A short story i wrote yesterday....

G.O.C= General Officer Commanding, a very very high ranking officer in the Army, who usually heads an entire Corps or a enitre Command sector...usually of the rank of Lieutenant General or a Major General.
Flag Staff House= The residence of the G.O.C is traditionally called Flagstaff House.
Captain= The juniormost rank (Outside of the Academy- where the Officer is comissioned, and within which he wears the rank of Lieutenant)
Patiala= You dont know THIS???? Fugg off and educate yourself here. It's a nice story about the Patiala Peg!
Lidocaine= A local-anaesthetic your dentist gives you, usually as an injection.
Anyway, here goes....

QUITE AN IMPRESSION

A shadowy figure padded its way through Flagstaff House making its way to the cabinet that held the foreign scotch. A Patiala was hurriedly poured and gulped down. The glass nestled in the clammy hands of a man who had spent a lifetime marshalling anxious subordinates around, and who was now deeply distressed that he could not marshal his own anxieties.

A few more sips later, and considerably less anxious, he remembered a trusted maxim from his days in the Academy- ‘The best defense is a good offense’. Indeed, the figure thought, tomorrow, an impression would be made. He would show who was Alpha Male.

Hardly a furlong away, Srini’s roommate walked in to find him sitting amidst by a sea of books. The G.O.C was coming, he was told, and that Captain Srinivas hoped to make a favorable impression on the big man.

The next morning, the G.O.C was received at the steps of the Dental Center and briskly escorted to the office for tea and snacks. It would help, thought Capt. Srinivas, to establish a congenial Patient-Doctor relationship.

“No time, No time…Lets get down to the deed right away.” the GOC declared. Immediately, he was escorted into Surgery-I, and made comfortable in the Dental Chair.

“I’m just going to give you a small shot sir, it shouldn’t hurt at all.” Capt. Srinivas said cheerily.

“I should certainly hope not.” the G.O.C informed him.

The injection loaded with local-anesthetic trembled slightly in the Captain’s hand. After a deep breath, he proceeded to administer the Lidocaine.

The G.O.C merely grunted and calmly closed his eyes.

“I’d prefer it if you kept your eyes open, sir, it helps to gauge reaction.” Capt. Srinivas said, a bit warily.

There was no response and the eyes shut even tighter.

Injection finished, the Captain moved to pick up the new pair of German Forceps he had had rushed in.

The G.O.C opened his eyes wide this time, stared at the polished steel and quietly reverted to his mother tongue.

A shudder passed through the Captain’s thin frame.

A few deft rotations later, a bit of traction and the tooth was out. Like a proud father, Captain Srinivas held up the bloodied forceps holding an equally bloody molar in its beaks, covered with bits of tissue and a few spicules of bone, for the G.O.C to see. It was precisely at this point that things began to go rapidly downhill.

The G.O.C took one look at the gore being thrust towards him and fought back a fresh wave of nausea and decided the best thing to do was to go ahead and faint. A few moments later Captain Srinivas burst out of the surgery and told the Attendant, “I think I’ve made the G.O.C unconscious.” And then promptly collapsed.

15mins later, in the Recovery Room, both the G.O.C and Captain Srinivas gazed at each other solemnly from neighboring beds. Neither spoke, but both were united in thought.

They had, each realized, made quite an impression on the other.

By,
Dinesh Francis

I submitted this one to the RSI monthly-club-newsletter...will print prolly by july or august. It had to be an Army theme naturally since its an army-club. zogger!

Army Fairy Tales

I’m an Army-Brat. I’ve grown up in Army-stations, and, as with most army-kids, I spent the early parts of my childhood in remote stations…read lots of wildlife, jungle, and plenty of places to go exploring. In other words, every fauji-mother’s worst nightmare.

These were situations that few civilians would face. They were unique to the Defence-janta...and they prompted unique solutions from the maternal care-giver.

What resulted from this innate tendency of mine to disappear in to the nearest patch of shrubbery and my mother’s innate tendency to prevent me from doing so, was a particularly humorous version of reality that my mother wove for me. The warp of fairy-tales and the weft of parental caution were skillfully meshed to create a fabric that was draped around my malleable mind. Protect and steer me it did, and it was very successful too, at keeping my tireless feet from carrying me off in the direction of trouble.

These stories took firm root in my dreamy mind and I considered them gospel truth.

So, the small mud path on the way home from school, that lead towards the jungle, suddenly became the home of a grumpy wolf who hated children. And naturally there was a teensy little shark who lived in the pond beyond the colony. Of course, after the monsoons, snakes used to secretly meet each other behind the big Banyan tree and didn’t want anyone to know of their headquarters. And I knew perfectly well that the monkeys that used to visit our bungalow had a king far away in the jungle who turned little boys into monkeys.

It wasn’t all bogeymen and monsters either. For when the power would go, hundreds of little soldiers would come out of the nooks to guard my room. And if brushed my teeth at night the Tooth-fairy would give me a small gift when the time came for the teeth to fall off.

As time passed, I outgrew these home-spun fairy-tales. I recognized them as cock-and-bull stories; traded them for Enid Blytons and Hardy Boys, and then even forgot quite a few. But I don’t regret them one bit. I still look back on the few that I do remember and have a good laugh. To a fauji-mother, they brought peace of mind and a few extra moments of rest. To a wee-sized brat, they brought hours and hours of wonder and amazement. And they continue to figure in my adult life- bringing humor and laughter.

I’m sure anyone who grew up in wild-cantonnments will have similar stories to tell. They say, Necessity is the mother of Invention. If that be the case, then I owe the Army for living a fairy-tale in my childhood

Corny will get printed...ask Jackie Collins. :)