Col Brij Mohan Rai Mehta (Retd)
In the crisp discipline of uniformed services, where duty, decorum, and danger converge daily, humour finds its own quiet command. Whether it’s the witty banter between soldiers in a bunker or the light-hearted jests exchanged over get-togethers, humour becomes more than just comic relief-it’s a resilient coping mechanism, a bridge between comrades, and a silent defiance against stress and fear. “Humour in Olive Greens” takes readers into this unique world where laughter wears boots, and every chuckle echoes with courage, camaraderie, and the quiet wisdom of those who serve.
Let me start with a humour which pertains to me. After finishing my basic officers’ course training, I was posted to an infantry unit in a remote high-altitude area of Ladakh and joined them when it was snowing and a cold blizzard was all around in the month of April. I had a receding hairline and was worried that it would come in the way of my getting married. On a wintry, chilly evening after a game of volleyball, our CO, who was a Sikh gentleman, was on a round of the Companies. I was the junior-most officer of the unit and came face-to-face with the CO in front of my Company Commander and Senior JCO. For some unknown reason, I had removed my cap/balaclava, exposing my hairline to the CO, who took exception to my supposedly long hair and asked the OC Company, “Don’t you have a barber?” He got the answer in the affirmative. “OK, then let Mehta make use of him,” much to my chagrin, as a person who had hardly any hair would like to have a haircut in the biting conditions in Ladakh.
Then there is a story of our SL (Special List) Quarter Master in the same region of Ladakh. QM controls all the resources in terms of clothing, rations, fuel, etc. received by the unit, and he maintains a pool of reserves for emergencies. So this gentleman had given strict instructions to his storeman not to issue anything to anyone without a chit issued by him. He had the habit of keeping everyone happy by not saying NO to anyone. But there was a catch and understanding between QM and Storeman. After signing the chit, QM used to write OK and mark a tick. However, if the tick was crossed with a small minus sign or he put a small “T” somewhere or on the reverse of the chit, it conveyed “Terculation,” meaning “Tarkao jitna ho sake” (delay as much as possible). Now the indenter goes to the store and is informed that the requested item is not available, and he is asked to come again and again. After two-three visits, he foregoes the request, and QM is able to keep the indenter happy as well as maintain his reserves till fresh consignments are received.
A soldier went home on leave and was sharing his experiences with his friends and village folks, describing cold conditions in winters at Siachen. He said, “Wahan itni thand padti hai ki hum jo baat karte hain woh bhi jam jati hai!” (It’s so harsh a winter there that whatever we talk about gets frozen!!).
A Company Commander was taking a motivation class for junior leaders of his company. After the class got over, he asked a Jawan, “What is the difference between Fear and Panic?” The Jawan unwittingly replied, “Sir, phear dar hota hai jo hamare level ka hota hai lekin panic unche darje ka hota hai jo officer level pe hota hai,” much to the amusement of the whole class.
When posted at a Brigade Headquarters in Rajasthan, I was tasked to accompany our Commander for a recce of a proposed exercise in backward areas of West Rajasthan. It was about a three-hour drive from the HQ. On reaching the outskirts of a small village, the Commander wanted to have a small break for a cup of tea, which was being carried in a thermos, so we stopped and got out of the Jonga. He saw a man on one side of the road shaving with a small mirror in his hand, and asked him his name, which he replied. The Commander then shot off another query, “Kya kar raha hai?” To this, the man bluntly replied with a harsh tone (which was his usual way of speaking), “Thoddi bana raha hun,” much to our embarrassment. We realized there was no point in asking this illiterate poor guy further, so we got into the Jonga and went slightly ahead to look for a more sensible person who could converse properly.
The Army has transit camps where personnel, especially in forward areas, when proceeding on leave or duty, report before proceeding or returning from home. All movements are registered and are counted towards the start of leave or rejoining from leave/duty, etc. This was applicable more so when the means of communication (road/rail/air) were not developed and they were dependent on transit camps for convoy movements. As a tale goes, at one of the transit camps during evening roll calls (passing instructions for next day’s movements), the CHM (Company Havildar Major), who was from North India, would say in Punjabi, “Jana hai ta dus, nahin jana ta vi dus de” (if you want to go then tell me, even if you don’t want to go then also tell me), much to the amusement of those present.
We were serving at a location close to Jammu in the late eighties where the battalion was commanded by a Sikh gentleman who was a noble soul and soft at heart but a hard taskmaster otherwise. The Second in Command or the 2IC, as he is known in the Army, was a Major from Haryana who was of wrestler build and very sincere and hardworking. The 2IC is the link between the CO and the officers and conveys the instructions of the CO regarding discipline and other matters. This gentleman was a very simple soldier and never wanted to be ticked off by the CO. He was a son of the soil and very cautious not to come into bad books in the eyes of the CO.
There is a saying in the Army that rules are made to be obeyed, and if you break them, you will be noticed and reprimanded. There were instructions that only one person would sit in the front seat alongside the driver in the unit transport. Since the number of Jeeps was limited in a unit, and out of those one was for CO’s No. 1 and the other standby or No. 2. Very rarely would the 2IC in those days get a jeep unless it was available and the duty demanded a jeep for him to maintain the dignity of the unit. So our worthy 2IC was travelling once in a One Tonne Nissan vehicle from unit lines for some duty, and a junior officer asked him if he could also sit, to which the 2IC agreed after much persuasion, as it was against the rules, and the CO had gone somewhere and was not expected early. The One Tonne had barely travelled a few km when they noticed at a distance the CO’s jeep coming from the opposite direction, creating panic. He asked the driver to slow down so that the other officer could jump out, telling him “Kud ja, kud ja” (Jump off, jump off), which was not humanly possible. As the CO’s jeep neared further, the 2IC, realizing that it was risky for the officer to jump down, struck another idea and said, “Jhuk ja, jhuk ja” (lie low with head down), putting his hand on his head and bringing it down to avoid the CO’s glare, saluted the CO smartly when the two vehicles crossed each other, and thus avoided being noticed and a possible admonishment!!
In late 1989, I was posted out to the North East and, true to the Battalion’s traditions, my family and I were given a befitting farewell, including a send-off at the Amritsar Railway Station. We had to travel by a passenger train to Jammu around noon, and the CO and a few officers reached the RS. The train was already placed at the PF, and we were waiting for it to depart. The CO was stoutly built and dressed in Winter Uniform with Peak Cap when a poor village lady with a sack on her head came and, presuming the CO to be a Guard/TT of the train, asked, “Bau Pathankot di gaddi kithon milu?” (Babu ji, where shall I get the train for Pathankot?). The CO sheepishly replied to the woman, and the others present had a sheepish smile, which they could not express in front of the Tiger.
Humour is an integral and ongoing part of a person’s life, whether in civvies or in uniform, and will continue to bring smiles in life.
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