That evening, Gulbar Choudhary stood firmly in my way in the foyer of the unit officers’ mess. The expression on his face carried an expression of apology tinged with mild amusement. Yet there was no malice.
As the senior steward of the officers’ mess, Gulbar was the oldest member of the officers' mess staff. Gulbar, Hailing from Bihar, he had mastered Nepali, the language that was the very essence of the Gorkha regiments. He possessed an unrivalled knowledge of the history of each piece of silver that adorned the anteroom and was an authority on the enigmatic realm of 'mess etiquettes’. Three young officers resided in the single
officers’ quarters - an annexe to the
officers’ mess - at that time, of which I, the juniormost held the rank of second
lieutenant.
“Maaf garnuhos sahab" he gently chided, his voice dripping with Nepali finesse, "tara hazurle afsar meys ko lagi
uchit dress lagaunu bhayeko chhaina”. My proficiency in
the Nepali language deserved no more than a ‘beginner’ rating at the time. Nonetheless, but
I picked up the operative words ‘afsar meys’(officers’ mess), ‘uchit’(correct),
‘dreys' (dress), and ‘chhaina’ (not). My attire - a t-shirt, shorts, and slippers hardly befitted officers' mess etiquette. Entering the mess dressed like that would have been a sacrilegous act, second, only to appearing on parade unshaven! Had any one of the senior officers been present, I would have never dared to such a venture. As it happened on
that day, both of them were away, leading me to believe that I held dominion over the mess for the day. I hadn’t reckoned
with Gulbar Choudhary. Little had I realised that he would swiftly shatter my illusion. There he stood politely admonishing me for my dress (or
undress). The portraits of past commanding officers of the unit that lined the
foyer seemed to scowl down at me disapprovingly. Shame washed over me for I had committed the grave offense of violating the sanctity of the
premises of the First Battalion of The Ninth Gorkha
Rifles Officers' mess with my scruffy attire.
Gulbar was a master of the art of humble confidence. Many officers had come and gone and had been served by Gulbar's capable hands over the two and an half decades that he had been in the mess. I later
discovered that I need not have been
unduly contrite over my misdemeanor. I was not the first officer that Gulbar
had thus ‘groomed’ in mess etiquettes. Nor was I the last to be checked by him. My redemption came about when Gulbar once dared to counter the commanding officer (a virtual demi-god in an army unit). I shall now narrate this singular episode.
It so
happened once that, a dinner party was hosted by the Brigade Commander. I do not
recall the exact occasion, but for some reason, the party was held at our unit
officers' mess rather than at the Brigade HQ officers' mess. As the Commander and our unit commanding officer(CO) stood together chatting, Gulbar
appeared with their respective drinks in crystal glasses on a silver tray. He offered the tray to the commanding
officer first. The Commander was the senior officer of the two and the protocol normally would have been for him to be offered a drink first. The CO
furtively gestured with his eyes to indicate as much to Gulbar. After
the Brigade Commander and the other guests had departed, Gulbar was summoned by the
furious CO. The CO - who preferred Hindi to the regimental language Nepali -
went all guns blazing as soon as Gulbar was in range, “Gulbar tum meri Naukri
kharab kar doge kya?” (Gulbar, are you bent upon ruining my career?)”
Gulbar standing to savdhan but nonetheless calm and confident, the trademark
twinkle never leaving his eyes spoke, “Aapki Naukri kaun kharab kar sakta
hain sahab? Aap toh CO sahab ho” (who can ruin your career sir? You are the
CO). The officers watched with bated breath. Gulbar had surely gone too far
this time. Yet curiosity seemed to have gotten the better of the CO’s fury. To
his questioning glare Gulbar went on to expound “Sahab party brigade
commander sahab le dinu bha thiyo. Hazur party ma guest hunhunthio. Guest lai
pahila drink dinu parchha” (Sir, the brigade commander was hosting the
party and you were his guest). Gulbar’s logic was right on the button and the
CO burst out laughing. That was the quintessential Gulbar - polite, smiling, and yet outspoken.
For all his candour, Gulbar had
a soft heart. There was the occasion of my dining-in party when I had newly joined the battalion as a young wet-behind-the-ears second lieutenant fresh from the Indian Military Academy. I must explain for those uninitiated in military customs that 'dining-in' is a formal welcome accorded to a newly posted officer to the officers' mess. Just as I had got dressed and
was ready to leave my room, a knock sounded on my door. I found Gulbar
there with a little covered bowl and the hint of a smile in his eyes. “Yo khanuhos sahab” (Please eat this sir). In the
bowl was a small blob of butter. I must have looked puzzled – as I indeed was.
Was this some kind of unit tradition that I wasn’t told about? Gulbar said that the butter would slow down the effects of alcohol – which of course, did
nothing to explain anything as far as I was concerned. I was a teetotaller. Running behind time and not
wanting to be late, I did as he said. I gulped down the butter - more to get him
out of my way than anything else. I wasn’t quite prepared for what awaited me
when I arrived at the officers’ mess.
A huge silver cup with a concoction in it. This cup was over a century old and had been presented to the unit by an erstwhile British monarch in the pre-independence era. The cup
contained, I was told, a cocktail of nine alcoholic beverages – the 'nine' being
significant for the Ninth Gorkha Rifles. Tradition had it that a
newly-commissioned officer needed to ‘prove his mettle’ by ingesting this
liquid without separating the cup from his lips. The blob of butter now made
sense. Gulbar had tried to fortify me from being ‘hit’ by this halahala. Of
course, it only slowed down the rate at which I got drunk that night – as I
eventually did before throwing up and passing out.
Gulbar was retiring from the Army. I, like the rest of the officers in the unit, had really grown fond of him.. We invited him
to cocktails at the officers’ mess. This was not as per protocol but what the
heck! We wanted to do something special for him. We received him, and after he
was seated, served him drinks and snacks ourselves. On that day, he was a guest in the
officers’ mess where he had served for years. His eyes were moist – as our hearts were heavy.
The officers' mess would miss its mascot!
