By Commodore G Prakash, Nau Sena Medal, Retired
THE DUEL
By Commodore G Prakash, NM, Retd
The senior officer breezed into the Chairman’s office as majestically as his small frame allowed. The two stars that normally adorned his shoulders had been left back in Delhi, along with his pristine white uniform. Now, in a light brown, cream and green checkered tweed blazer, with brown leather patches designed to protect his elbows from god knows what, he looked professorial.
From the time he entered the premises of the sprawling establishment his practiced eyes had looked for the visible courtesies that he was used to seeing during his official visits. This time he saw none. No one was present at the gates. Only a minion with a leer made permanent by some dento-facial deformity stood by to receive him at the porch outside the Administrative Block.
However, some unseen entity seemed to have been discretely working to make his entry and further traverse to the Chairman’s office smooth. He could make out the signs. No traffic in his path, despite many vehicles on nearby roads. His road freshly swept, while others not so.
The Chairman was still at his desk as the senior officer strode in. He rose from his chair in slow motion. An incomplete smile developed on his acid face, also in slow motion.
Ignoring the obvious absence of energy, the senior officer fired a flamboyant ‘good morning’ at the Chairman with the power of a Directed Energy Weapon, turned away from the Chairman and headed for the heavy leather sofas at the other end of the room.
The Chairman hadn’t expected this. He stumbled as he hurried around his massive mahogany desk and rushed towards the sofas in panic. He didn’t want to lose the special sofa he had set up for himself among the group of eight.
The special sofa was of a different colour than the rest. Unlike the other sofas in the group, it also had a maroon velvet head rest cover with his establishment’s name embroidered on it.
But the senior officer beat him to it.
His sofa gone, the Chairman settled into a sofa opposite the senior officer. His ear lobes had turned crimson. Tiny blobs of sweat hung precariously on to the quivering tip of his nose. His thin lips pursed, his eyes deep red, he was prepared for combat.
It was a combat to establish ascendancy. An ascendancy, as irrelevant as it was vaingloriously essential between the uniformed and the civilian, in a country obsessed with social stations. An unending vestige of an age old malignancy.
The Chairman fancied himself higher in life than those with two stars. Three stars, he believed, were required to match up to him.
‘Welcome’, he said, sounding most unwelcome.
‘Oh! So, you have done up your office. Looks good. Some productive work at last’. The senior officer was in no mood to waste any time locking horns. He had a return flight to Delhi in a few hours.
The Chairman, who had taken over his job only a few days before, fidgeted in his seat, desperately seeking a counter. He found none.
‘So, how’s the project coming along? Will we have something concrete by the next Board meeting?’, asked the senior officer, with a look that had the power to fling the Chairman onto the wall behind him and pin him there.
The Chairman struggled to respond.
Rescue came from an unexpected quarter. A liveried waiter walked in silently, bearing an elaborate tea service. All gleaming silver.
Phew!
The Chairman’s gaze followed the waiter as he left the room, before shifting to the tea tray and then settling on the senior officer.
The arrival of the tea seemed to have had a great effect on the senior officer. He threw a fleeting glance at the tea tray and then sat up in his sofa. He appeared to be on the verge of making some grave statement. But his attention turned to the sound of a machine revving up outside the building, visible through a side window.
The Chairman too turned his head, watched the machine and waited. Suddenly the noise stopped. The Chairman turned back to the senior officer. But the senior officer continued to gaze silently at the machine. The silence was too pregnant for the Chairman’s comfort.
The senior officer suddenly launched into a tirade on geopolitics and its impact on India.
The Chairman was startled.
Yes, he understood geopolitics. But he also realised that he couldn’t match the senior officer on the subject. He found himself absolutely incapable of chipping in with anything relevant.
What the Chairman didn’t know more importantly, was the lethal competence of this particular senior officer in oratory, especially in the Queen’s language. He could better the best in the world.
The Chairman stopped listening. There was no point trying to.
Here he was, in his own office, with an unwelcome guest, unable to utter a word.
He craved some release. Anything was welcome.
The tea held some promise.
The Chairman decided to drink some tea.
He bent forward and slowly pulled a saucer towards him. Then he slowly picked up one cup, turned it around and placed it softly on the saucer nearest to him. The senior officer ignored the development and kept up his talking.
The Chairman now eyed the little pot that held the hot water.
Just as he leaned across and touched the maroon velvet that draped its handle, the senior officer said something about the effect India’s age old traditions had on shaping the global order.
Oh! Tradition. Indian tradition. Atithi devo bhava and all that jazz.
The mere mention of tradition helped shape the Chairman’s actions. Fighting down his rising urge to rebel, he decided to do his duty as the host. He picked up the second cup, placed it right side up on its saucer and very weakly pushed it in the senior officer’s direction.
The senior officer ignored that too. But the cup being offered had one effect on him. He further up-scaled his English.
The Chairman now reached the pot of hot water with more confidence.
He poured some for himself and looked at the senior officer.
The senior officer appeared to be in a trance. He looked right through the Chairman and spoke with passion. This time, about helicopters for use at sea.
‘No helicopter at sea has succeeded unless it was primarily designed for operations at sea’, he thundered.
The Chairman struggled to figure out as to exactly when the senior officer had shifted topic. He even wondered how unconnected topics were being chosen.
He sat frozen, with no idea what to do with the pot of hot water.
Soon, he gave in to his craving for tea. But before he poured for himself, he leaned across and poured hot water for the senior officer.
This act too went unacknowledged.
The Chairman went through the same sequence in pouring milk and dropping a tea bag each into both the cups.
Only the sugar cubes remained.
Thin streams of vapour rose from the cups. The air conditioner whirred in a half whisper. Noise from a departing aircraft in the distance receded into a dull after sound. The Chairman longed for the English offensive to end. He also longed for his tea.
The senior officer was cruising along as if possessed.
The Chairman gingerly picked up the quaint silver tongs on the tray and held it over the silver bowl that held the sugar cubes.
Before he could help himself, the senior officer attacked.
Two cubes please.
The Chairman had no option. He picked up two cubes, dropped them into the Senior Officer’s cup and sat back, empty.
He had lost the duel.
