant, sitting over there is one of the most feared officers at NDA,” he said. “His name is Major Ranvir Rai, SM. He is in charge of the discipline of cadets, and gives all punishments, amongst other things.”

“Okay, he has received a Sena Medal (SM), impressive!” I exclaimed, adjusting my shirt to fall in line with the trouser. I looked at the terror emanating figure sitting on the table, more clearly now, with a new perspective. “The Hindi word for Adjutant is dand-pal,” he continued.

No wonder, I thought mentally, and we kept going ahead with the flow. My turn came in about twenty minutes.

“What’s your name cadet?” the Major asked in a straight voice.

“Siddhant Mishra, sir.”

“Cadet Siddhant Mishra, do you have a preference for any Squadron?” he asked, looking through some documents. Maybe he saw in my documents that Dad was also an Army officer.

Is this a trick question? I wondered, thinking of whether my answer will have any disastrous consequences. I played a safe bet (having no clue or choice anyway).

“No sir.”

“You will be in Foxtrot Squadron, carry on” the Adjutant said, indicating me to go to other staff personnel handling some documentation.

I moved on to the corner while Vikas came in. I noted down my new identification, which was going to stay by me for a long time to come—2xxxx/F/102. 2xxxx was my serial number, the squadron was Foxtrot and Course number was 102. Vikas got into Mike Squadron, and we parted ways for now since Mike was further away.

“Are you in Echo,” another Echo senior asked, as I entered the E Squadron to take my luggage.

“No sir, I’m in Foxtrot.”

“Oh good, you’re in our Battalion itself,” he said pleasingly.

“Take your luggage and meet your 5th term Sergeant in Foxtrot. He would be wearing a KD—Khaki Dress with three red color V-shape stripes on his right arm sleeve.”

It was nice to see a pleasing behavior from this senior, quite contrary to the one from that disgust-spewing monster of yesterday. Foxtrot was right next to Echo, and I had one good look at the magnificent building. From an aerial view, the Squadron would have been of the shape of a rectangle with one long side missing, i.e. the letter ‘E’ without
the bar in the center (in fact, all Squadrons were that way). The area in between was the Squadron parade ground. Above the entrance door, was the letter F written with a red and yellow background (separated diagonally). The red color stood for 2nd Battalion, and yellow for Foxtrot.

“Are you in Foxtrot Squadron?” asked a senior who was wearing the dress described earlier. Khaki shirt, Khaki shorts, black belt, black shoes & stockings, a headgear on top and three red pointed arrow stripes on his right arm sleeve.

“Yes sir, I’m Siddhant Mishra.”

“You’re now Cadet Siddhant Mishra. I am Sergeant Awasthi, get your luggage inside,” he said in a pleasing manner. He then went through a list and continued, “Go to the second floor from the left end of the corridor, and keep your stuff in cabin number 211. Come down at 1030hrs sharp.”

At 1020hrs, I came down to the central lobby and met other first termers. In a few minutes, everyone assembled. There were 16 of us in all.

“Quite there, all of you,” Sergeant Awasthi said to all of us sternly. “We’ll now get your kit issued. Walk in two lines and don’t create a ruckus.”

“Hey, ikkis are here,” said a cadet coming in with his backpack (ikkis stood for 1st termers). Today the rest of the academy was to come in and tomorrow onwards, the classes were starting.

“Yippee! ikkis are here,” chuckled another one coming from behind.

“Guys, I’ll meet you all after lunch,” said the Sergeant and they exchanged a few quick stories. Apparently, they were course-mates. We just stood there; mute with expectation and in anticipation. We then left for issue of kits, which comprised of the entire wardrobe that we were going to use in NDA. There were at least five types of shoes—white PT shoes, DMS boots, Drill boots, Horse-riding shoes and Black OP (Oxford Pattern) shoes. We dragged the entire kit back to the Squadron.

“First termers, wait here in the lobby, the CSM would talk to you,” said a terrified cadet coming in, while we kept our kits in a corner.

“Sir, what is a CSM?” I asked him, trying to understand the reason for his shaky voice.

“Okay, here’s the thing,” he said in a hurry, and then stopped abruptly.

“Keep shut you ikki, what’s your name?” he shouted at one of the other first termers, giggling about something.

“Sir, Cadet Mukul.”

“What’s your full name?”

“Sir, Cadet Mukul Garg.”

“Garg, shove those teeth up your a** and stop smiling,” he said disdainfully.

“Okay, now my name is Cadet Vinod Kohli and I’m a 3rd termer. We will have a session with you all tonight but for now just understand that the SCC—Squadron Cadet Captain and CSM—Company Sergeant Major, are 6th term appointments and run the Squadron. There are many other appointments in 4th, 5th, 6th terms, but this is enough for now.”

Within five minutes, all 3rd termers also gathered, and we were all standing in the “ground floor central lobby”—the GFCL. The SCC came shortly, not a wicked or horrifying looking fellow, but quite smart. So was the CSM, who followed him. They stood on the second step of the central staircase and gave us a briefing on what was going to happen in the next few days. Three other sixth termers joined them.

“Hey all ikkis, introduce yourself,” said one of them, with a smile of an eagle about to pounce on its prey.

“Guys, hold on for a second and let me finish off the formal announcements,” the CSM intervened.

For some reason, a sudden shiver went down our spine and we wanted the CSM to stay. Several voices started coming in from the second floor, as more 6th termers came down from the central staircase and gathered to see the fresh faces.

“Okay, 3rd termers,” the CSM said with a pause, looking at the entire course, “Tomorrow, I want all 1st termers ready after breakfast at 0800hrs for bike collection. Sergeant Awasthi will take them for issuing of bikes, and the pending items,” he concluded, collecting his papers. Apparently, for all practical purposes, the 3rd termers were responsible for all 1st termers.

“Yes sir,” the loud affirmative response came from the 3rd termers.

“Okay, 1st termers, now you have a nice night and think about which bike you want,” said one of the 6th termers. “You, left of the khalsa, what ‘cc’ bike do you prefer?”

“Sir, I would like to have at least a 150cc bike,” the innocent response said.

“Of course, why not, 3rd termers see to it that they get what they want. Things are very far in NDA and 150cc bike would definitely help.”

“Yes sir,” came the response again in unison, some of the 3rd termers were smiling.

It sounded too good to be true, biking down these roads. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. Nevertheless, the thought per se was worth it.

“Right… Sergeant Kohli!” the CSM called out to a 5th term Sergeant walking down the corridor.

“Yes sir!”

“Take care of these guys,” he said and the 6th termers dispersed slowly, looking enthusiastic about entering the final term at NDA.

“Okay,” Sergeant Kohli paused, and looked at all the 3rd termers. “How many 1st termers are there?”

“16, sir,” said a few of them promptly.

“Has anyone made the ‘nominal roll’ yet?”

There came a deafening silence. None of us spoke. I was standing behind in our line and saw a few 3rd termers whispering to each other.

“3rd termers, I had told Sharma to have the ‘nominal roll’ ready by this time. Where is it?”

None of them moved an inch, and they were probably cursing that Sharma guy, whoever he was. I’m sure none of us ikkis had a clue of what it was.

“Okay fine, 1st termers one of you announce the names of your course-mates,” he said to us and continued. “Sharma, step out of the line and note all the names on the back of your course ‘nominal roll.’ ”

Sharma sir came out with a small page and a ball-pen refill in hand. He was a short and funny looking senior, and had timid facial expressions. He looked at me, since I was the closest and said meekly—“tell me the names.” I looked around and started from the first row.

“Ritesh Chaddha, Vishal Paul, SD Singh, Sandeep Sharma, Mukul Garg, Varun Malhotra, Bikram Singh Dhimman, Prateek Verma, Rahul Shukla, Sanjay Tiwari, Neeraj Singhania, Vipul Garje, Aditya Bhalla, Vikas Malhotra, Namgay Yeshi and Siddhant Mishra,” I said, surprisingly getting the names right. I was never good with names. Namgay Yeshi was one of the four cadets in 102 course from Bhutan.

“3rd termers, by tomorrow morning I want 10 copies of the 102 course, and 2nd to 6th term ‘nominal rolls’ at any time, with each of the ikkis,” he said furiously to 3rd termers. He then looked at the entire bunch and shouted, “all 3rd termers move to the Battalion area, and 1st termers fu** off.”

We picked up our kits, ran away helter-skelter, and some of us got together inside Chaddha’s cabin, which was on the 2nd floor.

“Guys, let’s quickly make this list of names. I’m sure 3rd termers are going to come back to us after this,” Sandeep Sharma said.

“I don’t think the tikkis are coming back for us tonight,” said Garje, looking out of the window, which was facing the Battalion area. Without making it obvious, we tried to peep through the half-closed window and could see 3rd termers getting rogered.

“My goodness, today’s the first day and look at their state,” I exclaimed.

“Yeah well, I’m not sure how many of you all know but here’s the thing,” Shukla said, “we are going to get 3rd term ‘over-studies’ tomorrow. We would be their ‘under-studies’. Essentially whatever wrong we do, the respective over-study will face the brunt, and in turn you know who.”

Chaddha closed his window completely, without making noise and continued, “What I know is— ikkis, dukkis and tikkis do not have the privilege of walking inside the Squadron.”

“4th termers are called chaukey, 5th termers are punjey,” I shared and continued, “and the mind blowing part is that 6th termers are actually called chhakkey.”

All of us burst into a silent laughter, and chatted for a while.

“Guys, lights-out is at 2200hrs. No one should be seen out of his cabin after that,” Bhalla said.