The Captain's Chair

	THE CAPTAIN'S CHAIR
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By Lieutenant Commander Neil Gadihoke

The author was commissioned into the Indian Navy on 01 July 1990. After specialization, he has been the SCO of INS Sujata, INS Ranvir and the commissioning SCO of INS Mumbai. He has been on deputation to Russia for DATS of INS Trishul and INS Tabar. He is presently an Instructor at the Signal School.

All seafarers attach unparalleled sanctity to the bridge of the ship. It is from this 'eye' that the ship is controlled and helmed. The cynosure of all eyes on this sanctum is the Captain's Chair. It is he, and only he, who can adorn this 'throne'. There exists no written orders or regulation on its occupation, nor is it formally taught, but is an unwritten commandment. Some foolhardy blunderers do try their luck to usurp, at their own peril. The sleek corvette was on a sortie in the Bay. Middle watch being the usual uneventful one, the OOW (Officer Of the Watch) at first stood restlessly on his tired legs. Extended action stations right through the day had drained him. As the heels creaked and muscles ached, he could resist the temptation of the heavily cushioned chair no more, and took the plunge. A few moments later, the 'de-facto' Captain was comfortably settled in the 'forbidden' chair. With the needs of the flesh satisfied, his spirit soared. The probability of the 'old man' visiting the bridge for a surprise check was nil, as he had not exhibited any such tendencies even once in the span of his command. The envisaged undisturbed occupation made the stay in the chair all the more sweet. However, this night, Mr Murphy was up to his dirty tricks. In the middle of the watch, the otherwise restful 'old man' arrived on the bridge, for reasons unknown. The blissful OOW refused to take even a modicum of hints that the assistant OOW and the TP operator gave by the traditional cough, clicking of heels, dropping of pencils, etc.

The Captain was aghast at the cheeky belligerence of the youngster, and paused briefly before proceeding to the chart table. Gazing at the chart of the Bay in such circumstances did not make much sense, probably he was buying time to work out his reaction on this unprecedented transgression. After a moment of deliberation, in his trademark gentle manner, he called the OOW by his first name. The occupant was jolted out of the blue and too stunned to react in any manner. Hell was expected to break loose any moment now, as all on the bridge geared up for the blast. However, taking the OOW aside, the Captain conveyed in a soft tone that he did not mind his chair being warmed by the young man, but what bothered him was the message that was going down to all in sundry - AOOW, QM, Sideboy, TP Operator, et al. Uttering these pearls of wisdom, he departed. Never was an OOW more embarrassed and abashed than this brash greenhorn. There are no marks for guessing that this miserable being who continued to sweat profusely till early morning was me. A finer lesson on bridgeman-ship tenets has yet to be imparted with such poise and in so few words. Even though nearly a decade has passed since the faux pas, whenever I encounter my erstwhile 'old man', be it on a leisurely sea side walk or in the northern latitudes of Russia, my heart still skips a beat before stabilizing. And it goes without saying that during the innumerable middle watches since, 'yours truly' has maintained a nervously safe distance.