The Colonel in my life

After I failed to clear the colour blindness test, I had to give up my dream of flying. I chose to join the Army instead. With colour blindness not being an impediment in joining the Army, I was not ready for the shock, when the doctors told me I had "Heart murmur" and can't join the Army. That was the first time I ever heard the word, forget about knowing what it meant! I was stupefied. I was fit like a cat having played cricket till the under-19 level. There was no way I could have had a heart problem.

That's when I remembered my new friend. On my way to Delhi for the medicals, I met a cardiac surgeon in the Rajdhani Express. He was with the BM Birla Heart Research Centre, Calcutta and was on his way to Delhi to attend a conference. We got talking and became acquainted. I remembered while giving me his visiting card he had asked me to approach him for any help. That's what I did! And help, he did, in large doses. I took the Rajdhani back to Calcutta, having managed to cajole the TT to let me travel even though there were no seats available. The TT perhaps realised my plight and let me in. I stood at the vestibule gate for the entire sixteen hours that it took to reach Calcutta. Over the next couple of days, the doctor friend conducted many tests and comforted me that I was alright. He encouraged me file for an appeal. There was a slight regurgitation of impure blood back into my heart, but that should not impede me from performing any military duties. I filed an appeal with the Medical Board along with all the findings. Those days doctors from BM Birla had far reaching reputation and commanded great respect. After two agonising weeks I received the letter. Finally, it was triumph!I won the appeal. The doctor friend is another good Samaritan, I will never forget in my life.

That's how I landed up in IMA, Dehradun in a cold January morning. But even before I could finish my training, I got badly injured and landed up in hospital. The doctors at the Command Hospital, Pune diagnosed my condition as IDK or internal derangement of knees. After a good six months in hospital and a series of operations later, the doctors said my problem can't be fixed! I was medically boarded out of the Army. Was I distraught? You bet I was. The journey back home was painful as I realised it was the end of the road for me as far as a career in the services was concerned. But back home my folks were happy - they never liked my idea of joining the defense forces in the first place. They started impressing upon me about the 'divine intervention' that was saving me time and again. The atheist in me paid no heed to the emotional atyachar. I started wondering about my future when I received a letter from the SSB (Services Selection Board) asking me to join the OTA (Officers' Training Academy), Madras. OTA passouts joined the Indian Army under Short Service Commission. The letter lifted my spirits, but also left me bemused at my luck! Of course, this ensured a battle at home. One that saw my folks invoking names of all possible gods to prevent me from heading back to the Army. But Gods never ruled my thoughts and in the end I was on the train to Madras to give it one last try. 

The first five months in OTA followed the rigours and the routine. I was able to sustain the grind. Just when I started thinking about the commission, the knee problem relapsed. It started off as a small niggle, but progressed into a massive swelling, leading to hospitalisation. This was where I first met Colonel (Dr.) Manoharan, the then Adjutant of Military Hospital, Madras. His expert eyes and constant grill easily pried out the history out of me. Once he learnt about the IMA episode, he wasted no time in asking for my file from the HQ. He had a bewildered look! This was the first time he met someone who managed to re-enter the Army after being medically boarded out! He was bemused by the facts of my case, possibly even doubting my version at times.

Col Manoharan was livid at the doctors who handled my case at the Command Hospital, Pune. It was a mistake committed by them which lead to this mess up. The doctors at Command Hospital, Pune assigned a wrong category while medically boarding me out. Instead of assigning the permanent disability category, they put me under the temporary category, that was revocable. Once the time elapsed, the system generated a call letter for me! Col. Manoharan was categorical: I can't be out there serving the Army. I just did not have the knees to sustain the rigours of an Army life. But he was kind enough to acknowledge that I was a victim of someone else's callousness. He was the doctor who finally signed off the papers and medically boarded me out of the services, for good. He assigned me a 40% disability category that meant I was permanently barred from the services. But it also ensured that I became eligible for disability pension, which was rightfully due to me, as the injury was accountable to the service. Col Manoharan wished me luck as I took his leave to walk out of the MH. I held no grudge against him. He played fair. But this is where the story takes a twist!

Years later, I landed up in Cochin to pursue my MBA. When I joined BPL Mobile in Cochin in 1997 to start my corporate career, I had no idea that this city will play such a critical role in my life. That year BPL Mobile was sponsoring a fund raising event hosted by Raksha, a local NGO, which worked among children with multiple disabilities. As Brand Manager, I was responsible for liaising with the NGO on a day-to-day basis. I was coordinating with The Executive Secretary of Raksha, an attractive young lady. Business acquaintance gave way to friendship, followed by years of courtship, finally playing cupid in 2002. Muthamma Devaya, Muthu to her friends, was the antithesis of what a lady stood for in conservative Cochin. She was bold and did not care to conform to the norms. Me, being me, I was the hardcore non-conformist. It always took two to tango. Thus started the Devaya-Sen family journey! I hope to write my 'two-states' some years later. I can bet it will be far more fascinating! 

Muthu comes from a half-coorgi, half-malayali family. Her maternal side is from Kerala. Few years into our marriage, at a family get-together, I was recounting my OTA experience when, Mano mama, my wife's uncle, upon hearing my story, sprang up from his chair! As it turned out he was the Col. Manoharan of MH, Madras, who boarded me out! For him the OTA episode was one memorable experience, which he story-told many times over. As the seconds passed by, we just kept looking at each other and then embraced each other in a big hug. Col. Manoharan is now the Mano mama to me! Typical fauji banter followed and Amma, Mano mama's sister, wondered about the quirkiness of it all! I had landed up all the way from OTA to Cochin and then got married to a girl who belonged to the same doctor's family, who sealed my career in the Army!

The many seasons that filled in the decade and a half that passed by, made it difficult for me to recognise Col. Manoharan, even though we crossed paths several times at family functions. And I had turned from a flagpole thin Gentleman Cadet when he last saw me, to a paunch flaunting corporate executive. There was no way he could have recognised me.

Today, Vishnu, Mano mama's only child is married to Tulsi, my wife's favourite cousin from her paternal side. The Colonel is now bonded in blood. We share a great camaraderie between us due to our shared fauji past. He was the one who made me a pensioner when I was barely twenty-four! At times, we wonder how our lives have twisted their courses to bring us back together! It had all started from Pune, where Mano mama now spends his retired life. He will forever remain the Colonel in my life, though I love him more as the Mano mama I know him as.