TABLE NO THIRTEEN

“Lucky for some one and three thirteen”, or “Baker’s Dozen” is how the tambola announcers call out this number. The regulars at Officers Institutes are familiar with it, even though they may actually be at the bar busy elbow bending, while the ladies are all ears. Thirteen is considered as an unlucky number and the myth of “Friday theThirteenth” has only reaffirmed the conviction. Hollywood has also played its part by coming out with the iconic horror flick by the same name and making a killing (pun intended). Personally though the saga of thirteen is filled with happy memories, I was married on the 13th Dec then our daughter was born on the same day13th Dec six years later, which incidentally happened to be a Friday. My Alma Mater Rashtriya Indian Military College (RIMC) was raised on 13th March 1922.  So you see, I love the number thirteen.

 This Western superstition probably is probably  rooted in the biblical “Last Supper”, where thirteen people, Jesus and his twelve disciples, were dining. “Paraskavedekatriaphobia” and “friggatriskaidekaphobia” also describe fear of this supposedly unlucky day. Merely trying to pronounce these tongue twisting words is adequate to bring bad luck. 

So “Table No 13”, had to be evil, ex NDAs would recall that whenever the Physical Training Officer (PTO) got up from the wrong side of the bed or was probably denied his morning cuppa, the cadets were subjected to
this inhumanly torture. NDA has a pretty scientific curriculum for physical training with different tables being assigned to the set of exercises. But Table No 13 was just simply “ragda”, a euphemism for the toughening
up which spurred the normally docile PT Ustaads (as compared to their Drill counterparts) into action. A pack of hungry wolves salivating at their hapless prey, some 300 odd cadets at their mercy. At the end of 40 minutes of intense physical training, we were left with bruised egos and limbs as well. 

The PT instructors were a different breed, unlike their drill counterparts who were ubiquitous, literally breathing down our necks. Each generation has had its share of Roshan Lall, Chain Singh Chib or Menon (the Kala Naag “jo apne baap ko bhi nahi chhodta(!)”), hiding behind the bushes, lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce on the cadets on any false move. PT ustaads were actually keen to put us through the paces for the specified physical and swimming standards. So the dive rolls and straight legged back rolls in the initial terms gave way to handsprings in the senior terms, or the chin ups to upper circles and so on for the vaulting horse as well. They were proud of their wards who were gymnasts like, but they made the others, lesser mortals like most of us sweat too to make the grade. 

Swimming test involved a 7 metre jump also, as a mandatory test, where some developed cold feet, while someone got so excited that he forgot to wear the swimming trunk itself and ran to join the squad sky clad, till the PT Ustaad had to remind him to look downwards. On one such occasion one of us had developed such a phobia that he was facing relegation but he refused to take this leap of faith. The PT Ustaad, Naik Ranbir Singh, a Himachali convinced him into just climbing up the seven metre board and wait… not to jump, which appeared to be innocuous enough and so he did, all the time keeping him engaged trying to motivate him. In the meanwhile Sep Thapa, the junior PT Ustaad in  almost  feline-like stealth climbed up right behind the cadet  and pushed him down….. with it went his fear  and he successfully cleared the test subsequently. 

Anyway, how did I think of the dreaded Table No 13 today, actually, we were in the midst of a briefing when the pen fell from the hand of the Chief of Staff (COS). The reflex action to dive and catch it mid air had to be suppressed till one of the back benchers came to the fore and did the needful. Why did this reflex action almost kick in, well the COS was our Academy Cadet Adjutant (ACA) in our second term. So one suddenly felt as though we were back in academy and the refill fell from the hands of the Cadet Sergeant Major (CSM) and the melee which ensued with second termers diving to retrieve it. God forbid if the refill landed on the floor, the second and third termers would be literally trembling imagining the worst. The refills I am referring to were ball point pen refills which we were expected to carry all the time along with nominal rolls and identity slips. I am sure the cadets today would have graduated to better and more efficient ways for getting the parade states. But reflex
actions I am sure would have improved too……else 13 beckons!!!