I looked aghast at my boss. “Youcan’t do this,” I said. “You’ll be late foryour appointment with the PrimeMinister.”

Admiral Ronald Lynsdale Pereira,PVSM, AVSM*, chief of the naval staff,shrugged.

Pereira, accompanied by me, his flaglieutenant (an admiral’s ADC), hadbeen on his way to a meeting with Indira Gandhi when he spotted ayouth staggering along the pavement,an elderly man on his back.

Ordering his driver to stop, Pereiragot out and asked what the matter was.The youngster explained that he wascarrying his sick father to the All IndiaInstitute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS),New Delhi’s premier government hos-

183

UnforgettableRonnie PereiraAn outstanding leader, he was the

Navy’s most loved Chief

By Captain B.R. Sen, as told to Ashok Mahadevan

* Param Vishisht Seva Medal and Ati VishishtSeva Medal. Given by the Government of India fordistinguished service.

lookout for a flag lieutenant. A “flags”is little more than an admiral’s glorifieddogsbody, and although with threeyears’ service in the Navy I wantedsomething more challenging, my COinsisted I try out. So around 8:30 oneevening—the admiral often workedlate—I entered Pereira’s enormous of-fice in Mumbai for an interview.

“Do you drink?” he asked me.“Yessir.”“Smoke?”“Yessir.”“What brand?”“Four Square, sir.”The admiral

grinned. “My brandtoo,” he said. “We’ll getalong.”

Within a week I wason his staff watchinghim run the Navy’smost powerful opera-tional command. Hewas a perfectionist, to-tally focused on everything he did.And he never hesitated to take un-popular measures.

Consider how he enforced therarely observed safety regulation re-quiring all naval personnel ridingmotorbikes and scooters to wear hel-mets. He waited in his car at key spotsin Mumbai’s Navy Nagar and when-ever an unhelmeted rider roared past,he gave chase, forced the offender tostop and impounded his vehicle.

No one was spared, not even theson-in-law of one of his closest friends.As two-wheelers piled up with thenaval police, there was a lot of grum-

bling in the officers mess. But every-one started wearing helmets.

Ironically for a man who was described as “one of the most charis-matic chiefs ever.” Pereira planned tobe either a doctor like his father, or adentist. But World War II changed allthat and Ronnie decided to join theNavy. Commissioned on May 25,

1943—his 20th birth-day—he commandedsmall craft during thewar and in 1947 was se-lected for gunnerytraining in the UK.

Pereira certainly fitthe conventional imageof gunnery officers asspit-and-polish, parade-ground types. Indeed,with his great height,immaculate dress—hehad a special weaknessfor shoes—and boom-

ing voice, he cut quite a figure. Evenmore memorable was his amazinglaugh. Recalls Vice Admiral VivianBarboza: “It exploded around you likea thousand stars.”

But beneath the flamboyance wasa practical, hands-on professional.When Commander Leo Lunel wenton board INS Kuthar soon after Pereirahad taken command, Lunel found thenew CO in the sailors’ bathroom,teaching the men the right way toclean paintbrushes.

Best Ship-Handler. Although agood gunner, Pereira was not thebrightest officer in the Navy nor its best

185

Unforgettable Ronnie Pereira

pital, because he couldn’t afford a taxi.Pereira turned to me. “We’ll take

them,” he said. When I kept protesting,he told me to shut up and helped thetwo men into his car.

Courage and Compassion. AIIMSdoctors looked dazed as the lean, six-foot-two, ramrod-straight admiral, hisuniform ablaze with medal ribbons,swept in and announced that the el-derly man was his relative. Saying, “I’llbe back; make sure he’s better,” the ad-miral left, and we reached Mrs Gandhi’sresidence about 15 minutes late.

I didn’t dare ask the ad-miral if the Prime Minister

was annoyed with him,but even today, nearlytwo decades later, thememory of Pereira’sbehaviour that after-

noon never fails to moveme. Everyone in Delhi, no

matter how senior, was pet-rified of Mrs Gandhi. To risk her wrathfor the sake of a poor, sick stranger! Itwas an unforgettable lesson in courageand compassion. But it was typical Ron-nie Pereira. He always did what he feltto be right—and to hell with the con-sequences. During his three years aschief of the naval staff (CNS), he re-peatedly clashed with powerfulpoliticians and bureaucrats when theywanted to do anything that, in his opin-ion, threatened his beloved Navy. Hegenerally had his way—but only be-cause everyone knew that he’d ratherresign than go against his conscience.

Not that the admiral was a cock-sure know-it-all. If he made a ballsup,

he promptly admitted it. Once, whenhis naval assistant Captain K. K. Kohliwas trying to dissuade him from doingsomething that would have unneces-sarily upset the Defence Ministry, theargument grew so hot that Kohli for-got himself and banged his fist on theadmiral’s table. Immediately contrite,Kohli was about to apologize, whenPereira checked him. “You’re right,you bastard,” the CNS hissed.

“We’ll Get Along.” No wonderRonnie Pereira’s ability to get the ut-most from his subordinates waslegendary. During the 1967 fleet row-ing regatta, INS Delhi’s senior sailors’team won a strenuous race only to betold that they had to row again in 15minutes because, by mistake, they’dbeen entered in the wrong event. Get-ting the exhausted crew to race againseemed impossible, but Pereira, thenDelhi’s commanding officer (CO),gathered them around him. “I knowI’m asking for a lot,” he said quietly,“but the honour of Delhi is in yourhands.” To everyone’s amazement, themen rowed like demons, and whenthey won, Pereira had tears in his eyes.

Delhi, naturally, was cock of the re-gatta that year and the then chief,Admiral A.K. Chatterji, hailed its COas a “born leader.” An entire genera-tion of naval men felt likewise. In a1989 poll of officers, 80 percent namedPereira as their ideal, even though he’dretired more than seven years earlier.

I first met the admiral in 1976. He wasthen flag officer commanding-in-chief,western naval command, and on the

184

Pereira had aprofound res-pect for allfaiths and anyreligious unorthodoxysparked off hisquick temper.

ship-handler. That only made him workharder. After Barboza succeededPereira as CO of Delhi, he found a note-book filled with Pereira’s comments onhis own ship-handling. “What struckme,” Barboza recalls, “was that he wasruthlessly critical of his own actions.What’s more, he did not keep thisrecord secret. Every time he recordedsomething, it was circulated among hisofficers.”

Pereira kept learning, especiallyfrom his mistakes. Once, because ofthe strong tide, he had trouble secur-ing Delhi in Cochin harbour. Seeinghis difficulty, S.M. Nanda, the fleetcommander, came on board and deftlymoored the ship.

Ronnie barely slept that night. Firstthing in the morning, he took Delhiout of the harbour. Then he turnedthe cruiser around and secured herjust as Nanda had.

However, Pereira was less success-ful at overcoming his othershortcomings. He never managed tosubdue his explosive temper. Norcould he stop himself from impulsivelyhanding out money to anyone with ahard-luck story, often imaginary.

In the 1950s and ’60s, Ronnie wasdogged by accidents and ill-health. Once, after he opened anOerlikon gun too soon after it

had misfired, the shell burst, fractur-ing his left arm so badly that it seemedhe’d be permanently crippled. Luckily,the surgeons did a great job. Later,Ronnie developed TB and lost a smallpart of a lung. A lesser man might have

given up, but Ronnie sailored alongbravely and, to his surprise, steadilymoved up.

No matter how high he rose, though,Pereira never lost the common touch.Once, when he was due on board INSPondicherry early in the morning, itscaptain arranged for tea to be servedin fine china. But the admiral said hepreferred a sailor’s mug and happilydrank from a chipped enamel con-tainer.

Pereira married in 1952 and perhapsbecause he and his wife, Phyllis, hadno children the Navy became their fam-ily. They addressed all young officers,sailors and their wives as “son” or “mygirl.” In fact, when, on meeting MrsPereira for the first time, I addressedher as “Ma’am,” the admiral snapped:“Call her Ma.” As flag lieutenant inMumbai I lunched with the Pereirasevery Tuesday, and not once did Maforget to ask me in advance what Iwanted to eat.

Ronnie’s rapport with the youngmade him the ideal choice when hewas appointed deputy commandantof the National Defence Academy(NDA) in 1971. He ran the place likeone of his ships, seemingly every-where, exhorting the cadets to playfiercely, study hard, march smartly.Nothing escaped his attention—it was-n’t unusual for bleary-eyed cadets tostumble into the tea-room at dawn tosee their deputy commandant tasting the stuff. So hard-driving washe, weary cadets joked, that if hebarked “Tez chal” to the Asoka pillaron campus, it would start marching.

186

189

Unforgettable Ronnie Pereira

188

career,” he wrote, “but it will be a greathonour for me.” How could I refuse?

As soon as he took over, Pereiramade it clear that, unlike many ser-vice chiefs, he wasn’t interested in aplum government job once his termwas up. This, he felt, would help checkhim from any temptation to cave in toimproper pressure.

The wisdom of theCNS’s decision wasclearly shown in the caseof the officer who, notmaking it to rear admiral, turned to hispolitical connections forhelp. After Pereira ig-nored numerous hintsfrom the defence min-istry to elevate the man,one of the Prime Minis-ter’s key aides sent theCNS a letter claiming that IndiraGandhi herself had ordered the pro-motion. Undeterred, Pereira wrotedirectly to the PM, explaining why hecouldn’t, in all conscience, oblige. “Thebureaucrats in the Prime Minister’soffice were amazed at the admiral’seffrontery,” recalls Vice Admiral K.K.Kohli. “But the matter was shelved.”

In the decade before Pereira be-came chief, the USSR became theprincipal source for the Navy’s shipsand equipment. Convinced that thismade us too dependent on the Rus-sians, Pereira had begun pushing hardfor Western armaments ever since hewas vice chief. “This showed greatprescience,” says Commodore C. UdayBhaskar, deputy director of the Insti-

tute for Defence Studies and Analy-ses: “By laying the foundation for theNavy acquiring the British Sea Har-rier planes and the German HDWsubmarines, Pereira charted the rightcourse.”

The admiral’s foresight extendedto more mundane matters too. The

defence services hadbeen lobbying hard fora ration allowance butPereira argued that itmade more sense to getthe rations in kind.Many officers felt thiswas demeaning. “It’s aquestion of status,” onetold the chief. “As pricesrise,” Pereira replied,“you won’t be able to eatyour status.” Thanks toPereira, free rations

were sanctioned and officers todayagree that it’s made them better off.

Pereira’s three-year tenure as CNSended on February 28, 1982. The ad-miral decided to go to Bangalore bytrain, and the crowd to see him off atNew Delhi railway station was so enor-mous that you could barely breathe.

The Pereiras settled down in theirnew home “At Last,” and, unable to af-ford a car, the admiral cheerfully drovearound on a scooter. But it was adreadful strain. In April 1983, heblacked out in the blistering heat andran into a kerb. Providentially, it hap-pened just outside the Air Forcecommand hospital and Pereira wasquickly taken inside. Surgeons oper-

Thanks toPereira, free rations weresanctioned and officers todayagree that it’smade thembetter off.

Although being at the NDA meantthat Pereira, to his great disappoint-ment, had to sit out the 1971 war, histenure there is still remembered bymany of his cadets, now senior serv-ice officers. “He had a very clear visionof what an officer should be,” saysColonel Gursimran Singh Malhi, acadet during Pereira’s NDA years.“Above all, he wanted us to be morallyupright like himself.”

Pereira’s integrity was rooted in hisdevout Roman Catholicism. When ontour with him, one of my first jobs wasto locate the nearest church. He nevermissed a Sunday Mass.

The admiral had a profound respectfor all faiths and any religious un-orthodoxy sparked off his quicktemper. Woe betide a Sikh if Pereiracould tell from the shape of his turbanthat he’d cut his hair. Commander A.J.B.Singh recalls Pereira stopping in frontof a young Sikh naval aviator on pa-rade and letting him have it. “Don’tyou have any pride in your faith?”Pereira cried. “How can you insult yourgreat tradition?” The officer was ob-viously upset, but like innumerableothers who’d been roasted by Pereira,took it without demur because of hisrespect for the man.

Early in 1977, Pereira wasposted to New Delhi as vicechief of the naval staff. Sincethe vice chief is not entitled

to a flag lieutenant, I left the admiral’sstaff. But Pereira regularly wrote tome as he did to a number of other ju-nior officers.

“I learnt so much from him,” recallsColonel S.P.S. “Mike” Bhalla, who’dbeen an NDA cadet during Pereira’stenure and who was very close to theadmiral. “He advised me on all kindsof things, from the importance of treat-ing my wife as an equal partner to theneed to accept personal responsibil-ity.” And when Bhalla wrote aboutwhat a good golfer he’d become, theadmiral—a keen golfer himself—replied dryly: “Please remember thatyour handicap does not figure in yourconfidential report.”

Believing that, as vice chief, he’dreached the limit of his career, Pereirastarted building a house near Banga-lore to live after retirement. To helpfinance the construction, he sold hiswell-maintained Fiat.

Being without a car can be a greathandicap in New Delhi’s social whirl,but the admiral used his naval vehi-cle only on official duty. Vice AdmiralK.K. Nayyar recalls Pereira arrivingon his scooter for a party at the Ger-man ambassador’s residence. Whenasked why, Pereira pointed out that itwas a private affair. Very few seniorofficers, Nayyar admits, would havebeen that scrupulous.

The entire Navy rejoiced when thegovernment announced that Pereirawas to be chief of the naval staff fromMarch 1, 1979. The admiral, though, wastaken totally by surprise. He broke thenews to his wife saying, “We have of-ficial accommodation for a little longer.”

I was in Cochin when I got a letterfrom the CNS asking me if I’d becomehis flags again “It won’t be good for your

190

ated on him and the gravely injuredadmiral pulled through.

Soon after, the Pereiras decided tomove to Coonoor. But it took them along time to find a buyer for “At Last”because, characteristically, the admi-ral insisted on being paid the full priceby cheque.

Pereira had always been a heavysmoker and in December 1991, lungcancer was diagnosed. When I heardthe news, I took leave and went to seehim at INHS Asvini, the naval hospi-tal in Mumbai. An elderly Sikh waswaiting outside the admiral’s room,deterred by a “Do Not Disturb” sign.

I took the man in with me. Heturned out to be a long-retired sailorwho’d served under Pereira on INSDelhi. Offering the admiral a bottle,the grizzled veteran said, “Sir, this usedto be your favourite pickle. I’ve broughtit all the way from Punjab for you.”The two men embraced, both in tears.

Ronnie pereira passed away on Octo-ber 14, 1993. Apart from the admirals,generals and air marshals crowding

his funeral service, there were nu-merous ordinary sailors who’d cometo say farewell to an officer they’dloved like no other. As the admiral’sbody was being laid to rest, I recalledthe way he often summed up theessence of leadership: “Love your men,but don’t spoil them. Kick them if youmust. Above all, make them proud ofthemselves, their uniform and you.”

Aye, Aye, Sir.

Twenty-two years after RonniePereira left the Navy, he remains itsmodel of the officer and the gentleman.Says Admiral Arun Prakash, thecurrent CNS: “In a world of slippingethical standards, where our youngpeople desperately seek role models,Ronnie P. has stood out as an iconicfigure of impeccable integrity for threegenerations of Indian naval officers.While we quaked in the knowledge thatany hint of wrongdoing would invokethe admiral’s messianic wrath, thekindness and compassion that he and Phyllis Pereira so often showedearned them the Navy’s lasting loveand admiration.”

B P l o u g h i n g O n

A villager on his first trip to the city was waiting at a bus stop onemorning. After some hesitation he asked a woman, “Which bus should Itake for Mahim?” “Bus No 177,” the woman replied and caught the nextbus. The same evening, the woman found the villager still waiting at thesame bus stop. “Didn’t you get the bus to Mahim?” she exclaimed. “Notyet,” he said wearily. “So far 168 buses have come and gone—eight moreremain before mine arrives.” —c.p. murgudkar