" To Russia and back " by Cdr Tushar Dutt

" To Russia and back "


“Ya tak khachu stobi letho ni kanchalas,
Rejoinder –“No unhas zdecb,bcegda letho”!
…popular Russian song of the late seventies
(“I wish that the summer never ended…
Rejoinder- “But for us here (in India), its always summer”!)
‘When are you off to Russia, Tushar”? –“Am in no “Rush yaar”, was the instant retort.
After a delay of almost two years and numerous farewells including a final one at the Bombay airport, we flew into Moscow, thoroughly exhausted. It was mid January ’79 in the thick of winter. Anxious mothers had clothed the children in multi layers turning them into robots, whilst some adults resembled the stuffed files of the ministry. Post an overnight hotel stay at Moscow, we were flown to Sukhumi, and finally driven to our destination—Poti. Poti is a Black sea port, in the currently troubled state of Georgia, once the stronghold of Stalin. However, the prevalent chorus then was,--“Lenin, Engel, Marx”.
Here we were to train for a powerful warship, first of its class-- the Rajput, being built in the Soviet Union. Rajput was to set the trend for the future ships of the navy, besides proving a lucky ship, turning out a large number of admirals.
The inordinate delay in our departure was due slippage in the shipbuilding program. Both the ruble and the cold war doctrine had begun to thaw, possibly making way for the inevitable perestroika. However, all this was not going to affect us directly.
Accommodation being scarce, single officers and the sailors were housed within the naval base, in the ’paykayze’-- basically an accommodation ship without engines, but tow able. Officers with families were housed all over the town-- in hotels, guesthouses, dorms, etc. Captain and the heads of departments also stayed in the base. Both Captain Hiranandani, (codenamed Hira / diamond) and the Executive officer, Commander Ravi Vohra were seasoned, steely seafarers, perfect gentlemen and future admirals. In the existing somewhat difficult conditions, all the married officers and families took turns to feed us home cooked meals and make our stay comfortable. We had talented cooks amongst the bachelors too, who took care to see we did not sleep hungry, as dinner used to be served rather early, at 6 pm.
As our stay was reduced to just under a year, the training and instructions, all in Russian, began in real earnest the very next day after the customary briefing and introductions. We used to have classes Monday thru’ Friday from morning till sundown, with a two hour lunch break cum siesta in between. Training had indeed begun without warning. We used to be extremely busy through the week getting to know the equipments and systems. Only on the weekends would we visit the town.
It was still winter and Poti had little to offer, besides the kiosks selling Piva (beer) in mugs, which invariably smelled of garlic. The local folk, the Gruzins seemed to have a distinct Turkish stamp in their looks, behaviour and talk, possibly owing to the proximity across the border. They were openly anti Russian, but loved Indians, our movies and songs. “Mera jootha hai japani” (song from‘50s classic, Shree 420) was their favourite.
The summer months, July until October, were comparatively lively. Poti would be flooded with tourists from the cold north. The restaurants and the ‘plaash’/beach would be full. Besides occasionally calling on the married officers, our main haunt during weekends was the ‘More’ Vagzal’—‘Sea Terminal’, a restaurant scenically located on the jetty. Here we spent many an evening in song and dance sipping wine or champagne eating fried kalbaza (oversized salami slices), luliya kababs (tough, unmarinated roasted lamb/sheep meat) along with radish and cucumber salyonka (pickled in vinegar) -- what a fare! Occasional ‘surprise’ pulled out of the pocket was mildly tanned raw fish, considered to be the ultimate Russian delicacy. Times we had no choice but to join the locals in the customary celebration toasting, which was basically a shot of vodka chased with wine or even champagne-- potential‘ Molotov’ cocktail, if one was not careful. Despite all, we mostly got back to the base in time and keep peace with the duty officer. Times we even heralded our entry into the base with Russian and Georgian songs, to put him at ease. I recall an incident while returning one evening, we were ‘accosted’ by a number of black robed Georgian families who insisted that we join them for a feast .We soon discovered it was a funeral congregation. We were asked to sing our hearts out, as only then the dear departed’s soul would ‘rest in peace’. We were getting late, but looking at the countenance all around, we had little choice but to heed to their request. They kept toasting and topping our glasses, whilst our songs grew louder by the minute. Finally after singing ourselves hoarse, we took leave. They thanked us profusely -“You have indeed feathered his grave, he is smiling in heaven’’! This excuse proved too tough for the duty officer to handle.
Winter once again descended on Poti. We managed to finish all instructions, training and sea sortees by mid December as planned, ready to return back to India. The journey to Moscow was by rail, ‘manned’ by uniformed, belligerent looking lady conductors, reminiscent of the James Bond movie. We stayed a couple of days in Moscow, enjoying the attaché staff and the snow clad city’s warm hospitality, at minus 7 degrees Celsius. New Year’s eve, we flew back to Bombay, somewhat downcast. However the Captain on board the flight, an ex Air force officer uncorked some champagne and spread good cheer. We landed in Bombay on New Year morning, albeit late for the celebrations, but glad to be back—
“Akhir phir bhi dil hai Hindusthani”! (Indian at heart, after all!)
Tushar Dutt,
Commander(Retd),’91
tushar.dutt49@gmail.com
Mob:91-11-9811112030