JOGI AT THE IMA

JOGI AT THE IMA

By

VK Singh

After an eventful three years at Kharakvasla, we went to the Indian Military Academy at Dehradun where we were destined to spend another year. As luck would have it, Jogi and I found ourselves in the same Company – Imphal. Due to the sudden expansion of the Academy after the 1962 war, only two of the battalions were accommodated in the Kingsley and Collins blocks, while the rest, including ours, were in temporary hutments across the road.  Most of us were disheartened at the prospect of staying away from the heart of the Academy, but not Jogi. He saw the silver lining that all of us had missed – the litchi orchards that surrounded our barracks.

We had spent barely a week in our new digs when Jogi proposed a ‘litchi’ raid on Saturday night. Finding no takers, he announced that he would commandeer a group of first termers – NDA cadets joined in the third term – and take them along. Knowing that the poor first termers would get into trouble and may even be withdrawn, we dissuaded him and very reluctantly, agreed to accompany him. We entered the orchard without mishap and began plucking the litchis. Unknown to us, the keeper had roused his family and they had surrounded the orchard. He was an old hand who had undergone many such raids in the past, and knew how to deal with the ‘gentlemen’ from the IMA. After filling our satchels we stepped out of the orchard and found a dozen torch lights around us, accompanied by loud shouts “pakro, pakro”. According to our plan, we turned around and ran, each one taking a different route so as to divide the enemy reaction. When we reached the Academy, a muster revealed that Jogi was missing. He reached the company lines in the morning, in royal style, in a Military Police jeep. Next morning, he was marched up before the Battalion Commander and awarded 14 extra drills, which he thought was a small price to pay for the record of being the first GC to spend a night Police lock up. 

Jogi could get along with anyone, including snakes, lizards and spiders. However, he was allergic to horses, and could never understand the equine species. Equitation classes filled him with dread and he tried to feign sickness whenever he was asked to mount a horse. During one class when the instructor was teaching the class how to change from a trot to a canter, Jogi’s mount just refused to comply with his directions. When the instructor had exhausted his patience he rode up to Jogi and asked him why his horse was not cantering like the others. Jogi’s reply was classic, and is still quoted. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask the horse?”

Another incident that I remember vividly was when I lost my jungle hat while we were on camp. The Commandant was to visit us next day so I was in quite a quandary. But Jogi told me not to worry. Sometime during the night he slipped way, and returned after fifteen minutes, with a brand new jungle hat. It had an unmistakable resemblance to the one worn by our instructor, but Jogi refused to divulge its origin. But he did make sure that I sprinkled a fair amount of dirt on it, to make it look old and grimy enough to pass for a cadet’s jungle hat. The next morning, we were surprised to find that our instructor was missing. We were told that he had reported sick. 

Jogi claims another distinction and has a photograph to prove it. He is the only officer in the Indian Army who has taken ‘The Final Step’ with wrong foot. Being the tallest in the course, we were among the last to pass out and enter the Chetwode Hall. As we neared the Final Step, I was horrified to see that Jogi was out of step. And because I was very nervous, and Jogi, beside me, marching smartly as ever, everyone thought that I was the offender!