Hillside View

I am writing this from my desk just as the rain beckons me to leave my chair and enjoy the march showers of wellington. The thunder sounds its roar, as if to keep time with the beat of this composition that they both seem to be working on. I never knew it rained in mid march in the Nilgiris, its as they say here... simply beautiful. I have been here for a year, after so many years and i am glad i am part of this ensemble. I am listening to music, catching up with ole friends on the net and feeling alive. 

In a few days I leave for Delhi, a city i believe lacks character. It is as if each invader that came in left behind the worst in him. Invaders not necessarily from History. Even my brethren from the north who came looking for a dream are included. Delhi can never be Mumbai, although, Mumbai has its own share of Morons.

I like the Hills!!! Something so special and happening. Even when the rain is pouring down on us like never before. Its nice to be in the quilt of comfort, with yr loved ones rolling around in bed with you. That is why I like the hills.

I also like the hills because I love to fly low in those valleys when ever I get a chance. I have been in valleys where the smoke from the hut told you, the Shepherd is there. How many shepherds from history can one count, who marked time on some mountain, waiting for gods will. 

I have seen school children look down at me as my aircraft rushed passed that assembly. The jet sound having long dispersed any trace of a prayer. The kids would run to the edge of the hill as if to keep a date with a secret friend who would come around now and then...flying a fighter they only saw in the torn pages of the schools only book shelf.

I have seen the innocence of a solider standing guard at a post way up in the hills. His Rifle up in a grand salute to this brother who comes and goes once in a while. He wonders whether i have seen him as he salutes my presence. i wonder if he realized that the last roll i did was to acknowledge his salute. See how wonderful the hills are.

My Flyboys

One of my friends just posted a photograph of my flying course of the Air Force on the web. One look and i was transported to a time where it all started. The Air Force Training Team of the National Defense Academy... two decades ago. In the picture, I see the faces of so many of my friends, so many aspirations and dreams, so many beginnings. Each one wanting to make the grade and fulfill some promises that he must have made back home to his family, as we ventured on the this trip called life. The idea of making it on your own, with no help from home, was the essence of the times we grew up in. 

The fact that we all graduated from the AFTT and stepped in to the IAF, was no mean feat. We had our lows and our highs and the fact that we were told a million times that a pilot can't be second best. So many of us got punished in that grass field called a glider dome, for not running behind the glider as and when it touched down because it had only one wheel and the wingtips would touch the ground.. So we had to run along and hold the wing as it came to a stop. So many of us tried to make it to the small temple, Gurdwara, Mosque, Church tucked away in one corner of the Academy, every Sunday, to ask the good lord to bless us and keep our instructor in a happy mood....Who says aviation and an aviator wasn't born each day in that sweltering heat. I forget the number of times we watched the Tom Cruise & Kelly Mc Gillis starer "TOPGUN". each one secretly hoping that we would replace him in real life. 

I miss the ones that are there in the picture but not with us today. Some passed away within the first few years of training, some suffered accidents and ejections and left the force. Some just moved on in life, having decided to change professions. It was always the guy you secretly respected for one reason or the other, that didn't make it home. I have always believed, that in those last minutes of battling it out to keep his aircraft under control, they did everything they could and were trained to do. I am so proud of them, for they were the real TOP GUNS of my course. 

Its been twenty years since we boarded a train in search of our destiny. Twenty yrs from the time that we said good bye to our friends in school, our families, our neighbours, our local cricket team, our childhood crushes. All we had was a box of clothes, a bed roll with the family mattress and quilt, a draft of Rs 625, our pocket money for the next five months @ Rs 125 per month and a childhood ambition to master the skies. I think we all did alright chaps.. i think we all did alright.

Roots

1. My Maternal Grandfather, a Brigadier in the Indian Army, was born and brought up in Hong Kong. My Grandmother, was from a small village in Punjab. My Paternal Grandparents spent their lives in Indore, now a bustling town in central India. My Father, a fighter pilot and my mother, a doctor from Lady Harding met since they both were in the Indian Air Force. The fact my parents met, was primarily because my dad wanted to clean his bike on a Sunday afternoon, while the other Sqn pilots decided to go to the railway station to pick up the newly posted in lady doctor.  Little did they know that my mother would arrive by staff car, courtesy her father’s profession.  So while the others were looking out for what they thought would be a helpless young girl on the platform, my father was introducing himself to this Punjabi Kudi in the officers Mess. Well, how and what happened is history as they say, I was born, two years later.

2. I tell you this, since the story of my life has meandered through the forests of never never land. I have reached here due to a series of occurrences that usually need a rare alignment of planetary bodies and the blessings of at least half a million naked sadhus, all along the bank of the mighty Ganges. Divine intervention with out their blessings would also not have had the same effect.  Yet I have lived a life that’s been blessed by the simple joys of  a middle class household and the occasional sprinkling of royalty, all because my parents had a stately demeanour and a liberated outlook.

3. The fact that I was born in a military household is because I willed it in another lifetime, you didn’t. I have been in the military earlier, actually the Air Force, the mighty German Luftwaffe during the Second World War.  Stunned!!! Even you may have been around; it’s just that you don’t remember. The fact that I have the ability to know my past is because I have had these recurring dreams from my childhood, which have reinforced this idea that I was indeed a part of the world’s greatest conflict. I haven’t had time to check out my story by actually going to a small village outside Stuttgart, but then does it matter. Finally what matters is what I believe. This is after all make believe, isn’t it. What you perceive you are. The rest is meaningless. 

MY INSTRUCTIONAL FLYING TENURE

1.       The joy that one finds in teaching another human to leap in to the third dimension is almost a blessed event. Teaching a trainee to fly is quite unlike most teaching jobs. In fact, I would say it is the most extraordinary teaching job one could ever handle, almost like raising kids to be responsible citizens of the country. Since I have been fortunate to absorb both sides of this experience, I must say teaching flying to an ab- initio is a more involved process.

2.       As they grow up, you teach your kids how to take care of themselves; how to behave; how to distinguish between right and wrong; how to recognise danger signs along the way and how to recover from mistakes made. If you control their lives too closely, not allowing them much leeway to do their thing, making all decisions for them, they will always be dependent on you and when the time comes for them to act on their own, they will find it difficult to do so wisely. On the other hand, if you allow them too much freedom, without having developed some sense of responsibility; if you fail to apply the necessary controls when they do wrong; if you don't guide them and explain how and why things should be done, they could turn out to be dangerous members of society. So small beginnings are made almost like holding the hands of a toddler and helping them take their first steps in aviation.

3.       When starting flying, you take up a cadet for him to have a look at the world beneath his wings. You point out some of the places of significance, he can relate to. Some that will help in case of trouble; you also indicate what places should be avoided. Then you demonstrate the basic manoeuvres and after a while, you give him a chance to try them himself, never mind if he turns the plane upside down. Then come the more complicated and possibly dangerous manoeuvres. You teach him how to perform these, recover and emphasise to him that he must have sufficient height to make a safe recovery. 

4.       After a while, you start him on the more critical aspects of any flight, Takeoffs and Landings. In going through the whole gamut of aircraft manoeuvres, it is always the same sequence. First brief and discuss with him on ground the exercise to be flown. Then demonstrate in the air, how to perform the manoeuvre, guide him along as he does it himself and, finally, when you think he is ready, let him do the manoeuvres alone.

5.       What is important is that, at a certain point, you must let him fly. If you don't, he will never learn. If you give him the controls to fly early, he may not be ready and it could mean disaster. This is the grave danger that any flight instructor faces. His life is in the hands of his student and a wrong judgement by the instructor could be fatal for both.

6.       The greatest sense of satisfaction you can have is seeing your student fly solo (alone) for the first time. When he gets into the cockpit without you, and runs up his engine for takeoff, your guts are in your throat, and you're praying that you made the right decision to let him go up alone. The same is true when he comes in for his first landing. Watching his plane slowly approach the runway, settling down gently and finally the plane comes to a full stop is one of the greatest pleasures a Flight instructor can get. You have just created an Aviator from an ordinary human. A great transformation in his life.     It’s a great feeling seeing him step down from the cockpit and even a non believer starts to thank the Almighty that everything went of well for your kid. In a sense, raising kids is quite like teaching people how to fly. 

7.       I leave the NDA after tenure of a little over two years and hang my instructors cap after almost eight years. I feel proud that I was involved in the process of introducing so many of the so few, to the third dimension. I know in time, I shall get to fly with them in the azure sky, both as Leader and as a Wing man. They will be truly, my brothers in arms and the first line of defence for our great nation. They will be required to be fit, eager and good to go when ever called upon. Their own standards will determine the standards of our entire service. 

8.       In their quest for higher standards I wish them luck. I wish them luck because flying is not for the faint hearted. They will go through their moments. I also envy them, for I know, the joy they will receive in this awesome journey to realise their childhood ambition, has no comparison. I shall see some of these young officers in my Sqn and it is with a sense of pride that I shall look upon them to answer the call of duty when the time comes. I know they shall never let us down and will always remember… 

“They are, therefore India is”

 I wish them Blue Skies – Always

Who do I Protect

Who do I Protect? (Written just after the Gujarat massacre in March 2002)

While I was on the borders, 

SHE lost her sanity and wept, because of some train, on which communal flames leapt,

What a pity... Once again promises weren't kept, Who do I protect? 

Is it the wealthy, the famous, the elite, 

Or may be the Champions of Democracy on their seat,

It's a shame, that once again,

some mother somewhere is bearing the pain,

of a son who didn't come home, or of one who came too soon in vain.

Who do I protect?

White caps and saffron robes, with small motifs and one's hopes, Printed along the coloured line,

Reminding us it's almost time, To stand in some never ending line, 

To decide whose land... Yours or mine, Who do I protect? 

Some wise holy man I have never met, Who knows his scriptures yet so inept,

He has learnt nothing, He sets the tune and starts to sing, 

It is he who controls the murderous crowds, Shouting and barking out aloud,

While I try to scale these heights, He is the one winning the fight, Who do I protect?

Seven hundred was the count they say, as mutilated in their blood they lay, I don't believe in caste or sect, These are the ones that I protect.

 

Siachen Glacier

Siachen Glacier

(This was written while I was sweating it out in the desert and complaining of the heat.. Tried to imagine what a solider goes through in another part of the country...Yes our country...the Glacier)

Those tired feet have seen better days,

They work from before the morning rays,

Never staggering or tripping on some stone,

In parts almost eaten to the bone.

The stomach growls with such an ache,

What he would do for the piece of her cake,

He hasn't got past dried canned food,

At these heights even you would.

The trigger finger doesn't straighten no more,

As if it's that way from way long before,

He still supports a lion's roar,

Can't feel the tips no more.

The arms are weary but not weak,

As they scan the horizon to seek,

Some movement to catch the eye,

Like a drill, a day goes by.

The face is cold scratched and bruised,

Would happen to you if you were abused,

It's still young but needs a shave,

Some hot water in this wretched cave.

He's been through his childhood dreams,

His parents' advice his home town screams,

Anything to get by today,

A step closer to some home they say.

He dreams on... about his little girl,

All of two when he saw her last year,

He can feel her fingers clutching his hair,

The last time that he was there.

He thinks about his woman now,

The times she laughed and cried and how,

Her tender touch, her hands, her face,

What a beauty all bundled in lace.

He has changed now in this adapted land,

Knows it well like the back of his hand,

He used to like the hills once,

he doesn't anymore,

how he yearns to be like before...

…when Siachen had not happened to him,

when his world was more than a ten foot rim.

…when his mind was used to thinking straight,

when he had trouble getting up at eight.

…when his platoon was a band of men,

much more than these miserable ten.

…when his buddy was still alive,

he still comes around playing with his knife.

…when he could do what he wanted to,

or just sit down and think things through.

…when the valley was a picturesque place,

the mountain air had not lowered his pace.

…when it was easy for him to laugh and cry,

how he yearns for those days gone by.

They say it will be over soon,

He will be going home,

Today, tomorrow, next moon,

Alas! Its winter now and he'd come up in June      

What I am Worth

What I am worth…

( This one I like personally for its written in about twenty minutes... reflections after the Pay Commission made us reailse what exactly this grateful Nation thinks of its Soldiers)

I hear, we have crossed the sixtieth year

Standing guard without any fear,

Another day in the desert sun,

Or a night at height, with a freezing gun,

Tell me my India “What I am worth"

For the Battles and Wars that I fight,

Never asking which one is right,

From Dawn to Dusk and then to dawn,

Your Bishop, Your Knight Your Eternal Pawn,

Tell me my India “What I am worth"

While you fill your coffers today,

Wondering where and how to make,

Another fortune, another buy,

Your aspirations are now touching the Sky,

Tell me my India "What I am worth"

You make a mention on your political line,

Come to my post, wine and dine,

Then run to your stock, while I stand your guard, Killing and dying but still fighting hard,

Tell me my India "What I am worth"

The other day I was on TV too,

You came up to me with your educated crew,

Told me to speak because you seemed to care,

Wrote your story stripped me bare.

I was so naive I didn’t know,

For you it was the nine o’clock show,

The country wants to hear some line,

Before they sleep, knowing they are fine,

Tell me my India "What I am worth"

My men tell me, that they are strong,

Would fight for their country, for all that’s wrong, While I tell them to stand and fight,

You ignore my very existence and very right,

Tell me my India "What I am worth"

I thought I would tell my children in time,

How I fought for this country, this love of mine,

I wonder, if I should mention it though,

Don’t want them embarrassed, while they start to grow, Tell me my India "What I am worth"

I was your ambition, your childhood dream,

Your Pilot, your sailor your jawan in green,

Where did we part as friends, our ways,

I never let you down a single day,

Tell me my India "What I am worth

It's Raining Again

So here I am, sitting in the rain,

You’re fading trace now miles away,

Getting drenched to my roots,

Missing you just the same,

It’s raining again.

 

Seems like just the other day,

We were dripping on each other,

Making soggy promises,

Hoping the moment would stay,

It’s raining again.

 

It’s been so many years,

So many days, so many hours,

Yet I believe, you’ll be back

The very next minute … allying all fears,

But It’s raining again.

 

Do you ever hurt this way?

Do you stop in the middle of the day?

Wonder where I am,

Well I do.. Just needs getting used to,

It’s raining again.

 

The tang of your sweat is lingering,

I have let go except that one moment,

The memory of you leaving,

The last look to see, if I was breathing,

It’s raining again.

 

But you knew I’d survive,

I had you to stay afloat,

You knew, I need a moment in time,

A sodden cry.. the fool would be fine,

It’s raining again.

 

Your eyes always told me you’d stay,

How do u make your eyes lie,

Others told me they didn’t,

So much to learn before I die,

It’s raining again.

 

It’s raining again,

You’re fading trace now miles away,

Getting drenched to my roots,

Missing you just the same,

It’s raining again.