This is a classic navy midshipman story—where orders were given freely, but results arrived only with rank. In an earlier post, we’ve spoken about trees and hierarchy—how the Services quietly remind you where you stand. But for a group of Midshipmen at sea, that lesson came in a far simpler form… a humble egg on the breakfast table.
There is perhaps no rank more confusing—and more humbling—than that of a Midshipman in the Navy. You are no longer a cadet, not yet an officer, entitled to a salute from sailors, and seated in the Officers’ Mess.
And yet… everyone knows exactly how much authority you don’t have.
Especially the steward.
A Navy Midshipman Story from the Wardroom
We were seven Midshipmen onboard a frontline warship, trying to navigate this strange in-between existence. We wore the uniform, sat in the Wardroom, and spoke just enough to stay out of trouble. At that stage, learning was mostly silent—and hierarchy was anything but.
Every morning brought with it our first “executive decision” of the day.
Breakfast.
Bahadur, the Wardroom steward, would arrive with quiet ceremony.
“Sir… eggs to order?”
This was our moment. Our one unquestioned command. And we treated it with all the seriousness it deserved.
“Spanish omelette.”
“Scrambled with cheese.”
“Poached eggs.”
“Half fry, no oil.”
Each of us would declare our choice with confidence and imagination. Bahadur would nod respectfully, take note, and disappear into the pantry.
A few minutes later, he would return.
With seven identical plates.
Masala omelette.
Every single time.
No variation. No explanation. No appeal.
We protested in the beginning. He would listen patiently, nod once again… and the next morning, repeat the exact same performance.
Eventually, we understood. The EXO’s morning muster on the forecastle waited for no Midshipman.
So we adapted.
We ate.
Silently. Respectfully. And unquestioningly.
Years passed. Uniforms changed. Responsibilities grew. Confidence matured. And one day, I found myself wearing the rank of a Lieutenant.
Same Navy. Same Wardroom. But a very different place in the hierarchy.
And as fate would have it—so was Bahadur.
On the first morning, he approached with the same familiar question.
“Eggs to order, sir?”
This time, I decided to test history.
“Sunny side up… on buttered toast.”
I waited. Almost certain of what was coming.
A few minutes later, Bahadur returned.
Placed the plate in front of me.
Perfectly done. Exactly as ordered.
I looked at the plate. Then at Bahadur.
“Bahadur,” I asked, genuinely curious,
“what changed? You never got this right before.”
He leaned in slightly, lowered his voice, and said:
“Sir… I always got it right for the person who mattered.”
He paused, then added with a knowing smile—
“I can’t take chances with you now. You’re my leave-approving officer these days.”
And just like that, years of naval hierarchy were explained over breakfast. Like this navy midshipman story!
We had spoken of trees and hierarchy before. But on that ship, the lesson was far simpler—served quietly on a breakfast plate, in the form of a humble egg.
Lesson Learned
Orders were always given.
Results… came only with rank.
Acknowledgement
This story is shared with gratitude to Cdr. Satish Kumar Yadav (Retd), Indian Navy, whose experience beautifully captures the lighter side of life in uniform.
Note
The images in this article are AI-generated and used for illustrative purposes. They are symbolic and do not depict real events or individuals.
Share your Story
Have a story from life in uniform that deserves to be told? Here is a platform for you!
Fauji Tales is built on real experiences—moments of humour, courage, and camaraderie that often remain within the fraternity.
If you have a story to share, we would be honoured to feature it.
Please visit the Share a Story section on the website to view simple guidelines and submit your story.
Pass it On
Because some stories deserve to travel beyond the mess and the memory. Share it among your coursemates, family groups, fauji groups etc
