M 1. Robin in my room.............

... A satire about my days in the Army...no offense, but reminiscences of the misplaced "Stiff upper lip"make me roll with laughter..........Enjoy...

Robin in my room…
(A satire from life in the Army)


“Last night, I heard you talking to someone in your room. Who was that?”

“Ma ’am, that’s a robin in my room”.

”What?.. Robin?, Who’s Robin?

“A little Robin Ma ’am.”

“Ha, little indeed! How did he get in there? What was the chowkidar (guard) doing then? Call the Duty Officer!”

“Actually Ma’ am, she fell into my balcony from an overhanging branch. I wonder if the chowkidar had anything to….”

“I said, call the Duty Officer”

“Well, yes Ma 'am”.

I sprint out, cursing (under my breath) the obtuse sixth sense that had prompted me to report the matter to the PMC (President Mess Committee) at the Cadet’s Mess.

I had been posted just 9 months ago as lecturer at the Army college. It was in the afternoon after my 'half day' duty and a sumptuous lunch, when I’d settled down in the balcony of my room, to prepare lessons for my I year students. Having passed out of this very College about seven years ago, my knowledge of Anatomy had gradually dwindled into a blurred image, with the bones and muscles literally merging into each other, and the network of veins and arteries knotting up my brain matter into a confused bundle!. So I sat there, grappling with the origin and insertion of the neck muscles, till I feared I’d end up with a wry neck!

All of a sudden there was a squeak and a thud. Craning my Sterno-cleido-mastoids, I glimpsed a little bird sprawled in the corner of the balcony, flapping her feeble wings (I’m certain it was a ‘she’) and looking dolefully at me. I sat there, rooted to my chair, with bated breath, waiting for it…… to rise and fly. I didn’t intend to allude to Newton, for birds were certainly not apples! Hey wait, the little thing just wouldn’t budge. The force of gravity too much for her to overcome……?

Having made some quick mental calculations, and with quick measured strides, I was by her side in a trice. She offered no resistance as I gently picked her up. In the hushed moments that followed, I had a make-shift nest ready for her - a shoe box with a hole cut in for air and a bed of rag cloth. I wondered if birds drank milk. Anyhow I smuggled some from the Mess, and borrowed a dropper from one of the students. With gentle dexterity, I pried open her tiny beak and fed her some at regular intervals. Then I settled her comfortably in her bed, assuring her that she would be fit to fly off by the next day (I believe, that all patients need this warm assurance).

I wasn’t surprised when I was called for an interrogation the following day by the PMC, as I was accustomed to her night time prowlings. So, as a law abiding citizen, I had reported (truthfully) the happenings of the day that was.

Now, I was back in my room, having sent word for the Duty Officer to report immediately.

“What is he doing right now in your room?” She doggedly held her stand that the bird was a ‘he’.

“Sleeping Ma ’am”.

“What? Where?.. in your room? Goodness $#@*# gracious! Where has all law and order gone?”

I modestly ignored the expletives. “I also gave the poor starving thing some milk”

Milk? Bah! Is he on our ration strength? Obviously no. Then where did the milk come from? Don’t you know the rules?

Duty Officer enters. “Good Morning Ma ’am”

“I just wonder what’s good about the morning! Now listen Miss Susan, this here Ms ---happens to have a guest in her room. Now go ahead and make your inquiries. I want a detailed report by 1100 hrs today. Is that clear?”

“Yes Ma ’am” Duty Officer looks quizzically at the PMC. Exit PMC. Duty Officer turns to me, “Hey Nims, now what have you been up to, guest and all that stuff. Let’s see who you got here.”

“Sue, it’s the bird, the one I showed you last night”. The two of us laugh till our sides ache. Still laughing, we make a bee-line for the balcony, to look at the bird.

The box lies empty, with some bird droppings. We look around for the little bird. Just then I hear a familiar chirp. There she sits, perched on a branch of the jamun tree, flapping her wings, apparently showing me that she was now recovered. Did I see her smile and wink at me? I show Sue the bird, who now looks very well. As we watch, the bird gives a final chirp, flies into my balcony, then dropping a tender twig, soars away into the skies.

I plonk into the sofa and heave a sigh of relief, “So all’s well that ends well”. Sue walks out scratching her head, mumbling, “Now for the report”….

12 Feb 1988