Five Rupees and Fifty-Five Paise

From the recorded testimony of Lt Gen P.N. Ananthanarayanan, AVSM, SM — Indian Army, 8 Gorkha Rifles

General Ananthanarayanan did not wait for my first question. He opened with a story — “I must tell you a small story as to how I joined RIMC” — and for the next thirty-five minutes the interview was a conversation. He is the first officer in this archive whose route into the College I share almost exactly: a newspaper, a father who took leave to teach, a mathematics paper that frightened us both. When I told him so he said, “Wonderful, wonderful,” and I have left that in.

He was the youngest of five, in a family with no soldier in it, living in the ordnance-factory township at Aruvankadu in the Nilgiris. He found the College in a small advertisement on the third page of The Hindu, which his family did not take; he read it in the evenings at a neighbour’s. He sat the examination at Fort St George in Madras and was interviewed the next day by the Commandant himself. Asked his interests, he said poetry, and was made to recite. He gave them Frost. In November he was found temporarily unfit for sinusitis, and an Army doctor at the factory hospital, Captain Iyer, “took it upon himself to ensure that I clear the medical.” On Christmas Day his father arrived at an uncle’s house in Coimbatore with the news and a kit list. His mother did not want him to go. His father asked him whether he did. He said yes.

He arrived in Dehradun in shorts and a half-sleeve sweater, in January. The fathers were driven away in the back of a Dodge truck, and before anyone could cry properly the cadet captain had the new boys running and rolling. “And that’s how our life started.”

“There are Gorkhas all around, and it was just fascinating.”

How a Tamil boy ends up in a Gorkha battalion is, he says, the College’s doing: the Gorkha training centres were in Dehradun then, and cadets ran past them on the way to Tapkeshwar for boxing. A friend six months senior pulled him toward the 8th Gorkha Rifles; the officer allotting arms could not give him his friend’s battalion and gave him the 3rd instead. “One of the best things that happened to me in my life.”

He joined it in Mizoram, as the only officer on a post with no electricity, a lantern and a radio. The men taught him Nepali at night. He passed both language examinations inside eight months. The point of the language, he says, is not to be understood but to be accepted — “they accept you as one of their own. That’s the best thing that can happen.”

I put to him what another officer of a Gorkha regiment had told this archive: that Gorkhas stop telling you when something is wrong, and expect you to read it off their faces. He confirmed it from Siachen, and then said something harder than I had asked for. A Gorkha’s tolerance of pain is so high that “when he tells you he’s not well, he has crossed that threshold” — and there were times, because of that, when a man could not be got down the glacier in time. His rule, learned from it: if you so much as suspect a problem, send the man down without asking. “Because if you ask him, he’ll say all is well.”

On commanding the battalion he was commissioned into, he reached for an image I have not heard from anyone else: “it’s like you taking birth in a particular place, and thereafter growing up, and then heading that place.” On what an infantryman carries: “it’s not a load that you’re carrying. It’s something you’re carrying to survive.”

The later career came in the same unhurried voice. A Delhi posting he had not wanted and did not understand at first, in which he asked why an army importing cold-weather clothing from abroad could not buy it from an Indian textile industry he knew to be good, and set about putting the two in a room. Two tenures as Commandant of the Infantry School at Mhow, with a corps command between them, and sixteen thousand officers and men trained — among them the first woman to complete the course, an officer from Benin and a mother of three, whom the young Indian officers carried along, “picked up her rice and came and gave it to her.”

Then I asked about the Infantry Museum, which his biodata says he conceptualised and established, and he stopped me. “No — I’ll just put things in the right perspective.” It had been thought of before him, the building stood, work had begun and stalled; what he did was push it, through a pandemic, to “some semblance of finality.” I have printed my question as I asked it and his correction as he gave it. It is the second time in this archive an officer has corrected the premise of a question, and the second time the correction has been the better record.

“There are no grudges against anyone.”

On the last day, after thirty-nine years commissioned and, as he counts it, nearly fifty in olive green, he went blank, spoke without notes, and was glad his mother was there. The next morning he realised he did not have to go to work. Asked what has given him the deepest fulfilment he would not choose — every rank was different, the battalion was the best of it — and then said the sentence I think he had been building to: “What remains is all happy memories. There are no grudges against anyone.”

And then the Keystone. I asked for the one story he would not want forgotten, and a man who has commanded a corps went back to May 1976: a cyclone in Andhra, four days stranded in Delhi, a military compartment, two days without food because the boys would not beg, five rupees and fifty-five paise counted out of the bottom of a bag, a porter paid in a T-shirt, and a twelve-year-old sitting down on the platform at Aruvankadu because he could not stand. “When I tell this story to people, they don’t believe it. But that is exactly what happened.” He added, almost as an afterthought, the lightning that threw him across a bunker on the Line of Control and split the tree above it — and the saying about the bullet with your name on it. “But I always felt that that bullet has not yet been made.”

The feature above is his own choice, made in answer to the closing request and printed as his Keystone. The recording continues past it into advice about my own plans for university, which he offered as “unsolicited” and which is personal to me; it is not part of the record and is not printed. One name in the lightning story is not clearly audible and has been referred back to him rather than guessed at.

I.A Newspaper on the Third Page

InterviewerYou joined the Rashtriya Indian Military College at a very young age. What do you remember of arriving there, and what did the College give you that lasted?

OfficerYou know, I must tell you a small story as to how I joined RIMC — rather, sitting in a place like this, as to how did I even come to know that there’s some school called RIMC. It’s not that I had anybody in the military or somebody to guide. Just that I was very fond of reading newspapers, and I used to make it a point every day to read both The Hindu and the Indian Express¹. In my house, we used to subscribe for the Indian Express. And a very close family friend of ours, they used to subscribe for The Hindu. So in the evening after the games, I used to go to read The Hindu newspaper. And while just scanning through the third page, where all these appointments and things like that are, I found a small advertisement about admission into RIMC. And I thought, okay. Then I suddenly realised that I’m eligible for this, because at that time you had to be just sixth pass to enter seventh or eighth². And I was in sixth standard then. Said, oh, this suits me fine. So I told my dad, I want to appear for this exam. He said, okay, fair enough, go ahead. So I went to the post office next day, got that postal order, sent for the prospectus. The prospectus arrived, and then there was some sample question paper. And well, the math was little tough.

InterviewerI feel the same.

OfficerAnd I said, okay, not to worry. We were supposed to go to then Madras, now Chennai, to write the exam. That was the centre. So my father took a week’s leave to try and teach me maths. And after two days, he felt that, boss, he’s not up to it. I was the youngest at home — we are five of us. So when my father used to shout, obviously he used to get frustrated, and my mother, she used to feel very sorry for me. And then there were two or three times when my father said, I think I must cancel the ticket, it’s a waste of time, all that stuff. But we kept pushing. Well, the day arrived, we set course for Madras. Went to my uncle’s place, went to write the exam in Fort St. George³. We had maths and English. Did whatever little I knew, came back, and next day we had the interview.

InterviewerThe next day?

OfficerYeah, very next day we had the interview, where the commandant of RIMC then, one Colonel H.K.L. Johar⁴, had come to Chennai. So he was one of the panel. I came for the interview, sat down. They asked me, what are your interests? And I said, poetry. So they said, can you recite a poem? And I think I did recite something — that famous one, the woods are lovely, dark and deep, and I have miles to go before I sleep⁵. It was something like that. And then, thank you very much. We came back home, and this happened sometime in the month of August. Thereafter I was continuing school. And suddenly in the month of November, we got a call that, go for your medical to the nearest military hospital. So I went for the medical. I was declared temporarily unfit for my sinusitis. My dad was in the ordnance factory⁶, and the ordnance factory had a hospital, where there was one Captain Iyer, who was posted as a medical officer. He took it upon himself to ensure that I clear the medical. So whatever they did, then again took me for review to the military hospital in Wellington⁷, and then I was cleared.

OfficerThen one fine day — I guess it was the month of December. I was in a school which was January to January, so we had a long holiday from end of November up to February. We had gone down to Coimbatore to my uncle’s place, and I had forgotten about it. And one fine day, my father lands up, if I’m not wrong around the 25th of December, and he says, you’ve been selected. And there was a big bundle which contained what all you’re supposed to bring along — so many shorts, so many shirts, so many vests, shoes, all that stuff. I said, this is a big list. I was excited. My mother was not. She was not too keen to send her youngest son all the way to Dehradun. But my father asked me, you want to go? I said, yes. So then they got down to getting all the stuff together.

OfficerAbsolutely cold. I was wearing just shorts with a half-sleeve sweater, a half-sleeve shirt. And then I meet all my other classmates who had come from all over the country. There was one from Kerala — his father, typical, wearing that muffler and monkey cap. One from Maharashtra, one from Andhra, from Manipur. Everybody was looking lost. So we came to the office, and one by one we were called by the commandant, and he interviewed us. Colonel G.P.S. Waraich⁸ was the commandant, an amazing, amazing gentleman. He only told my father, you know, if your son wants to have masala dosa, he just has to walk into my house. That was the interview. And then we straightaway went for lunch. Just after lunch, all our fathers were put into a Dodge truck⁹ — that was the vehicle RIMC had, not a bus. And we all bid goodbye to them, and some of us had tears in our eyes. But immediately the cadet captain took us in front of the cadet captain’s room, made us do some running, rolling, marching, everything, and we forgot everything. And that’s how our life started.

InterviewerI can pretty much relate with that, because even I came to know through the newspaper — my dad happened to read that piece in the newspaper. From there it was only a month and a half that I had to prepare for the exam. He put me in a coaching centre the next day, and then he took leave and taught me English. Somehow I made it past the threshold, and I ended up in RIMC in the first batch of girls.

OfficerWonderful, wonderful.

Contextual Notes and Historical References

1 · Two newspapers: He read both the Indian Express, which his family took, and The Hindu, which he walked to a neighbour’s house to read after games. The advertisement was in the second.
2 · Sixth pass: Entry to the College was, and is, at the start of the seventh or eighth standard, by written examination and interview, followed by a medical board. He was in the sixth standard when he applied.
3 · Fort St George: The seventeenth-century fort in Madras that houses the Tamil Nadu secretariat and legislature. The entrance examination was conducted there.
4 · Colonel H.K.L. Johar: Commandant of the Rashtriya Indian Military College when he sat the examination. The Commandant travelled to the examination centres to sit on the interview boards himself.
5 · The poem: Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (1923). He recited it, or something like it, to a panel of serving officers at eleven, having told them his interest was poetry.
6 · The ordnance factory: The Cordite Factory at Aruvankadu, in the Nilgiris, one of the oldest of the Indian Ordnance Factories, with its own hospital and township. His father worked there; the family lived in the factory estate.
7 · Military Hospital, Wellington: The military hospital serving the Wellington cantonment and the Defence Services Staff College, a few kilometres from Aruvankadu. He would return to Wellington as a student and, later, as an instructor.
8 · Colonel G.P.S. Waraich: Commandant of the College when he joined. The masala dosa remark was addressed to his father, and was the whole of the entrance interview.
9 · A Dodge truck: A military lorry of American manufacture, common in Indian Army service from the Second World War into the 1970s. The College had no bus; the fathers rode to the station in the back of one.

II.Three Gorkha Centres on a Boxing Run

InterviewerSir, how did you end up in a Gorkha battalion, considering you’re from Tamil Nadu? How did that decision come to you?

OfficerAgain, you see, RIMC had a big role to play in this. From RIMC, I joined NDA in my third chance¹. In between there was a little bit of a hassle — my sister was not keen for me to join. But I was keen, so I did join. Then came to IMA, back in Dehradun. And even when we were cadets in RIMC, all the three Gorkha centres² were there — 14 GTC, 58 GTC, 39 GTC. And when we used to go for boxing practice, running down to Tapkeshwar³ and all, we used to see, oh, there are Gorkhas all around, and it was just fascinating. Initially, in IMA, I was more for the SF⁴. But then there was somebody just six months ahead of me, Jeremy Ismail⁵, who had joined 2/8 Gorkha Rifles. He told me, why don’t you come to 8 GR? I said, fine, and I opted for 8 GR. And then I was told by the person who came to give us the choice of arm, sorry, son, I can’t send you to 2/8, but I will keep you in 8 GR. And that’s how I joined 3/8 Gorkha Rifles⁶. I think that was one of the best things that happened to me in my life.

InterviewerI’ve interacted with him as well, for the same thing I reached out to you for — a very warm person. So you read, write and speak Nepali. How long did that take, and what changed in how your men dealt with you once you had it?

OfficerWhen you join a Gorkha battalion, after fourteen days in the centre you straightaway go. When I went, my battalion was in field. We were in Mizoram⁷. So I was straightaway sent to a company, to one of the posts where you’re the only officer, rest are all men. And at that time there was no electricity in those posts. There was only a lantern. Other than that you had a radio with you. So you had to spend a lot of time with your men — when you go for patrolling, when you go for ambushes — and the rest of the time you’re always with the men, and you are the only officer. So being with them over a period of time, slowly I picked up the language. And our boys are so good, they were more than willing to teach you. They used to come at night, come and talk to me. And by virtue of studying in RIMC, at least your Hindi is a little bit okay, so it made it that much easier. Then you have to clear your lower Nepali and higher Nepali⁸ within three years. I straightaway, after I think eight months, wrote my lower Nepali exam and then my higher Nepali exam. What is most important is learning the language of your men the way they speak it. If you can speak in that same colloquial manner, you connect much better. And they accept you as one of their own. That’s the best thing that can happen.

InterviewerAnother officer in this archive, from 9 Gorkha Rifles, told me that Gorkhas stop telling you when something is wrong, because after a while they expect their officer to know from a man’s face. Was that your experience too?

OfficerYes. The tolerance for pain of a Gorkha is very, very high. This I noticed when we were on the Siachen Glacier⁹. In that type of rarefied atmosphere, those icy heights, everybody develops something — a mild headache, something or the other, because obviously it’s not the best of conditions. And normally you tell people, listen, if you have a headache which is troubling you, please let us know, so that we can move you down immediately. But a Gorkha — his tolerance for pain is so high that when he tells you that he’s not well, it means he is really not well. He has crossed that threshold. And there have been times, because of that, we have not been able to evacuate that person on time. The reason he won’t tell you is because he feels that if you are there, he has to be there around you. And that is why it’s so important for you to look at them, to constantly keep engaging with them, and look for those signs. The moment you even suspect there’s a little medical issue with him, straightaway, without asking him, you need to just send him down. Because if you ask him, he’ll say all is well. He will never agree he has a problem. That’s the uniqueness of these Gorkhas.

Contextual Notes and Historical References

1 · Third chance: Candidates may sit the National Defence Academy examination several times within the age limit. He was selected on his third attempt, in 1981.
2 · Gorkha training centres: The regimental centres where Gorkha recruits are trained; GTC is Gorkha Training Centre. Dehradun has been a Gorkha station since the nineteenth century, and the Garhi cantonment was home to Gorkha centres in his school years. Some have since moved.
3 · Tapkeshwar: A cave temple to Shiva on the Tons stream on the western edge of Dehradun, a few kilometres from the College and a standard route for cadets’ runs.
4 · SF: Special Forces — the Parachute Regiment’s commando battalions.
5 · Jeremy Ismail: The name is given as heard in the recording. An officer of 2/8 Gorkha Rifles, six months his senior; the editor has also corresponded with him for this archive.
6 · 3/8 Gorkha Rifles: The 3rd Battalion of the 8th Gorkha Rifles — the battalion he was commissioned into on 15 December 1984, served in through his regimental years, and later commanded.
7 · Mizoram: In 1985 the Mizo National Front insurgency was in its last phase; the Mizoram Peace Accord was signed in June 1986. Company posts were isolated, without power, and manned by a single officer.
8 · Lower and higher Nepali: Officers of Gorkha regiments must pass two language examinations within three years of joining. He passed both inside his first year.
9 · Siachen: The glacier in the eastern Karakoram held by Indian troops since April 1984, the highest battlefield in the world. Altitude sickness is the principal killer there, and its early signs — headache, loss of appetite — are exactly what a stoic soldier conceals.

III.Every Place Is New

InterviewerSir, you have served in every operational theatre of the Indian Army. Setting the operations aside, which of those places got under your skin, and why?

OfficerThe beauty is, once you join your battalion, you serve with your battalion all over, and every day you are also growing in seniority. When I got commissioned we were in Mizoram, and I was just a second lieutenant — a post commander. Then we came to Dehradun and I became the adjutant¹. Then again you become a company commander, then I got posted to NDA as an instructor and came back to the battalion. Then I went for my staff college and went as the BM² of an armoured brigade. Again came back to the battalion. But every time there’s a change, and all these are different places. That’s the reason it’s so exciting. You never get stale. Either you’re growing or you’re moving. So there’s nothing called mundane. Everything is new. The LC³ is new. When you went to Siachen, that’s new. The high altitude is new. Counter-insurgency is new. Every place is different. But the best memories are when you’re in the battalion, because that’s when you’re with the men, you’re in direct connect with the men. When we were on the line of control in a very difficult area, as a major I was a sector commander⁴. The battalion headquarters was far away from me, and there were two companies. I was the senior company commander, so I was the sector commander, and I had to take decisions. The type of responsibility that dawned on me — it’s really something which everybody craves.

InterviewerSir, you commanded your own battalion. What is different about commanding the unit you were commissioned into and grew up in?

OfficerWhen you get commissioned into an infantry battalion, the best thing that can ever happen is to command your own battalion. Because it’s like you taking birth in a particular place, and thereafter growing up, and then heading that place. A commanding officer is like God in the unit. He’s everything for the men. He’s their MS Branch, he’s their Adjutant General⁵, he’s everything for them. So getting commissioned into a battalion and commanding the same battalion — you have seen the men growing with you, you’ve grown along with them. By virtue of your education and all that, mentally you grow much faster. But when you see them, the comfort levels are so high. They have seen you grow. They know what you are. You know what they are. There’s nothing to hide. And they respond to you that way. It’s so beautiful.

InterviewerSir, what does an infantry soldier carry, physically, and what does that weight do to a man over twenty years?

OfficerAn infantryman always carries his basic infantry load⁶. It includes his rations for survival, it includes his ammunition, it includes his weapon. When you go out on patrolling, when you go for ambushes, you carry your battle load with you. When you go on route marches, long-range patrols, you carry your battle load with you. And it’s so important that even as an officer, you carry your own load. That becomes part and parcel of you. Your weapon becomes an extension of your arm. Your rucksack — you always feel so comfortable with it. That is something that goes along with you. And it’s not a load that you’re carrying. It’s something you’re carrying to survive. So you never look at it as a load. That’s the reason, even if it is five hundred kilos⁷, more or less, it doesn’t matter.

Contextual Notes and Historical References

1 · Adjutant: The captain who runs a battalion’s day-to-day administration and discipline on the commanding officer’s behalf — the first appointment of real responsibility in a young officer’s career.
2 · BM: Brigade Major, the senior operations staff officer of a brigade, normally a major fresh from the Staff College. He held it in an armoured brigade, outside his own arm.
3 · LC: The Line of Control in Jammu and Kashmir.
4 · Sector commander: On the Line of Control a battalion’s frontage is divided into sectors; where two companies are deployed far from battalion headquarters, the senior company commander commands the sector and takes decisions that would normally go up to his colonel.
5 · MS Branch and Adjutant General: The Military Secretary’s Branch manages officers’ postings and careers; the Adjutant General’s Branch manages personnel, discipline and welfare for the whole Army. His point is that, to the men, the CO is all of these in one person.
6 · Basic infantry load: Weapon, ammunition, rations, water and personal kit. A full battle load in Indian service runs to twenty-five or thirty kilograms before anything is added for the mission or the altitude.
7 · Five hundred kilos: Hyperbole, and printed as said. The point stands without the figure.

IV.Delhi, Mhow, and the Museum

InterviewerSir, you were commended for creating an environment in which industry could talk to the military. What was wrong with that relationship when you arrived, and what did you change?

OfficerAfter I completed the course at the National Defence College¹, I was posted to the MGO’s Branch, the Master General of Ordnance², to an appointment called DDG GS&C — Deputy Director General, General Stores and Clothing. My appointment entailed procurement of special clothing and mountaineering equipment for the Indian Army for super high altitude areas, for Siachen and all. When I took over, I didn’t have much of a background. I had never served in Army Headquarters; in fact it was the first time I was serving in Delhi. So it took me a little while to understand the nuances. Then I realised that we were importing a lot of equipment. And I felt — this was around 2015, 2016 — that India has advanced so much. As far as technical textiles are concerned, we are very good. Why is it that we are importing so much? Why aren’t our manufacturers able to make these items? So I reached out to the industry, to the Indian Technical Textile Association³, spoke to them, and we said, let’s have an exhibition. Let’s get all the industries to showcase what they have, for the Army to see what it can use. And we will tell you what equipment we are using, what the parameters are, and if you can produce something like that, why should we import? That’s the time when indigenisation was on in a big way, and thanks to the MGO at that time, General Ravi Dhowan, and even the Defence Minister, Manohar Parrikar⁴, who gave a lot of push for this. So that brought about this constant interaction with the industry. And let me tell you, even today they interact with me, though I’m nowhere in the chain. It’s more out of that type of bond which we established. For whatever reason they seek my advice, I tell them, listen, I’m retired now, I’m beyond all this. But still they come to me. So I feel good about it. I really feel that we have done something good for the organisation.

InterviewerSir, you trained around sixteen thousand officers and men at the Infantry School, including soldiers from friendly foreign countries. What did the foreign students see in the Indian Army that Indians tend not to notice?

OfficerI had two tenures at the Infantry School⁵. I first went there as Commandant in August 2019. I was there for a year and a half. Then I went to command the corps, and I came back as Commandant for another one year, eight months. So I’ve had a longish time there. The foreign students who came for the YOs course⁶, or for the courses for other ranks, were basically from the friendly foreign countries. The Indians were head and shoulders above them. But what was important was to take them along, to make them feel a part of this, to create that bonding — so that tomorrow they are the ones who are going to be holding high positions in their countries. I used to keep telling the Indian officers, it’s important that you make friends with them, teach them, spend time with them. And the foreign students always looked up to Indian Army officers. Mind you, I’m not only talking of these friendly neighbouring countries. Even when an Indian Army officer goes abroad on a course, be it the US or UK or Australia, everybody looks up to them, because they have proved themselves. In fact, for the first time we had a lady officer, from Benin⁷, an African country, do the entire course. Mind you, she was a mother of three. And these young officers made it a point to take her along with them everywhere. There were times when she was not well. They used to go pick up her rice and come and give it to her. They never let her feel that she would not be able to do it. These are memories they will always have.

InterviewerSir, you conceptualised and established the only Infantry Museum in the country. Why did you think it was needed, and what was being lost that a museum could hold?

OfficerNo — I’ll just put things in the right perspective. This Infantry Museum⁸ was something which was thought about before. It was already set up in some manner when I took over. It was already conceptualised, the building was ready, a certain amount of work had already been done. Now, the fact is, it’s easy to create a structure. What’s more important is taking it to some sort of culmination. Initially there’s always this interest, but then it dies down. So when I went there, I found that the interest had died down, things were incomplete, left as they were. It needed a big push. And let me tell you, COVID⁹ came in the way — the workers all had to leave. But despite that, I managed to reach some semblance of finality. And when I went back on my second tenure, I pushed it as much as possible. Though, a museum is always in the making. It’s a living museum — new things keep happening, so you have to keep adding on. But the base is there, things have been put in place. When you visit it, you’ll realise that some semblance of finality has been achieved. And I’m pretty happy about it.

Contextual Notes and Historical References

1 · National Defence College: The senior-most course in the Indian system, at New Delhi, for brigadiers and their equivalents, on national security and strategy.
2 · Master General of Ordnance: The Army Headquarters branch responsible for equipping the Army — procurement, provisioning and the supply chain. Clothing for extreme altitude, from Siachen suits to boots and tents, fell to his directorate.
3 · ITTA: The Indian Technical Textile Association, the industry body for engineered textiles — the fabrics that go into protective clothing, parachutes, tentage and the like.
4 · Dhowan and Parrikar: He names the Master General of Ordnance of the day and Manohar Parrikar, Defence Minister from November 2014 to March 2017, as the push behind the drive to make in India what had been imported. Both names are given as he gave them.
5 · The Infantry School, Mhow: The Army’s principal training establishment for infantry officers and men, in Madhya Pradesh. Its Commandant is a lieutenant-general. He held the appointment twice, with a corps command in between.
6 · YOs course: The Young Officers’ course, the first professional course an infantry officer attends after commissioning.
7 · Benin: A West African republic. Officers from friendly foreign countries attend Indian courses under defence cooperation arrangements.
8 · The Infantry Museum: The Infantry Research Centre and Museum at Mhow, the only museum in the country devoted to the infantry. The question put to him followed his written biodata, which credits him with conceptualising and establishing it. He corrected the premise in his answer, and his correction stands here over the biodata.
9 · COVID: The pandemic lockdown from March 2020 fell within his first tenure as Commandant and stopped construction.

V.Hanging Up the Boots

InterviewerSir, you retired after thirty-nine years. What was the last day like, and what has the time since been like in Chennai?

OfficerThe last day was obviously very nostalgic, because if you add your time in RIMC and NDA and IMA, it’s almost fifty years you’re wearing uniform¹. And when I say uniform, I’m talking of military-related uniform — in RIMC it is not a school uniform, it is the olive greens. You always feel there’s still a long time to go before I hang my boots. You keep thinking that. And finally the day has come. To a large extent you go blank, because you’re so overwrought with emotion. A lot of thoughts keep coming — how things have improved, how you yourself have grown, where you started and where you have reached. So you go through the motions of farewells, and then you have to give a speech. I always believed in speaking from my heart; I never had a prepared speech. And when you do that, your inner feelings come out. But at the same time you want to show the world that you’re happy with what you have achieved. It was great to have my mother also there, and the family around. You look back and say, oh, damn good. And the best part is, the next day you realise, I don’t have to go to work. I can no longer wear the uniform. You have literally hung your boots, and suddenly you realise you have a lot of time, and you don’t have to rush for anything. So you enjoy that moment also, because that’s the time to reflect. Then slowly you move to where you have to move, and things fall into place.

InterviewerSir, which aspect of your service has given you the deepest sense of fulfilment?

OfficerAs I told you, every rank was different. The best part, I would still say, is your regimental service, and commanding an infantry battalion is the ultimate. But in your other appointments — as a brigade commander, a division commander, a corps commander², on staff, as a senior instructor at the Staff College — every appointment has some fantastic memories. It’s very difficult to put a finger on one which is the most exciting. But what is most important is that, having lived through all this, what remains is all happy memories. When I look back at my service, there’s a sense of happiness, there’s a sense of fulfilment. There are no grudges against anyone. And now you feel it’s my time to see what I can give back to society.

Contextual Notes and Historical References

1 · Almost fifty years: He joined the College in the mid-1970s and retired in 2023, after thirty-nine years’ commissioned service. Counting the College, the Academy and the Military Academy, he had worn olive green since he was eleven.
2 · The commands: His biodata records command of an infantry battalion, an infantry brigade, a division on the Line of Actual Control and a corps in the western theatre, besides two tenures as Commandant of the Infantry School. He does not enumerate them himself.

InterviewerSir, with that I have reached the end of my questionnaire, and I’d like to request you to share one story that has remained close to your heart, and that you would not want forgotten.

OfficerI’ll tell you one. We were in RIMC. We were all small boys. At that time I was in class two — class two means eighth standard¹. We were going home. It was, I think, 1976, May. I had to go right up to Aruvankadu². Then you had some cadet going to Vijayawada, two or three going to Madras, two or three going to Kerala. So what used to happen is we used to come to Delhi, and in Delhi they used to put us in the Deccan Express³, where a coach used to be attached for us. Half of it went to Hyderabad, half of it went to Madras, from a place called Kazipet. That is how all of us went home. Now, that year was a year of cyclone in Andhra⁴. RIMC used to shut down for the summer break on the 15th of May. When we reached Delhi, we were told that all trains were cancelled in the south because of heavy cyclone — the railway lines damaged and all that. So there were no trains.

OfficerNow, RIMC gave you a certain amount of pocket money, and whatever money you had left, you took it and went. Normally when we reached Delhi, we used to keep our luggage in one safe, and all of us used to head to Connaught Place⁵ from New Delhi station. Walk down, pick up small, small things from the stands — a T-shirt, something. We used to go eat chola bhature outside, and sometimes watch a movie in that Sheila Theatre⁶, and come back, because the train used to be at night. So we came back, and we were told all trains cancelled. Now we had to stay in Delhi. Fortunately there was a senior who was living in Delhi, so they took us to the National Stadium⁷ someplace, and put us there. We didn’t know when we were going to go. There was no telephone, there was nothing — how do you inform them at home? Nothing. So we kept waiting. Finally, after four days, the train started. There was no reservation. At that time those trains used to have something called a military compartment⁸, so we were pushed into the military compartment of the same Deccan Express. Worst part is, we didn’t have any money with us, because we had spent all our money. By the time I reached Madras, I had no money with me. We had not eaten for two days. And at that time we had that little bit of ego, that we will not beg anybody for food. So we used to only keep drinking water.

OfficerThen I said, okay, fine. I got into the Blue Mountain Express⁹, into a reservation compartment. You had to pay five rupees fifty-five paise reservation charges. So I emptied my bag, put all the coins together, and I just managed five rupees fifty-five paise, and I gave it to the TT¹⁰. So I got a seat. I sat down there, again drinking only water. The train was at eight o’clock, and everywhere, people around you had opened up their typical sambar rice and all that, and that aroma coming on to you. I reached Mettupalayam¹¹, where you had to change to the small train, from broad gauge to the narrow gauge. Now, I had my box trunk, I had a bedding holdall. I didn’t have the energy to carry it. So I took a porter, and I didn’t have any money to pay him. So I said, listen, I have no money. I picked up a new T-shirt and said, this is what I can give you. I gave him a T-shirt. And then I sat in that train, and I reached Aruvankadu station at around twelve o’clock. I just managed to get out of the compartment, and I just sat down. The station master — small place — he knew us, so he sent word, and somebody came, and we went home. And the best part is, I couldn’t eat. Absolutely, I couldn’t eat. It took some time. But what it brought out is that type of confidence — of being able to handle such things on your own, at that age.

InterviewerHow old were you? Ten or eleven?

OfficerProbably twelve, twelve and a half. So when I tell this story to people, they don’t believe it. They say, it’s not possible. But that is exactly what happened.

OfficerThe other incident was when I was a company commander on the line of control. We had a bunker. At that time the line of control was active — there was no ceasefire¹², constant firing used to take place. The bunkers were down below, and just above my bunker there was a huge tree. I was sitting there, the phone next to me, and next to that was another small bunker where my helper¹³ was. Suddenly there was a lightning strike. I felt as if some sort of current was coming into me, and I was thrown — I was just slapped to one corner of the bunker. It took some time for me to shake myself off and get my senses. Then I went looking for him, and he was thrown around thirty metres away, in a state of shock. Then slowly, when we stepped outside, that huge tree was cut, like this. All black.

InterviewerBy lightning? And you were right below it?

OfficerWe were just below it. There are any number of instances where one has had very close shaves. But you only look at it this way — a famous saying was, if there’s a bullet which has your name written on it, it will find you.

InterviewerIt will hit you.

OfficerBut I always felt that that bullet has not yet been made.

Contextual Notes and Historical References

1 · Class two: The College numbers its classes from entry; in his time class two was the eighth standard. He and the interviewer, forty-odd years apart, pause to reconcile the numbering, and the exchange is kept.
2 · Aruvankadu: His home, in the Nilgiri hills of Tamil Nadu, where his father worked at the Cordite Factory. From Dehradun it is the length of the country.
3 · The Deccan Express: A long-distance train from Delhi to the south, which in those years divided at Kazipet in Andhra Pradesh, one portion going on to Hyderabad and the other to Madras. The College booked a reserved coach for its southern cadets.
4 · The cyclone: A severe cyclone struck the Andhra coast in May 1976, breaching railway lines and stopping traffic to the south for days.
5 · Connaught Place: The circular commercial centre of New Delhi, a short walk from the railway station.
6 · Sheila Theatre: A cinema at Paharganj, opposite New Delhi station, opened in 1961 and then the largest screen in the city. It closed in 2019.
7 · The National Stadium: Now the Major Dhyan Chand National Stadium, near India Gate; it had hostel accommodation. A senior Rimcollian living in Delhi found the boys a place there.
8 · Military compartment: Indian trains then carried a coach or compartment reserved for servicemen travelling on duty or leave. Schoolboys in olive green, with no reservations, were put into it.
9 · The Blue Mountain Express: The overnight train from Madras to Mettupalayam, at the foot of the Nilgiris. Blue Mountain is the English for Nilgiri.
10 · TT: The travelling ticket examiner.
11 · Mettupalayam: Where the broad-gauge line ends and the Nilgiri Mountain Railway begins — a metre-gauge rack railway that climbs to Coonoor and Ooty, stopping at Aruvankadu on the way.
12 · No ceasefire: India and Pakistan agreed a ceasefire along the Line of Control in November 2003. His company command fell before it, when exchanges of fire were routine.
13 · His helper: An officer’s orderly, or buddy. He gives the man’s name in the recording; it is not clearly audible and has been referred back to him rather than guessed at.

Lt Gen P.N. Ananthanarayanan, AVSM, SM

A conversation, not a questionnaire

The Shape of Memory

I.A Newspaper on the Third Page

II.Three Gorkha Centres on a Boxing Run

III.Every Place Is New

IV.Delhi, Mhow, and the Museum

V.Hanging Up the Boots

The Keystone

Photographs & Service Record