I often remember my first brush with that unforgettable APS personality - the late Maj G M Assey. It was way back in 1949 when after training I had reached the office of my first posting at Uri in Kashmir. I had hardly settled down when a signal arrived asking me to report to the office of the DADAPS which was then being set up at Jammu.

I had to set off on the un-welcome journey back to the plains in an open one - ton vehicle. Travelling over the lofty Banipal Pass and on the narrow and perilous road below it, we reached Jammu transist camp late in the evening next day, completely tired out and covered with thick dust. A bath and some rest being the need of the hour I succumbed to the temptation of staying overnight in the transit camp rather than reporting to my unit.

The next morning I reported on duty to the office of the DADAPS. The office consisted of two tents, a 180 pounder for the DADAPS and an IP tent for his Superintendent and clerks. The officer being out, the typist and I took permission of the Office Superintendent to go to the canteen for a cup of tea and a bit of gossip.

When we returned after a short while, I saw a dark, stocky elderly gentlemen sitting on the stool, which I had previously sat upon, opposite to the Office Superintendent. He was without the regular head-dress and OG shirt and was wearing only the OG pant and a sleeveless white vest. I took him to be a clerk from one of the adjacent offices and walked straight in followed by the typist. As I entered, the Office Superintendent said to that gentleman, " Sir, this is — He reported this morning".

Realisation came instantly that I was standing face to face with the DADAPS but before I could react appropriately the gentleman got up, saluted me and said, "Oh so you are ... if you forgot to salute me, then I salute you." I mumbled my apologies, saying that not having had the pleasure of meeting him before, I had failed to recognise who he was.

Not assuaged by this explanation, he proceeded to question me as to how and when I had reached the station. I gave him the details. He flew off the handle and said to me, "So you didn’t have the courtesy to put in an appearance yesterday or to ring up and tell me that your Majesty had arrived in the station. I am sorry to have this first impression of yours". Struck dumb by this torrent of sarcastic rhetoric, I stood silent before him as I had no wish to add fuel to the fire. Getting no response or resistance from me his wrath began to wane. He said almost soothingly, "I am sorry. I cannot offer you a chair. I haven’t got one myself". Taking the cue I silently stepped out of the tent completely flabbergasted more at the reception I had got than the impression I had given. The future seemed quite ominous for me.

The days that followed demonstrated that the gentleman could be as captivating in words as he could be searing with them. One moment, he would flare up over a minor point and cool down the next and start talking sweetly with his face wreathed in smiles completely forgetful of what had passed just before. Whether he ever changed his first impression of me I do not know, but I had reason to confirm mine that he was a master of flamboyant language.

To him, the unarranged location statement held by the Section Base Post Office was "dogs’ breakfast". The old records lying in disarray in the store room were "foxes’ funeral".

During the months that I worked with him I savoured varying degrees of his magniloquence hurled impartially at all and sundry. I am very grateful to him for giving me a hefty doze of Army idioms which has to this day enabled me to withstand violent verbal assaults.