Like the rank and file of the civilian world, I'd only read about 'Esprit de corps.'
But all those Second World War bestsellers we drew our ideals from didn't say anything about the strong feeling of oneness percolating into the homes of the brave.
In my mind it stayed among the officers and men, binding them together, as it should, for what they faced was a matter of life and death!
Then I married into the army and began to experience 'regimental spirit' first hand and realised that it filtered down to the families as well.
Accustomed to being something of a loner, this constant bonding and the strong community feeling soon began to grate.
Obviously, my discomfort showed for I was lectured to in cantonments across the country about how lucky I was to have become a part of the regimental 'family.'
Already strained and reaching saturation point with the new family strains, which I visualised like a mass of proliferating viruses in a petri dish, I squirmed with unease at the thought of yet more 'family!'
As a member of the generation that inspired the I-Me-Myself-ers, I didn't need this 'esprit' if it meant my independent spirit was in any way endangered.
And endangered it was -buffeted from every side like a ship in a storm of camaraderie that I could do without. I would be all set to lounge in a caftan with a book and the doorbell would ring.
On the doorstep would be a gaggle of good natured wives eager to pull me into their midst for a game of golf or a shopping spree or just for a natter.
In the course of those meetings, a lot of information was shared, but I'd be on a flight of fancy, thinking of how to avoid another day of conviviality, and eventually I was left to my own devices.
Leaving its mark
But not before the group had wormed its way into my life and left its mark. While our country relived the 25th anniversary of a World Cup victory, I recalled watching the match in the Mess (none of us had television at home in those days).
I was dangerously outnumbered as I rooted for Viv Richards. When my face lit up as he started batting, they switched off the television and piled onto me, questioning my patriotism, judgement and everything else they could think of.
After the melee, when the match was switched on again, he was out, and the tide had turned!
Most of us were broke by mid-month, laughing over our loans, grumbling about the system and the commanding officer - who could be your husband or mine, it didn't really matter!
We didn't see eye to eye, there were often more opinions than there were people, arguments were long and sometimes serialised, picking up where we left off when we met again, but with a little affection and a lot of tolerance, we muddled along. In times of sorrow, in times of celebration - we had a solid wall of comfort and companionship.
It didn't matter that individuals were posted out often. Eventually, they came back to the parent unit, and in the interim, there were others to get to know.
New faces, different interests, and varied backgrounds didn't detract from the glue of the group and we took it for granted that we'd be there for each other.
When the corporate world beckoned, we thought the glitz and glamour would effortlessly replace the old spit and polish, and we'd gel well.
We weren't prepared for the solitude of the PC, the eternal e-mailing instead of speaking, the frequent save-my-skin attitude rather than watch-your-colleague's-back, the dissatisfaction with the payslip in relation to someone else's, and other intricacies that make it a minefield, more dangerous than the battleground.
But hope is not lost - maybe if we're here long enough, we'll find that there also exists an Esprit de corporate!
Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.
