STORIES
FROM WITHIN A BLACK BOX
LT COL NOEL ELLIS
30/XII/2023
Two years back, we finally moved into our own home. It was curtains to
so many hats that one had adorned. Time had come to relax and indulge in hobbies
close to my heart and also reopen our ‘black fauji trunks’ which had been lying
locked for more than fifteen years.
‘Trunks’ were the mainstay during Fauji postings. The complete household
would be stuffed into them. Their numbers increased every year. Every box was
painted black and sequentially numbered with padlocks assigned to each. The
contents of the box were listed in duplicate, with one inserted in the box
itself and the other carried with you for easier redeployment at the next
station.
‘Trunk’ and ‘Key management’ were an art and a science. Box & keys
were meticulously numbered and noted in a diary. Box number where duplicate
keys would be found were inscribed in bold in that diary. There was a method in
that madness which only faujis can understand. The ‘packer and mover’
generation have no clue.
My job took me to work at Bombay after I hung my uniform. It was not a
place to carry that cabudal of boxes and crates. Houses there were smaller than
match boxes. A 2 BHK house on the 18th floor could hold either the
trunks or us. We chose the latter.
Be that as it may. It was time to reopen those boxes. Over these years,
we had misplaced the ‘master diary’ where all details were noted. My friend
‘Uncle Murphy’ always accompanies me, so we had to break open all latches one
by one. Finally, in the 54th box, the keys were located. Now there
was no utility of those boxes. With a heavy heart we decided to dispose of most
boxes and the contents within.
On opening the boxes it was a scene of a horror movie as most of the
clothing had been eaten by mites. Trophies and mementoes were redundant now. We
realised, what useless things we had been carrying all these years. Except for
one trunk, which had books, all the rest were junk.
A bonfire was lit and everything consigned to flames. My NDA sports
shirts, scarf, and stockings which I had preserved since 1981-82 were eaten up
so badly. What I recovered was my personal NDA diary. It contained letters
which I wrote to my father about the daily routine and ragra there, but never
posted them. A treasure of a different kind now.
One trunk contained clothing, including my ‘wedding suit’ and ‘Jodhpuris’.
The Blue, White patrols, SD, etc had been gnawed away beyond repair. My eyes
went moist when I plucked out the brass buttons and set the massacred clothing
ablaze.
Surprisingly, all my wedding dresses were intact. I could never could
fit in them one year after the wedding. Why didn’t the moths touch them is a
mystery! Would I fit in those dresses after 35 years? It was high time to
air and try them out.
A ‘lapel’ affixed inside my Jodhpuri caught my attention. There was a
tag of ‘FREE INDIA TAILORS’. The shop was run by two Sindhi brothers, who had a
very distinct nasal, girlish, shrill and squeaky voice. If you raised your
voice, they could deliver clothes the next day, provided you gave them some
advance. That shop has long gone and so have the brothers. God Bless their
souls.
Moment, you handed over cash, one of the brothers would evaporate for a
short while. When he returned, he would carry an ‘Addha’. It was consumed right
infront of you. I used to carry a bottle of XXX as a ‘tip’ for the urgency.
Invariably, a fauji had to get stitching done at a very short notice. Their
quality of stitching was par excellence, courtesy the liquids.
Lots of water had flown in the Ganges over these 35 years. Lot of fat
had accumulated around my middle. Fauj tried its level best to reduce my girth
but couldn’t. It was after leaving the fauj that one got back into shape. Those
dresses not only fit but have gone loose now.
Yesterday, we went to attend a wedding function. I proudly wore my
Jodhpuri suit stitched three and a half decades ago. This was stitched for my
own reception but somehow could not pick it up from the tailor then. Since then
it had rested in trunk number 31.
One feels so happy to be back in shape. There was a time, when one was
in top shape. At the drop of a hat one could do a ‘hand spring’ or a ‘back
flip’ in the good old days.
What more memories are stored in those black fauji trunks? I
wonder!!!!!!!
JAI HIND
© ® NOEL ELLIS
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