Indians For Guns

There are some interesting tales and info on Indian Submariners on this website. They had a very surprising Mascot. nice read copied from website below..salute to these brave fellas the real fighting arm of the Navy

http://indiansubmariner.com/welcome-aboard.html

http://indiansubmariner.com/history/009.php

ME I Johnson was a junior sailor onboard INS Khanderi. His Action Post was in the Engine Room. He was also an athlete in his own right, and brought many laurels to the submarine cadre in Inter- Command and Intra- Command Athletic Meets. Being a married man, he was allotted married quarters in Visakhapatnam town some distance away from the naval base. He was a thoroughly popular fellow.

Late one night, while the submarine was in harbor, Johnson was relaxing in his home after dinner and about to go to bed, when there was a knock on his front door. He peeped through the eyehole on the door but could see no one. Opening the door just a wee bit, he heard receding footsteps and saw the shadows of someone running away into the darkness. He opened the door wider and stepped in the middle of the doorway to have a good look around. There was no one about. As he turned to go in, and began to shut the door, some movement not far from his feet, and low on the ground, caught his eye. He stooped to take a closer look and was surprised to see a black round fluffy creature wriggling about. It appeared to be harmless and so he picked it up and took it in to have a good look in brighter light. He couldn’t believe his eyes! First total confusion, and then worry gripped him.

What would he do with this creature? He couldn’t keep it at home. To reaffirm his thoughts, his wife came into the room at that moment, and saw what he was holding.

“Where in heavens did you pick that from? Get rid of it immediately”, she said excitedly. “I won’t have it in my house”. He calmed her down and promised to get rid of it the following day. They had an uncomfortable night’s sleep.

The following morning, while shaving, a possible solution to the problem occurred to him. He would take it to the Submarine Base and give it to the Officer - in - Charge there. It would be off his hands, and their problem thereafter. He followed up this idea without delay, and the fluffy creature was handed over to the Officer- in - Charge of the Submarine Base, with a whole lot of curious onlookers trailing behind him. There was no doubt that all who saw the creature took to it at once. The Commanding Officer called a meeting of all Heads of Departments to decide on the fate of this small creature.
“Let’s keep her as our Mascot” suggested one of them and this was met with whole-hearted support. She was also given a name – Girija !

The dictionary defines the word ‘mascot’ as ‘any person, animal, or thing supposed to bring good luck by being present’! Submariners always needed good luck. So Girija came to stay. One sailor was even detailed off to be with her all the time, to feed her, exercise her, and be her foster mother and father.

She was a very friendly creature. She was gentle and playful and neither timid nor bad-tempered. In fact she was quite at home with homo-sapiens. She quickly settled down to life within the boundaries of the Submarine Base. In the beginning, during her growing years, she was allowed to roam about freely without a leash and without being penned in. Since she had the run of the place, just about everyone in the Naval Area got to know her, or of her existence, and her popularity increased by leaps and bounds. Servicemen from neighboring establishments came over to look at this unusual pet, and the bolder ones even ventured to play with her.

She was growing up well on the diet being given to her – milk, rice, and sugar interspersed with lots of fruits. In a matter of months she grew up to an average man’s height when pulled up and made to stand on her hind legs. She was also running faster than the sailor looking after her, and there were many occasions when he was found panting and chasing her, asking others to help him catch her so that he could take her to her food plate or back to wherever she had run away from. Looking after her was becoming a bit of a problem. It was at this stage that the first restrictions were put on her. She was provided with a leash and collar, and that curbed her exuberance to manageable proportions.

She grew stronger and stronger. Her claws were also growing to lengths too long for comfort. She would not let anyone clip them. There was no one strong enough to hold her back on her leash when she decided she wanted to go off in a particular direction. She was now a very playful, overgrown baby, who did not know her own strength. One day she ran into the ground floor offices of the Submarine Base during working hours and went about disposing paperwork faster than the most adept of staff officers. That was it! A cage was made for her and ‘in’ she went to spend most of the days, to be taken out only for walks early in the mornings and late in the evenings.

It was about this time that someone taught her how to smoke. Through her beady eyes she would watch smokers puffing away and blowing out smoke. Seeing her interest, someone gave her a cigarette at the end of a rubber hose. She took the other end and with two deep puffs finished the entire cigarette! She became an addict and would plead and plead with smokers to part with a cigarette for her whenever she got an opportunity.

One day, one of the submarine engineer officers was returning from his submarine when the Officer - in - Charge of the Naval Base admonished him for wearing a dirty, oily, beret and moving about ashore. He had worked extremely hard that day, and a ‘ticking off’ was the last thing he wanted. On the spur of the moment, he removed his beret and flung it. It went into Girija’s cage. Girija promptly picked it up, sniffed it, chewed on it, and ate up the beret! There were many similar incidents that occurred – too many to recount. She was a fascinating creature who kept everyone spellbound with her antics.

Soon the day arrived when the Submarine Base was to be commissioned as a full-fledged establishment. The usual flurry of activities preceded this event, one of them being a proper parade. Girija the Mascot was also readied for the event and positioned next to the Quarter Deck with a chain and collar round her neck.

She lived for only about two years, which was far short of her life span. It is said she died pining for a companion from her own kind. She was buried in the Submarine Base where her gravestone is still carefully preserved to this day. You don’t get mascots like her very often. She was a handsome, black, gentle, Sloth Bear.

ngrewal wrote: It was about this time that someone taught her how to smoke. Through her beady eyes she would watch smokers puffing away and blowing out smoke. Seeing her interest, someone gave her a cigarette at the end of a rubber hose. She took the other end and with two deep puffs finished the entire cigarette! She became an addict and would plead and plead with smokers to part with a cigarette for her whenever she got an opportunity.

She was a handsome, black, gentle, Sloth Bear.

Nice story ngrewal.
Here is another one. From one of the infantry battalions of the Indian Army which one of my uncle's happened to Command many decades ago.
They had not one but two bears with them. Both born of the same litter. One male and the other female who were later named "Raja" and "Rani". The mother , for some reason had abandoned them. So the "Paltan" adopted them and raised them to adulthood. They were never caged and roamed around freely in the cantonment. Never injured a human , and moved with the Paltan on posting where ever they went. Lived a long and happy life.
Also had an addiction . Both the bears would walk into the bar exactly at 7 p.m. and have a bottle of beer each. This was a daily routine. The bar would open for the officers only after the bears had finished.
Unlike Girja . When they died . Their skins were sent to a famous taxidermist (at a time when hunting was legal in India) and they now adorn the walls of the Officer's Mess along with the other Shikar Trophies. I visited the mess a couple of years ago.

Prashant

Thats a nice one - wish they had them stuffed but a wonderful story -


Check this lion story with a South african special unit - its scary hilarious

You can see him here
http://catmancando.blogspot.com/2011/02 ... -camp.html

http://thewhiteou.blogspot.com/2010/05/lion-lust.html
Sniggers

"I'm going to turn in," said the Liaison Officer.
"Yeah, don't let the bugs bite," said another soldier. I was too drunk to hear the sniggers.
I staggered back to my basha, kicked off my boots, flung my clothes into the corner and collapsed on top of my sleeping bag wearing just a pair of underpants. It was too hot to sleep under any sort of covers. After smearing my body with mosquito repellant, I lay back and listened to the sounds of the Namibian night.
In the distance I could hear hyenas; nearer a par of jackals called to each other. Through the open door of the basha the sky and stars were clear as crystal. The moon was full and so bright you could almost read by it.
This is as good as it gets, I thought as I drifted off into a peaceful, alcohol-induced sleep.
That is until I was woken by a male lion attempting to have conjugal relations with me.
I woke with a start as the creature jumped onto the bed on top of me. Waking up and smelling a lion's breath is not good for one's health, but when said lion attempts to have sex with you, its far worse than waking up with an ugly woman you can't remember meeting in the bar last night.
I did the only thing I imagined to be appropriate at that moment - I faked an orgasm and then began to scream. The more I screamed the more amorous the lion seemed to become. Hell, I was turning the b@$*@*d on! Finally with a grunt and a look of satisfaction on his face, he left, wandering out of the basha.
Gingerly I felt to see if I still possessed all of my limbs. Then the shock of what had just happened hit me and I wanted to vomit and release my bowels at the same time.
And then I heard those recce bastards, laughing worse than the hyenas I'd heard earlier and the bloody lion was standing there amongst them, being petted.
"I see you've met Terry," said the RSM.
"Ja, he really seems to like you," said someone else said and they all collapsed and fell about on the ground screeching.
It seems that Terry, the amorous lion, was found as a cub. I'm not sure of the circumstances, but he was brought to Fort Doppies where he was raised as though he was a house pet. He was fed from the kitchen, given beer from the bar and generally became one of the manne. He was never caged and was free to wander as he pleased. As he grew older he developed the habit of roaming during the day and returning to the base at night where he would search for a basha whose occupant had forgotten to set up a barricade, Then he would proceed to show his affection in that special kitty kinda way.
Sometimes Terry would disappear for a week or two at a time as he lived a schizophrenic existence of tame and wild lion.
"Ag, no man, I'm sorry we forgot to tell you to put your kit across the entrance of the basha," said the RSM and everyone collapsed again.
Though we'd shared a special moment, I still hated that lion. I was scared as hell of him. The power of that beast was phenomenal and sometimes as I watched him rough and tumble with some of the troops, I wondered when he'd cross the line and it would no longer be a game.

Good stories - both.