India, April 29 -- It was October 1981. As newly commissioned Second Lieutenants, we were undergoing the Young Officers' (YO) course at our alma mater, the Armoured Corps Centre and School (ACC&S), Ahmednagar (now Ahilyanagar), in Maharashtra. The midterm exams had just concluded, leaving us with that palpable mix of relief for those who aced them and a never-say-die spirit for the rest. In those days, the open air theatre at the annex was the social heartbeat of the station. For YOs in the 21-23 age bracket, it was the only place to be. The hallmark of the annex was its informal bonhomie and relaxed camaraderie. That particular Saturday, the draw was irresistible: The Kumar Gaurav and Vijayta Pandit hit, Love Story. Around 40 two-wheelers of every vintage streamed into the humble parking lot. Smart, swaggy YOs representing elite Cavalry regiments made their way in-most heading straight to the open-air bar, the rest to the booking window. The movie ended, spirits were high, and the YOs kicked their bikes into life, roaring back toward their quarters. The evening, we presumed, had wrapped up harmoniously. The next morning, however, our course senior-a rather flamboyant Cavalier-pointed us toward a grim notice on the board: "Use of two-wheelers by YO students is banned with immediate effect." It was a staggering blow, akin to a pilot being grounded. We were now restricted to movement on foot-whether to classes, training areas, the mess, or the town. As the story unfolded, the reason became clear. Two motorbikes, in full acceleration and ridden by officers in "high spirits," had overtaken the legendary Dodge car of the Commandant. The General and the First Lady were also heading home from the cinema. It was a misdemeanor on two counts: Reckless driving and a blatant show of disrespect to authority. Our course senior, who had been leading the charge on his bike that night, looked sheepish. His adventurism had jeopardized the mobility of the entire group. However, we accepted it as a fait accompli of the unwritten army law: The mistake of one is the penalty of all. After a week of literal imprisonment, a brainstorming session was held. We needed to break this debilitating noose. A bright idea from an upwardly mobile comrade was finally approved, despite the inherent risks. The following Saturday dawned. The buzz from the faculty and staff was that the annex would be a dull affair without the usual bike-borne entry of the YOs. The movie of the week was Sanjay Dutt's debut, Rocky. Timed with military precision, five horse-drawn buggies (tongas), summoned at a premium from the Ahmednagar railway station, clattered to a halt at the annex entrance. Forty immaculately attired Second Lieutenants alighted in style and marched toward the bar. This grand entry took place in full view of 300 officers and their families, led by the Commandant and his wife. As we headed back in our newly discovered conveyance after the film, a sense of apprehension hung in the air. What would the fallout be? The next morning, the notice board at the Officers' Mess was as crowded as a JEE results display. The short notice read: "Restriction on use of two-wheelers by YOs is hereby withdrawn. The Commandant compliments the young Cavaliers on an 'out of the box' and innovative solution to the challenge at hand!" Decades later, looking at the global headlines, I can't help but think: If only a similar bit of Cavalry ingenuity could resolve the imbroglio around the Strait of Hormuz....