IDHAR UDHAR KI BAAT 95 - CAPTAIN SNOOZE Brig PS Gothra (Retd)

 

He should be called ‘Sotra’(Sleepyhead) and not Gothra!”
That was a well-meaning complaint from an instructor to my wife once. All she could do there was smile. But on the way back you can imagine what I got from the Inglish wali madam.

See, sleep and I go way back. Like proper childhood friendship.

My mother’s eternal war cry was,
“Uth ja, school ki ghanti bajne wali hai! (Get up, the school bell is about to ring.)”
I’d still be buried in my rajai, ears twitching—trying to catch the faint sound of chaos from across the nallah where the school stood. The goal? Sleep until the first bell. The method? Supreme laziness. The result? Maa’s chappal.

In college, I discovered a new thing, the best quality of sleep is between 4 am and daybreak. Oh, the snooze button! Those ten extra minutes felt like winning the lottery. Occasionally had to miss class as I sometimes lost track of time in that snooze game.

Then came the Academy. Sleep became a luxury commodity. Instructors thought I was paying attention. I was perfecting the art of dozing with eyes wide open—a great sport, if you ask me.

Commando course? Don’t even ask. Sleep deprivation on escape & evasion exercise was so real, even dreams ran away. They handed us a chicken to dress, cook, and eat. I chose sleep over food. Slept hungry. Walked in patrols half-asleep. Only woke up when thorny bushes smacked my face or someone’s rifle butt met my chest like an old friend.

Tea spills on bed sheets? Countless.
Snoring while sitting? Check.
Sleeping in a cattle shed or graveyard or a heap of stones or filthy places? Done and dusted.

But something changed during actual operations. I stopped sleeping in operations—totally. It wasn’t fear. It was that annoying, relentless sense of responsibility.

Then came Staff College. Big stage. I was caught off guard once in a lecture. Instructor asked me a question mid-snooze. Fellow officer gave me a nudge. I stood up like a gentleman, cleared my throat, pulled down my jersey woollen OG, straighten my backbone and said,
“Sir, can I have the question again?”
The class exploded. Instructor told that to my wife. Uske baad meri neend haram ho gayi (I lost my sleep there after).

Never slept in class again.
Well… until I went for Higher Command Course, without taking my wife along. Then I upgraded my skill — sleeping while listening.

One day, a General, taking a lecture on “Moral and Ethics,” thought he’d caught me napping. He asked loudly,
“That Sikh officer with specs—Do you think there is something wrong with the Indian Army?”
I stood up, rubbed my eyes, and calmly replied, “Sir, the Jarnails.”
No one disturbed me again.

But now, sleep’s revenge has begun.
Last week, I stayed awake the whole night wondering why they made their Army Chief a Field Marshal. He will demean the rank.
Another night vanished thinking why our R&D in defence hardware crawls slower than our babus.
Last night, I tossed and turned over the 21 earthquakes in Karachi (Kuchh to gadbad hai).

I went to a civil doctor for help. He gave me a long-winded explanation about hormones, neurons, and serotonin levels.

I stared.

Suddenly he asked, “are you a retired fauji?”

I said, “Yes.”

He tore the prescription, wrote a fresh slip and said, “Sir, have two pegs of whiskey every day.” 

I have got the slip laminated. 

 

Notes :- 

1. Please do narrate your adventure with sleep.

2. If it brought smile do follow. The  button is on top.