The time I was the Ass on the Horse Track!

Growing up in the 70s and 80s of Clement Town, the British era Cantonment in Dehradun, was fun. It was enriching too, in so many different ways. The more I look back, the more I marvel at how wondrous a place Clement Town and Doon were in those days.

There was always so much to do by way of extracurricular, academic and cultural pursuits. On most days after School, I would ride my bicycle to the Golden Keys Club, 15 minutes away from our house, for a game of Table Tennis. Around the year end, we would have Jam Sessions at the Club with a whole lot of dancing, music and merrymaking.

On alternate days I was coaxed by a very pushy Mother and cajoled by as stubborn a friend, who was a local Diving champion, to pull out my costume and ride to the Army Swimming Pool or the one at IMA, the Indian Military Academy. I hated those evenings. I hated getting into my costume, even though Ma tried to lure me into the activity with pretty looking two-pieces in Burgundy and Scarlet.

I was sorely put off by the shower we had to take before getting into the Pool and I was always irritated with the IMA instructor who would coach me on how to stay afloat. Though I loved to see my friend dive from the highest board, I kept cooking creative excuses to get away from the ordeal of swimming.

On the other hand, I loved cycling. My cycle (and later my Hero moped in the more grown up years) was my ticket to freedom. I would cycle to our old Barrack Bungalow where we lived during my father’s posting. Just across the Bungalow was and still is Dakota, the military aircraft that had crash landed here during the ’71 War and had been installed in the same spot as a piece of war memorabilia.

So I would cycle to Dakota, climb into its womb and play a game of hide and seek, then I would cruise down to Kala Ground, where the Army Parade took place and pedal beyond to Parry’s Estate to a friend’s place for the most enchanting snack time. The friend’s mother baked lovely cakes – chocolate, vanilla, plum and made the most heavenly mint-cucumber tea sandwiches that we washed down with squash.

I would cycle on the clean Cantonment road, ring the door bells of sundry houses and scram for life before getting caught by the irate occupants, just as the Famous Five would do in all those Enid Blyton books that I devoured.

I would cycle down the slope, pedal free, to the edge of the Cantt. before it hit the boundary of adjoining villages and gather wild flowers in my basket. I would cycle along the Lake or little brooks close to our house, take a pit stop to catch my breath, throw tiny white pebbles into the clear water and look out for little marine life, a tadpole here, a small fish there or a frog croaking away on the sidelines.

But the single most favourite activity that was right after my heart was Horse Riding. I begged my mother, till the cows came home, to visit the Adjutant Officer and seek a membership for me at the GOC’s Stable. I promised her good grades and better behaviour if she got me inducted into the Riding Club. And she did. From that moment, my love affair with the spectacularly well-bred studs started.

A habitual night owl, from my earliest memory, I began waking up at the strike of dawn, jump out of bed at the unearthly hour of five AM, get ready and speed away to the General Officer Commanding’s immaculately kept Stable.

On the first day itself I was smitten with Raja, the Steed assigned to me. Our first riding lessons entailed getting to know ‘our’ horse better. So, for the first few months, before I got to mount and sit atop Raja, I had to brush his mane each morning, groom him a bit and feed him chana and jaggery.

Gradually, we started developing a connection. He would not grunt, give a sharp shake to his head and step away from me anymore. I would like to think that he began to enjoy meeting me each morning as much as I looked forward to seeing him rest of the time. Every day, I waited to get on Raja and ride to my heart’s content just as we saw in the movies. But that was not to be. I had to hold my horses patiently for my instructor’s orders before I set my foot on the stirrup.

Then followed lessons on how to climb the horse! We had to bear in mind what foot went into the stirrup first, how the other leg had to make a half circle to cross over, how one had to hold the saddle and give oneself a fillip to park ourselves on the horse, how we needed to be careful as not to cause any injury to the side of the horse with our shoe or his stirrup or any other way. And very importantly, how we had to be mindful about not getting too close to the rear, lest we were kicked in our jaws!

One fine morning, I rode my cycle to the Stable, greeted the instructor, went to Raja and was told smilingly that I could from now on sit in the Saddle. My joy knew no bounds; I was ecstatic, unable to hold the excitement that had built up over months. For days that followed, we learned to walk the horse, guide him left or right or stop him with the reins, we picked up how to do the trot and then canter. Finally, we were ready to ride!

I guess, I was not always this smart, as I think of myself to be now. For; one day, I wore my Mother’s heirloom, gold watch for riding. Why, you ask me in exasperation, right?? Exactly! I don’t know, other than the fact that I was stupid and made an ass of myself.

During my canter round, a link came loose and it was by the third Chukker that I realized that my wrist wore no watch! My mother’s gold watch!! Gifted to her by my Grandfather as a piece of ancestral jewellery! I could have died that day. No, I should have died and not be answerable to my mother.

As I alighted from Raja with the heaviest of heart, the set of Jawans – we called them all Bhaiya – got to work quietly, diligently, purposefully. Here’s the thing about our Army men – any cadre, any rank, any regiment. You give them a task, from picking out a needle from a haystack – like in my case - to saving lives; they do it with so much passion and sincerity that the outcome is more often than not positive.

A batch of five to six jawans placed themselves alongside and began ‘combing’ the tracks for the watch. I stood by the side of Raja shooting up a million prayers to all my favourite Gods, with unceasing tears rolling down my cheeks. After half an hour of the ‘search operation,’ we had our Eureka moment, as one of the Bhaiyas got up with the slender watch in his hand, a piece of yellow metal that he had managed to dredge out of the bed of amber sand and finest of straw.

A hard lesson was learned that day – of keeping one’s wit about oneself, of trying to be less stupid, of duty and diligence, of gratitude, of pride in our Forces.

I still must learn to gallop, show jump and go cross-country! Perhaps in this lifetime itself!

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