Mr Bajaj used to assign to us an elegant timing that defined a special breed of clap. “It’s called the scout’s punch clap,” he would say. “When times aren’t in your favour, when you need someone to cover your back, go for punch claps. Remember, if you clap this way, help will arrive in no time.”
On the first bench in class, I wondered what kind of ‘help’ he meant. Still, I clapped. I sang scout songs to the beat. I danced. I coiled ropes. I volunteered. I became a scout. All of us did. Because initially, everyone had been interested in attending his classes. With time, however, the interest waned sharply.
Scouting was funny business. It could be interesting and intimidating, both at the same time. Interesting, because outdoorsy events are always fun to learn. Intimidating and funny, because while Baden Powel had received countless medals of honour, we mostly earned cuts and bruises; one or two proficiency badges at most. Those and a copper woggle to insert the two tips of our rolled scarves in.
And in that duration, I was nearly murdered on a commando bridge. Our instructor had mentioned the rope could carry only one ropewalker at a time. It was tied with reef knots between two trees, and once you were on it, you were 20 feet in the air. When my turn came, Mr Bajaj realised—all of a sudden—that reef knots weren’t reliable at all. He untied the rope first and then tied a thief knot in its place. “You’re next. Be prepared,” he pointed at me.
The moment I put my boots on that rope, the world went kaput. I felt like a turbulent aeroplane in dog fight. The next thing I remember is lying on a hospital bed. They had pierced me with stainless steel needles at so many different points and angles that I felt like pincushion in many ways. A nurse came in every three hours or so to inject vials of pain killers which never relieved any pain. Mr Bajaj’s confusion between the reef knot and the thief knot had left me crippled for two months.
That was the only outdoor event I recall. The rest happened on papers and stories, and hypothetical badges. We flipped through the school calendar. There were exciting jungle trails on Saturdays, camp fires on other weekends, day treks, rock climbing, patrol leader training, cooking, sewing, a never-ending list of ‘never occurring phenomena’.
What occurred instead was someone. A someone who said, “Okay, here’s your rope. Coil it, and tie a knot near your right waist. This triangular sheet of green cloth is a scarf. Insert it through the woggle. Here are your badges, flaunt them as green patches of pride on your sleeves. The cap is tilted; the tilt should tilt towards your left. Now dress up. Be prepared.”
And in that duration, I was nearly murdered on a commando bridge. Our instructor had mentioned the rope could carry only one ropewalker at a time. It was tied with reef knots between two trees, and once you were on it, you were 20 feet in the air. When my turn came, Mr Bajaj realised—all of a sudden—that reef knots weren’t reliable at all. He untied the rope first and then tied a thief knot in its place. “You’re next. Be prepared,” he pointed at me.
The moment I put my boots on that rope, the world went kaput. I felt like a turbulent aeroplane in dog fight. The next thing I remember is lying on a hospital bed. They had pierced me with stainless steel needles at so many different points and angles that I felt like pincushion in many ways. A nurse came in every three hours or so to inject vials of pain killers which never relieved any pain. Mr Bajaj’s confusion between the reef knot and the thief knot had left me crippled for two months.
That was the only outdoor event I recall. The rest happened on papers and stories, and hypothetical badges. We flipped through the school calendar. There were exciting jungle trails on Saturdays, camp fires on other weekends, day treks, rock climbing, patrol leader training, cooking, sewing, a never-ending list of ‘never occurring phenomena’.
What occurred instead was someone. A someone who said, “Okay, here’s your rope. Coil it, and tie a knot near your right waist. This triangular sheet of green cloth is a scarf. Insert it through the woggle. Here are your badges, flaunt them as green patches of pride on your sleeves. The cap is tilted; the tilt should tilt towards your left. Now dress up. Be prepared.”
“Prepared? Prepared for what?”
“It is our motto. A scout’s motto is to always be prepared.” Mr Bajaj came on stage and introduced himself as if he were Brad Pitt and we were all trying to solve the curious case of Benjamin Button.
As major-general during the Mafeking affair, Baden Powell had often used boys (being small and agile) as scouts to spy on enemy movement and enemy land. I don’t know if he had been afraid to do it himself, or if those boys had been easily duped, ready to do anything when the promise of a membership badge had been made to them; just like us. I recall something Mr Bajaj had put on the school notice board.
“It is our motto. A scout’s motto is to always be prepared.” Mr Bajaj came on stage and introduced himself as if he were Brad Pitt and we were all trying to solve the curious case of Benjamin Button.
As major-general during the Mafeking affair, Baden Powell had often used boys (being small and agile) as scouts to spy on enemy movement and enemy land. I don’t know if he had been afraid to do it himself, or if those boys had been easily duped, ready to do anything when the promise of a membership badge had been made to them; just like us. I recall something Mr Bajaj had put on the school notice board.
It read something like, “Anyone who can coil the scout rope properly and elegantly within a minute will be receiving a Dhaulagiri badge next Monday.”
We folks naively took it seriously, tinkering with our ropes, improvising, trying to invent better ways of coiling, all night long. Still, Mr Bajaj never really awarded any badges. His promises were just like his knots; they snapped all the time.
Yes I can coil any rope on earth to a third of its length, any rope humanly possible. And yes I learnt how to feed myself—somewhat like Bear Grylls does on TV—in times of desperation. If stranded on the Amazon basin, I should climb trees of Brazil nut to collect edible mosses and caterpillars from its bark. Even in desolate islands, there exist high calorie juices inside green coconuts that can keep a man alive for two days. If Baden Powell were alive, he would have awarded me the Master’s badge already. Because sadly, in our time, the life of a scout was not about learning and applying skills; it was about accumulating as many badges as you could.
Truth is I only have one membership badge, the lowest one achievable. I never drank anything more natural than Real juice, let alone coconuts. I doubt if I will ever get on an island. In fact, I stopped taking scout classes after my commando bridge incident. Still, as the global protocol says, I am still a scout, because I once was.
We folks naively took it seriously, tinkering with our ropes, improvising, trying to invent better ways of coiling, all night long. Still, Mr Bajaj never really awarded any badges. His promises were just like his knots; they snapped all the time.
Yes I can coil any rope on earth to a third of its length, any rope humanly possible. And yes I learnt how to feed myself—somewhat like Bear Grylls does on TV—in times of desperation. If stranded on the Amazon basin, I should climb trees of Brazil nut to collect edible mosses and caterpillars from its bark. Even in desolate islands, there exist high calorie juices inside green coconuts that can keep a man alive for two days. If Baden Powell were alive, he would have awarded me the Master’s badge already. Because sadly, in our time, the life of a scout was not about learning and applying skills; it was about accumulating as many badges as you could.
Truth is I only have one membership badge, the lowest one achievable. I never drank anything more natural than Real juice, let alone coconuts. I doubt if I will ever get on an island. In fact, I stopped taking scout classes after my commando bridge incident. Still, as the global protocol says, I am still a scout, because I once was.
- Anik Yadav
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