15 January turns out to be Army Day in India, when soldiers’
contributions to the Republic are commemorated.
The key event is televised and I was lucky enough to turn on the TV at
just the right moment. The ceremony
began with an Inspection of the Troops, followed by the Remembrance of Fallen
Comrades, Presentation of Gallantry Awards, a Parade in front of the Chief of Army,
and Manoeuvres.
Thick fog blanketed the parade ground, so, rather than
seeing the farther-away action of the Troop Inspection for ourselves, we received
regular updates on progress from the slightly desperate commentators, “Ladies
and gentlemen, the inspection which is going on on the other side of the parade
ground is not visible. Be assured the XXth
tank unit is now passing.” It made
surprisingly riveting television, interspersed with shots of the near
grandstand, in which superior army types, relatives and keen friends huddled
into their coats, trying not to shiver too visibly.
The Fallen Comrades were remembered in a photo montage
accompanied by an electronic-synthesiser version of Auld Lang Sine. It was a striking effect.
The recipients of the Gallantry awards were from all ranks;
most seemed to have served in Jammu & Kashmir, and to have rescued (or
tried to rescue) other (sometimes fallen) comrades (it was a neat segue from
the previous event). All awardees had
been well drilled: they saluted crisply with bright white gloved hands, marched
in very straight lines, and turned perfect right-angle corners, complete with
knee high jumps at the turn. A couple of
women (?not soldiers) receiving awards were not in uniform – they were each
accompanied by a soldier who did the saluting and jumping for them.
The Parade began with units marching past: each was fantastically
well synchronised, with high kicking, shoulder-high arm swinging and as-one
head turns to face the Chief of Army. There
was a wide range of head gear on display: the expected berets, peaked caps and
lemon squeezers were joined by many different styles of turbans, including several
which had impressive fan-like finishes.
Each unit had a motto; these were reminiscent (in their English translations)
of Tennyson (“theirs but to do or die”), Dumas (“one for all and all for one”),
etc.
Human pyramid: the men sticking out at the bottom are revolving around
their ankles; the man at the top is revolving around his waist
The best part of the Parade was the acrobats-on-motorcycles
unit with which it concluded. These started
small, with a few men (say five) making a small pyramid, but rapidly got more
spectacular: my favourite were the men-on-poles who stuck out from a central
man and who rotated gradually (presumably they are in demand in all situations
where travel sickness may be a problem).
The finale was a giant (?32 man) pyramid jointly riding on nine
motorbikes: I think the men linking the motorbikes have the hardest job.
Giant human pyramid
The Manoeuvres began with rocket-launcher tanks pulling up
and soldiers jumping out and rapidly into action. Largely unnecessary (the fog was still with
us) smoke screen bombs were deployed and hills-hoist type arrangements with camouflage
netting across the top were set up with a director’s chair underneath next to
each tank for the commanding bigwig. The
next step involved small groups of four or five men stealthily (but well tracked
by the TV crew) making their way across the cricket oval in the middle of the
parade ground, taking cover from unlikely objects like massed flower displays. There were even simulated fatalities as part
of the exercise, which mustn’t have been a whole lot of fun to train for.
Taking cover
Just as my chocolate supply gave out the entertainment was
over and it was time to get back to work.
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