I had started pottering about running a one-man software company and I needed transport support at home. The only two wheeler at home was an ancient Vespa 150 and that was coveted by the son. Out of the blue I got a a letter from the Air Headquarters Directorate of PP&R (Pay Pensions and Regulations) containing a cheque of about twelve or thirteen thousand rupees. It was an unexpected windfall. I was already mentally prepared to purchase a new two wheeler for the family. The arrival of this letter acted as a trigger for that desire to be actualized. Subir came back from some errand that he had gone out for cursing the scooter. It had refused start normally had made him run for a push start. He was very cross. I started enjoying the situation. Come on, I told him. Lets go out just now and buy a new motor cycle. Subir returned a silly grin. It was a joke he thought. I however put my shoes on and asked him to come with me. Subir was quite thoroughly puzzled and I did nothing to remove his puzzlement. I headed out from NOIDA to Jhandewala. At Jhandewala, there was a prominent showroom for selling Kawasaki-Bajaj motor cycles. We parked our scooter and walked in.

It was a late in the afternoon and the large show room was more or less empty. There was a salesman showing a customer around, and there was a person behind a desk who seemed to be the senior guy around. We went and sat down at his desk. I want to buy a 100cc Bike, I announced. The man behind the desk was very polite and prompt. He pulled out a colourful brochure and a cyclostyled price-list of all the products on sale. He handed these to me with a faint smile playing on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. A nice friendly fellow I thought, quite fit for the marketing job he was holding.

While Subir and I moved around the show room looking at the products displayed and studied the price list, the other customer approached the ‘Manager’. The customer was ready with his choice. He was ready to drive out with a bike, but he could pay only through a cheque. The manager told him very politely that his rules did not permit him to accept cheques for payments. Payments, he insisted must be by cash or by bank drafts. The customer was crestfallen. It was already after closing hours for banks. He would have to make another trip tomorrow to pick up the bike. The only alternative was for him to leave a cheque. The bike would then be ready for collection after the cheque was realized. Disappointed, the customer left.

The manager now walked over to me and asked me whether I had made up my mind. I smiled. Whats the use of my making up my mind? I cannot pick one up and drive out as you do not accept cheques! The manager now smiled and shook his head. That rule will not apply to you, he said. I was a bit surprised. I quizzed the man with my raised eyebrows and looked at him expectantly.

The manager seemed to square his shoulders and straighten-up. Sir, he said, I am an ex-Sergeant from the Air Force. I was a Clerk GD I have served under you. You may not remember me, but I will never forget you.

I prevented my moist eyes from overflowing with some effort. How small the world was, I thought, and how strong were the emotional ties we make in our day to day life. I wrote out a cheque (for something close to fifteen thousand rupees) and drove out with a Baja-Kawasaki Silver Streak. We stopped over at Leena’s office on our way home to surprise her with our new possession.

Today I shall narrate two such stories that rocked my boat quite severely. In both cases, service interest demanded that I take cognizance of the incidents, and in both cases the facts faced were inconvenient. So, without any more ado – the tales:

The nonexistent crash fire tender.

The OC of FIS is ex-officio the Chief Operations Officer for Air Force Station Tambaram.. That meant that on assumption of the office of OC FIS, I also assumed charge of the Air Traffic Control, the Flight Safety environment, the Flight Navigation and Homing services, and the crash rescue services. In the process of taking over these functions, I naturally inspected all the related equipment in use.

The Base was scaled for two crash fire tenders and a fire support tender often called the fire-tender mock-up. There were two crash tenders held on the base. Both of them were rather old. Their physical look did not evoke much confidence. However, technically both were supposed to be serviceable. I called for an inspection of the documentation for these two vehicles. I then discovered that both the crash tenders had outlived their official service life and were now on life-extension under advice from the higher headquarters. I then asked for the correspondence files on crash tenders and inspected all the dialogue between the base and the command HQ on the subject for the previous couple of years. It was quite evident that the base had repeatedly requested for authority to downgrade these vehicles and had requested repeatedly for their replacement. The command HQ had persistently rejected these requests and had asked the base to carryout local repairs and retain these vehicles as serviceable assets. I was not happy. I decided to test the serviceability of the crash tenders personally.

The first hurdle was to find the accepted criteria against which the vehicle could be tested. Fortunately, very soon I was able to lay my hands of a publication that laid down the acceptance norms for crash tenders both for the prime mover and the mounted equipment. I ordered a test for one of the vehicles. It failed miserably in the tests for the prime mover. I did not have a chance to test the mounted equipment. I got the base’s chief maintenance officer to downgrade the vehicle and sent in a request for a replacement. For a couple of weeks nothing happened. Then I was told that the request has been noted, but no crash tender was available for allotment. A replacement will be sent as and when one becomes available. I did not react to this input. A week later I organized a dummy fire drill on the airfield. A huge fire was created by burning cut grass and waste wood at a safe spot. The crash fire tender was asked to to put the fire out. Once again, it failed to meet all the criteria for serviceability, both for the prime mover and the mounted equipment. I had no difficulty in now downgrading the crash tender. The base was now without any crash tender on it’s strength and we needed to stop flying under the existing rules. It was a tough decision to take in view of the huge back log of flying task the FIS had at that moment. I shared the problem with Group Captain Bargohain who was the station commander. Both of us were quite disgusted with the situation that had prevailed. It seemed to us that within the hierarchy no one was really concerned about the actual crash response capability of the station. As long as some one at the base certified that the laid down facilities are available and serviceable, every thing was OK. Now, we had burst that bubble. Should we actually bring the system to a grinding halt? We discussed the situation for long. My submission was that in reality nothing had changed. For the previous six or eight months we had been flying with facilities that in our hear of hearts knew to be unserviceable. Now, only that inconvenient truth was out in the open. Suppose we continued flying for a day or two, how would the Command HQ react? It was an interesting speculation. We decided to test the waters. Groupie Bargohain agreed to permit continuation of flying under his authority. I drafted a signal: //// From OC FIS to HQ Trg Comd. For the information of the AOC in C. All crash fire tenders on station unserviceable and downgraded to Cat D. Flying continues under local authority. ////. The deed was done.

In about two hours I got a call from the AOC in C. He wanted to know the meaning of my signal. I was ready for the call. I explained the situation to him and gave him the reference of the file in the technical and logistic branch of his HQ where the whole sordid story could be traced over the past two years. By the evening, two brand new crash tenders drove into the station from the Depot at Avadi. These had been taken off the war reserve stock and were allotted to Tambaram. Groupie Bargohain was happy and so was I. But I dare say that the technical and logistic staff at the Command HQ were not happy with either of us.

Short Field Performance of the Kiran

The Kiran is a basic Jet Trainer. It is simple, reliable and reasonably non demanding of handling skills. Still, it is a Jet Aircraft. It obviously has it’s minimum demands of operational environment. It’s recommended speed for approaching to land is about one hundred knots, nearly one hundred forty miles per hour. By the time it touches down for landing it’s speed drops to about eighty five knots. If it’s brakes are smartly and correctly used, it can be slowed down to walking speed within a rolling distance of about six hundred yards. Thus, if the aircraft can touch down within the first two hundred yards of the beginning of the runway, it’s minimum need can be contained within a eight hundred yard runway under normal conditions for an experienced pilot.

When the Kiran was introduced as a training aircraft at Tambaram, the powers that be had considered the airfield fit for it’s operation; it’s main runway (04/22) was was 2200 yards long and even the shorter runway (12/30) was adequate with a runway length of 1200 yards.

When I arrived at Tambaram on my assignment as the OC FIS, I was untrained on Kiran. It so happened, the Runway in use was often 12/30 at that time. I was certainly uncomfortable using that run way for some of the exercises such as flap less approach and landing. I spoke to my senior staff about my discomfort. I was told that this matter had been discussed with the air staff in command and it had been decided that the environment is safe enough. I did not find any correspondence about this matter in my files. Apparently all these decisions were verbal. I was a bit surprised but I held my horses.

The Command Flight Safety Conference was scheduled that yeat at Hakimpet. I went there to take part in the conference. The directorate of flight safety was in the process of change. The DFS was unable to attend. Group Captain JW Greene, who had just handed over the chair of DFS a short while earlier came to the conference to represent the DFS. During the conference Groupie Green gave a presentation. The subject of his presentation was the importance of anticipation and precaution in flight safety. As an example he said that Tambaram was now operating the Kiran and one of its runways was a bit short for its regular operation. The DFS had therefore advices the Training Command to stop using the short runway for Kiran till the runway was extended. This statement took me by surprise. Kirans were operating off the short runway routinely at Tambaram, and the extension of the short runway was not a live subject at the station or Command level to the best of my knowledge. I stood up and interjected and my interjection took Groupie Greene by surprise. We therefore decided that this difference in information between the Air HQ and the Station/Command needs to be reconciled.

On my return to Tambaram I originated two Demi Official Letters; one was to Groupie Greene confirming the current situation regarding the use of the short runway at Tambaram by the Kiran, and the other to the AOC in C with a copy of the letter I had written to Groupie Greene. The letter created a Typhoon at the Command HQ. The AOC in C was new to his chair and all this was news to him. He was happy to become wiser. I must admit that perhaps there were other more and milder staff actions possible at my level rather that precipitating a crisis. But in retrospect I think that my brash methods yielded better results. The Kirans stopped using the short runway. Extension of the short runway became a live project and was executed within the next two years. Cause of flight safety was served. My stock with the Air Staff at the Command level (barring the affection that I received from the AOC in C) however plummeted.

In our everyday lives we often face situations where existing facts are inconvenient. Often it is tempting to ignore these inconvenient facts and live a life of denial. But then would not that become a matter of ethics?

As cadets under training, we did not give this change any importance or thought. However, I now sometimes wonder why this change was thought necessary, Prima-facie the name Armed Forces Academy sounded OK and appeared appropriate. Why then was the change of name to National Defence Academy brought about? Were we subconsciously shy of admitting that we posses ‘Armed’ forces? Were we therefore subconsciously making excuses for training such forces and declaring that these people are for ‘National Defence’ only, that we have no offensive intentions against any one whatsoever? Similarly, was invoking ‘Heaven’s Light’ as ‘Our Guide’ in the Motto militate against our ‘Secular’ credo? An interesting thought. That would also perhaps explain why the motto was also changed over time from Service Before Self to a more benign ‘Seva Paramo Dharma’.

We found that in preparation for the arrival of the fourth course two new Squadrons – Easy and Fox – had been created and made ready. However, a few days later it was realized that like the third course, the fourth course was also under-subscribed. The Planned intake into the ISW/JSW was 250 cadets per course. However, for the first course only 190 could be selected. In the third course only 90 of us had made the grade. I do not remember the exact figures, but the second and the fourth courses were way below the targeted 250. Within a week Easy and Fox Squadrons were disbanded and the cadets were redistributed to the older four Squadrons.

The most exciting part for us was the arrival of a course junior to us. We were no more at the bottom of the pile. It was now possible for us to rag our juniors, and we did so quite shamelessly. However, we always kept our ragging within reasonable bounds. For me the fun part was to rag Gora. He did not expect me to join the gang ragging him. Perhaps he expected me to rescue him from his tormentors, and was hurt that I did not.

The Air Force bunch in the third course was really small. Initially, only 11 cadets had joined. Our cadet serials began from 370 for BK Chattoraj (before he changed it to Chatterjee) and ran up to 379 for AK Das. For some obscure reason, Koko Sen was slotted in at 388. the seven numbers between Atin Das and Koko went to Army cadets. Our course numbers ran from 301 to 390. The first 15 numbers were for Naval cadets. The Air Force numbers I have mentioned above. The rest belonged to the Army. At the beginning of the second term our Air Force bunch was supplemented by one more cadet. One cadet from the second course, Karansher Singh Kalsia, joined us. Karan had opted out of the Academy in the beginning of his second term because he lost his father at that time. Karan’s father was the King of Kalsia, a member of the eight states that constituted a Part B state named PEPSU (Patiala East Punjab States Union). It was a conglomeration of Patiala, Kapurthala, Nabha, Jind, Malerkotla, Faridkot, Kalsia and Nalagarh. Karan was a product of the Doon School. He was a smart lad and was extremely popular in his course mates. However, he was required to leave the academy on his father’s death for the formalities of succession that made him the new ‘king’ of Kalsia. Karan however was a fauji at heart. He decided to come back to the academy after the formalities were complete even though he had to accept a loss of six month of seniority and joined the next junior course. He also applied for and obtained a change in his choice of service from the army to become an Air Force Cadet. We thus became a gang of 12. Karan and I grew to become very close friends. We shared a cabin from the second till the fourth term.

Subsequent to India becoming a republic on 26 Jan 1950, all the old Army Regiments and Service Corps discarded their ‘Royal’ prefixes and stopped using their Colours and Standards. In the later half of 1950 it was decided that all these historical Colours would be ceremonially laid down in a parade for historical storage and that this parade will be held at the Military Wing Prem Nagar Drill Square. The date for the parade was fixed for 23rd November 1950. There were 35 Colours Parties for 35 regiment who were to lay their King’s Colours down. They were to be escorted by Escort companies on either end of the parade. Gentlemen Cadets for the Military Wing provided two companies for the leading in escorts. Two other companies were provided by the Cadets of first and second courses from JSW Clement Town. Normally, the cadets in the JSW did not parade with arms, but for this parade they carried rifles. They therefore had to brush up their rifle drill. Also, the rifle regiments in the parade marched at 140 beats to the minute instead of the 120 beats that the Gentlement Cadets and JSW cadets were used to. The GCs and the Cadets therefore had to really train hard. The cadets of the third and fourth courses from the JSW were considered too young/untrained to take part in this parade. We therefore attended the parade as spectators. It was a spectacular parade.

Soon after the Colours Parade it was time for us to start practicing for the passing out parade for the first course. This time our course was very much in the parade and the Drill Instructors had a field day grinding us to dust. Life went on as we reached the mid point of our two year stay in the JSW.

I had just taken over the command of the Black Archers at Chandigarh. My aircraft were in the process of being collected. It was a busy time for me. Leena and the kids were still in Delhi. The house earmarked for me was still not vacant; the previous occupant had obtained permission to retain the accommodation for a few weeks more. Under these conditions, when I got called over for a temporary duty at the Command HQ to hold the chair I had just vacated for a few days, I was more that delighted.

At that moment of time, two Sukhoi 7 (type s-22) squadrons were being re-equipped at Adampur. The two squadrons were Number 26 under my friend and course mate Minhi Bawa and Number 101 earmarked for my friend and course mate Pirthi Singh. Minhi had arrived and taken over his unit. Pirthi was under posting from Kanpur to his unit, but he had not arrived. He, as a test pilot, was given the task of test flying newly assembled Sukhoi 7 aircraft at Mumbai (then Bombay). These aircraft were being assembled by a an unit called aircraft erection unit. This unit operated from Santa Cruz airfield. After test flying these aircraft, Pirthi was also required to ferry them for storage to Adampur. It was a tiresome routine. It involved his moving around between Kanpur (his home base), Adampur (his destination), Mumbai (his pick-up point) and Hindon (his refueling point during the ferry flight) constantly. He lived out of a small suitcase that was too big to be carried in a Su-7. He was dependent on the supporting airlift aircraft that carried the ground equipment and ground crew from Mumbai to Adampur for the movement of his only piece of traveling luggage.

Transport crew of the air force, irrespective of whether they were flying a Dakota or an IL14 or a Packet (C119) or an AN 12 are trained to take good care of the goods that the carry around. They are also bound by strict regulations about what they can carry in their aircraft and what they cannot. One of the cardinal rules that they had to follow was not to carry any unauthorized baggage.

On this particular instance, Pirthi had arrived at Mumbai by civil air and had carried out the required number of air tests of a newly erected aircraft. Now he was required to ferry this aircraft to Adampur via Hindon where he was required land to refuel his aircraft. An AN12 was tasked to carry a consignment of ground equipment belonging to this aircraft from Mumbai to Adampur.

Mumbai is a busy place and a lot of goods pass through the movement control officer at Santa Cruz. On that particular day, a consignment destined for Palam was waiting under the care of the MCO. The MCO found that there was adequate room for this lot of cargo in the AN12 destined for Hindon. So, he loaded this cargo into the aircraft and manifested it for Palam. The ground equipment for the Su-7 was neatly packed and stacked inside the AN12 manifested with Adampur as the destination.

At about 11 in the morning Pirthi took off for Hindon. Before commencing his journey, he entrusted his suitcase to a ground crew asking him to put it into the supporting airlift aircraft. (It was actually the accepted routine and Pirthi had done exactly this many times before). The ground crew dutifully loaded the suitcase into the AN12 and told the load master that this suitcase was the property of the ferry pilot. No one put this piece of baggage on the manifest.

The Captain of that flight was a stickler for rules. When he inspected the load before takeoff, he spotted this one suitcase not on the manifest. He ordered it off the aircraft. The ground crew who had loaded the aircraft was not there to explain the situation or intervene. Pirthi’s suitcase was left behind at Mumbai.

The captain of the aircraft also found that there was no load earmarked for Hindon whereas there was considerable load for Palam. So he decided to land at Palam. At Hindon, Pirthi waited in vain for his suitcase. After some time he found out that the aircraft had landed at Palam. A lot of time had been wasted on the ground and he was not able to proceed to Adampur that evening. He got airdropped to Palam by a helicopter where he found out that his suitcase had been off loaded at Mumbai. Pirthi was really annoyed. He came down to the Command HQ to sort out the mess. There he found me on the chair of the ‘OPS I’.

To me it looked like a comedy of errors. However, being a part of a complex organization like the Air Force, we had to admit that every error, even small ones, often had far reaching repercussions. Some of these repercussions could be of a serious nature, far from being comical. Fortunately in this case the small error of not going through the MCO and putting the suitcase on a manifest only landed Pirthi without a set of pajamas for the night. I took him home and offered him a set of my pajamas which hung four inches above Pirthi’s ankles, but what the hell. I also had to run down to the neighborhood grocer to buy Pirthi a toothbrush while my children played around with their favorite uncle celebrating his unscheduled visit.

Over the years of my service, I had developed a set of thumb rules that I applied to myself when ever I was faced with a problem. If a problem seemed intractable, I would ask myself if there was any action possible to improve the situation that lay within my own control. I would then take the actions available while I searched for other ways to garner help. In this case, my immediate worry was the pathetic state of aircraft serviceability. For attaining serviceability, I needed technical manpower and I needed spares back-up. Supply of spares was not directly under my control. I could however re-arrange the utilization of technical man power available with the unit. To extract what ever flying possible, the unit had extended its flying hours from dawn to dusk. That made the supporting manpower of the first line to be split into three. A corollary to that decision was that at any given time, technical man power available on the tarmac was reduced to a third. To carry out any kind of flying, there are few jobs that need to be done. For instance, one airframe mechanic is required to be positioned near the take off point to inspect the tyres of an aircraft before it enters the runway. This man, sitting a kilometer away from the tarmac is not available for any rectification work. Similarly, teams of airmen are required to see off aircraft from the tarmac and receive them back after the sortie is over. These airmen are not available for rectification work that might need long periods of attention. The situation was worse for technical supervisory Senior NCOs. Their number in the unit was small and often it was not possible to make these supervisors available for all the shifts. Rectification and maintenance was not permitted without supervision. The net result was that if a defect was reported, that aircraft tended to remain off line for a long time, reducing the availability of aircraft for flying.

I decided to change this style of functioning. I decreed that flying hours would be restricted to morning hours only. Only two details were to be attempted. The first detail would get off at dawn. The second detail must complete flying by 1130. By 1230 every student must be in a class room for theoretical lectures. A lunch break was to begin at 1330. There after, the students were to be free for self study. My staff was aghast at my directive. With serviceability down to a couple of aircraft on line, the flying task just could not be done with two sorties. The unit was falling short of flying even with five details a day as was the practice. I was unmoved. The training schedule was already derailed. I could never get the serviceability up if I continued with this practice of flying through out the day. I over ruled my staff and enforced my dictate. For the next few days the flying effort of the unit dropped close to zero.

I did not have to wait very long. On the second day I got a call from the Command HQ. The ‘Training I’ was on the line. The incumbent Training I, Group Captain V Krishna Murthy was a close personal friend. Our conversation therefore began amicably. Was there a problem at the FIS? The query was gentle and friendly. Why had the flying effort dropped near zero? Did I need any help? He was full of loving concern. I told him that to get the unit’s serviceability under control I had stopped flying after 1130. Hmnnn. The sound of his interjection told me that he was not convinced of either my reading of the situation or my perceived remedy. In his eyes I had always been a maverick. This was just another demonstration of my deviance confirming his reading of my nature. He began a long lecture on how the lack of spares support from the HAL was a mill around our neck that we just could not get rid off, how we need to adjust our reactions over situations beyond our control and extend ourselves to some how get our jobs done. Flying off the handle and allowing knee-jerk reaction was not good for new commanders. The sum and substance of the sermon was that every one was aware of the existing bad situation, but my coming in and rocking the boat on arrival will not be appreciated. I gave him a patient hearing and supplied sound bytes of ‘yes Sir’ as a punctuation to the speech in liberal measure. When he was through I told him that I planned to come and pay my respects to the AOCinC on my assumption of command. I would have a long chat with him when I reach.

In the next five days, there were three more calls urging me to resume extended flying hours. By then the next weekend was at hand. The new system of restricted flying hours allowed the airmen to rectiry defects with their full attention. They now had the time to do what they needed to do. There was also a feeling amongst the technical staff that the new CO was capable of looking at problems from their points of view. They felt better and worked better. The serviceability rate improved dramatically. I was able to produce about the same flying within the morning hours as what was being achieved earlier over the whole day. There was grudging acceptance at the Command HQ of the fact that my medicine was working. My assertion of control over the unit was not challenged further. I however had other plans in the works. I prepared for my first visit to face the AOCinC.

Within the unit’s instructional staff, a little resistance to my Tughlak style of functioning was growing. The system of extended flying time offered a free evening every other day. An instructor flying in the evening shift also flew the next morning shift and then was scheduled for flying only on the following afternoon. This 24 hour free period permitted time for trips out to town / late night parties / late night card sessions / indulgence in alcohol / or simply taking the wife out to shopping twice/thrice a week. This system was in vogue for a number of months before my arrival. The change over to regular morning flying instantly put a restriction on late night parties/ movies/card sessions. This was resented. This resentment was heightened when I insisted that afternoons be utilized for regular visits to the technical area by the instructional staff and for tutorial discussions on theoretical studies by the student officers. Ground subjects had been neglected grossly in the preceding months because of extended flying hours. I had no time left to re do all the classes. I therefore held out a threat that the final round of ground subject tests would be stiff and any failure in such tests would lead to a failure to graduate from the course. Self study and tutorial revision was recommended. The instructional stuff was thus tied down.

Within the first week, I had two additional tasks for my staff. Firstly, the TCASIs had to be studied thoroughly and all its contradictions/interferences to normal operations were to be recorded/discussed and remedial action suggested. Secondly, a detailed time and motion study was to be conducted to bring out the internal impediments inherent in the existing system. Once this study was done, it was easy to prove that the existing staff was inadequate for the task. Manning authorized was inadequate and even this inadequate manning was not fully provided for by the personnel staff. These two studies were eye openers for the staff. It took me and my staff a fair amount of time to prepare all these studies. In the mean time, There was quite a turmoil in the upper echelon of the Training Command.

When I assumed command, the Training Command was being commanded by Air Vice Marshal GK John PVSM. A gentle soul, he was known in the Air Force as Gentleman John. He was also a very highly accomplished and avery highly respected officer. He had picked up his Param Vishisht Seva Medal (PVSM) as a Group Captain for his outstanding performance as Station Commander Halwara during 1965 operations. In 1976 Air Chief Marshal Moolgaonkar was the Chief of Air Staff. During his time as the CAS, the first cadre revision of the Air Force was executed. All ranks were being upgraded. Even my own chair as the OC FIS was due for an upgrade to the rank of a Group Captain. In the Headquarters of the Training Command, lots of changes were about to take place. The SASO, Air Commodore Raghavendran, was due to move out on promotion in a few days’ time. It was a pity because I had very good personal rapport with him. Soon after my arrival I did manage to go down to Bangalore and pay my respects to Gentleman John. However, this meeting was perfunctory. He had the time to really sit down and talk to me. Raghavendran left in the month of February. There was no news about his replacement. His chair was being up-graded to that of an AVM, but we did not know which AVM will fill that vacancy and when. The AOCinC was also due to move out on promotion. He was slated to take over the Central Air Command as an Air Marshal. He was due for his round of farewell visits. It was very difficult for me to find time for a longish discussion with him about the problems facing my unit. Apart from the busy schedule of my bosses at the Command HQ, I had another task on my hand. The Chief of the Air Staff was scheduled to visit Tambaram, perhaps in the month of February itself or early in March. This was his first visit to the station as the CAS. Naturally, a lot of preparation was called for. Thus, the month of February and the first weeks of March slipped by.

By the third week of March the AOCinC went away without any replacement. By the end of April a new AOCinC took charge of the Training Command. The new incumbent was Air Marshal Maurice Barker. We of course had worked together earlier. He was the SASO of Western Air Command as an AVM when I was commanding 47 Squadron at Hindon. I must admit that his views of my abilities were not something I would like to broadcast. My task thus just became a little tougher.

What I needed most was a little time. The course under instruction was terribly behind schedule and I was being asked on a daily basis as to when I would be able to induct the next course. I did not want to rush. I needed time to get my serviceability up. I needed time to harmonize the TCASIs and get them re-approved by the command HQ, I needed time to fight a case for enlarging my authorized establishment and get more instructors posted in, and above all I needed time to convince my superiors that I was not talking through my hat. I had to convince them that I would be able to do all the right things if I was supported and given a little time. I suggested that we accept a gap in the induction of the next course. Theoretically, FIS courses were due to start every January and July. The January 76 induction had not taken place as the July 75 batch had not completed their training. I suggested that the next induction be set for July 76. That would give me a short breather to set my house in order. The suggestion only inflamed passion and emotion against my ideas.

There was no signs of a new SASO being posted in. To add to my problems, the Training I, Group Captain Krishnamurthy got posted out. Fortunately he was replaced by Eric Allen who was promoted in situ and Eric was fully conversant with the job at hand. I just had to bite the bullet and try and convince the AOCinC about my views and plans of actions. In this I received tremendous support from Eric Allen and was able to convince the AOCinC as well as the Air HQ to drop one course and start the next one in July. For the rest of the plans however, I had to wait until a new SASO was in the chair and that happened only in August. By that time the AOCinC was ready to retire from the Service. In September 76, Air Marshal Randhir Singh became the new AOCinC as Air Marshal Barker moved away. Air Marshal Randhir Singh and I had interacted in the past and he was fond of me.

In August 76 I was promoted to rhe rank of a Group Captain. We also got a new SASO posted in. The new SASO was an old timer. Commissioned in 1943, he had seen the air force being flooded by riffraff during its expansion from a single squadron club of elites to a noisy gaggle of ten squadrons. He had seen enough of life to recognize a young smart Alec when he saw one. He was also an ardent fan of McGregor’s Theory X. I had never served under him in the past. Actually we had never met face to face before his arrival as the SASO. Soon after the arrival of the new AOCinC, I had to face the new SASO with my big list of changes.

The fact that this first meeting was caused because a brand new CO of an unit had challenged the instructions sent out under the august authority of his office put me in a camp not high in his esteem. The prevalent assumption that the AOCinC thought well of me did not help either. My not possessing an elite school tie was also of no help for my standing. To him, I must have appeared as a typical brash overconfident product of a small town school using the teaching medium of a provincial tongue; a thoroughbred Desi trying to speak English with an acquired accent. He fixed me with an unsmiling stare as I sat down facing him in his office.

As I sat down and attempted to pull out my presentation charts and diagrams to place them on the table, the Air Marshal stopped me by a negative sweep of his hand. Just tell me what is troubling you, he said. Did I detect a hint of hostility in the voice? No, derisive would be a better adjective for the tone that I perceived. My mind was working furiously trying to recast my presentation from a pedantic/objective/logical to a brash/crass mould. If I had to make my point without presenting my data and my analysis then the only thing left in my arsenal were my assertive demands presented verbally and forcefully. I collected my thoughts. Sir, I said, under the existing environment the FIS cannot produce its allotted task within the allotted time maintaining the expected standards and fulfilling all instructions given by this HQ. I need more instructors, a thorough integrated review of all the Training Command instructions, and less interference from your staff. I stopped, metaphorically biting my tongue. Had I spoken too much? Was my tone inappropriate? Could I be accused of being disrespectful? Have I damaged the interests of the unit? My mind was in a twirl. I held my eyes locked on the eyes of the SASO.

The old man waited for a few moments. He then leaned forward and asked me why the FIS, which has been in existence for a long time, had not complained of these problems earlier. I did not get beaten by this straight serve. I was not going to explain what others before me did or did not do. I have a problem that I was in a position to explain with data and logic. Was I then the only wise commander who could find excuses for non performance on arrival effortlessly? This was another sliding serve that I just managed to return by painting a smile on my face that said that I wont rise to that bait. It was now my turn to serve. ‘I have a proposal for increase of my instructional staff with all the necessary facts and figures’, I said, while pulling out the file containing my proposal and placing it on the table. My Serve was too gentle and was returned without a fuss. The SASO just slid the file to a side and let it be. I was getting impatient, clearly not a good thing for a tennis player. However, I was ready with my next ball. I pulled out my next study from my bag and put it on the table. ‘I have a list of contradictions inherent in the existing TCASIs’, I said. The SASO got up from his chair indicating that the meeting was over. ‘Give those papers to the Training I’ he said as I saluted and moved out.

Back in the office of the ‘Training I’, Eric and I sat down and began our journey through the process of change. After all, what is progress but a continuous effort for change for the better? The process took a long time, but we succeeded in our efforts. The journey was not smooth. There were acrimonious exchanges. But over the next two months or so, a new manpower establishment was authorized giving me more instructors. The dropping of one course had given me about two months of time to set the unit back on its feet. All the TCASIs were revised and all the anomalies were removed. Most of the hard work was done by the office of the Training I and my friend Eric Allen. The benefits of the hard work were enjoyed by the unit. I received a lot of support and affection from the AOCinC. I was thankful to the system that let me function freely. It was an enjoyable tenure of command.

As I sign off from my tale for the day, a reader previewing the story tells me to stop and tie up the loose ends left hanging. What about the little dissent that was brewing within the unit? How about all the social re-organization within the unit that was hinted about? What was the reaction of the lower staff at the Command HQ who really had to give me all the support I demanded and extracted and a spoilt child? Yes. I admit that there are loose ends hanging from this tale. My tenure at the FIS as its CO was however rather complex, and I am unable to fit in every thing within one basket. So, those tales will remain for another day. They will come. I promise.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Syndey Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 24,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 9 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Bani Dasgupta was my mother’s second sibling. My Ma was the eldest child. Then there was a girl named Kalyani (who’s son Bhaskar was my closest pal in the family) and then there was Bani. I called her Moni-maashi and she was extremely fond of me. I reciprocated fully. She was about five years younger than Ma. That made her about twenty years my senior. It so happened that she was smitten by a younger cousin of my father named Birendra Nath, my Kutti-Kaka when she was still in her teens. The elders in my family were however not amused by this play of romance. By family traditions, two bahus could not be brought from the same household. That was that. Thus the young things pined away while accepting the family dictate. They were however determined not to marry any other person. They marched determinedly into blessed single adulthood. Unfortunately, Moni maashi contracted TB when she was about twenty-nine. In the forties of the last century, TB was not easily curable. She had willingly forsaken matrimony. But as she realized that her days were numbered, her desire for motherhood and related emotions became very strong. She picked on me to be her emotional son-substitute and poured all her affection on me. I too felt attracted to her. For a child in his pre-teen years such overwhelming affection had to be reciprocated. In one of her interactions with me, she had extracted a promise from me that I will not indulge in smoking. She hated the smell of tobacco. I was then barely nine or ten years old. Then she went and died. I grieved for her and she remained quite alive in my memory. Thus, three or four years later, when the urge to smoke rose in my heart, it came in direct conflict with my commitment to Moni maashi.

So far, the story is quite simple and appears quite clearly as a matter of love and emotions rather than a matter of ethics. I had never considered smoking to be wrong. How could I, when Baba smoked so heavily? No. From that angle, my decision to smoke or not to smoke did not involve any interference of ethics. Days rolled on. Migration from Pakistan, rehabilitation in India, joining the NDA, becoming a pilot of the Air Force – all these happened in the next five years. The struggle within me for a decision to smoke or not to smoke however raged on. If any thing, the intensity of this struggle intensified after I became an officer and the number of friends smoking around me increased substantially. Also, the official embargo on smoking as a cadet was no more applicable. Many of my friends chided me for being a sentimental fool and cramping my life style over some silly promises extracted from an immature boy by emotional manipulation by a grown woman who was now dead and gone. This peer pressure was so strong that I had come close to taking up smoking on a number of cold or distracted moments of my life. But, I did not start smoking. I could not bring myself to break my pledge.

It is only much later in life that I realizes that I was not being sentimental. I was only following my instinct of ethics. I will now tell you about this bit of self analysis. From my childhood, my parents had drilled one value in my life that enjoined me to be true to my self. If you promise some thing to any one you love, they told me repeatedly, you are only making that promise to your self. Value of your own word overrides the value of anything else in the world. I perhaps did not know it consciously, but I was only being true to my value system drilled into my subconscious. I do not promise much to any one easily, but what I do promise I do deliver. That is an important part of my ethics. Of course now I am also thankful to Moni maashi for having extracted that promise from me when I was a mere child. She has saved a lot of my money and has gifted a lot of health benefits to me in the bargain.

One day late in 1944 Baba wanted me to run down to the local grocer and fetch a two paisa worth packet of tika, a charcoal powder biscuit used to light up the tobacco fire-cup atop his al-bola that was known as gargara in Bangla idiom. (He had taken to smoking tobacco through this water filtered device in his semi-retired village life after he had chucked up his job and had come away from Jessore town to our village home). I tripped down as desired and bought the item without any difficulty. I however delayed my trip back home by some minutes. The shop was in the process of manufacturing fresh batasa out of boiling syrup of concentrated sugarcane juice. It was fascinating to watch the worker skimming off the foam from the boiling cauldron of syrup and letting it drop from his ladle from a height of about two meters to a bamboo mat laid on the floor. The droplets cooled in the air and formed perfect half spheres on the mat. In a few seconds they hardened to a sweet toffee that could be picked up and eaten. I don’t know for how long I just stood there and watched. After some time the shop keeper came down from his perch, picked up a handful of batasa from the mat and handed those to me. I then came back home with the packet of tika while munching the delicious handful of batasa. When I reached home, baba noticed my indulgence. He wanted to know where I had found the money to buy the handful of batasa. On being told that I had been gifted that handful, he became unhappy. Did I stand there gaping at the process of batasa being made? Was there greed in my eyes for those toffees when I stood and watched? Did I know that coveting with greed in the eyes was a form of begging? He left me in no doubt that he was unhappy with my acceptance of the gift from the shopkeeper. Baba picked up one paisa from his pocket and sent me back to the shop. I was to buy one paisa worth of batasa and return a handful from that lot with an apology for having displayed greed. I did what I was told to do against much protest from the shopkeeper. When I tendered my apology for having displayed my greed and told him that my father’s instructions he accepted my apology. Was this not a transfer of a value – greed is wrong – to me?

Some four years later, in April 1948, another incident took place that remains in my memory. My cousin was getting married. The house was full of people. It was the time for the ceremonial sending of gifts from the house of the bride to the house of the groom. Six taxis had been called; the taxis were waiting outside the house with their meters down. Five or six boys in their early teens were playing in front of the house. I was one of them. I had just arrived at Calcutta after having migrated out of East Pakistan and a lot of the city life that confronted me was novel for me. Taxi cabs in Jessore did not have meters. This little gadget hung outside the taxi on the left fascinated me. I particularly liked the little tinkling that sounded when the little flag on the meter was turned. I walked close to a taxi and on an impulse turned its flag around. The meter tinkled and I liked that sound. I had no idea about the effects of turning the meter flag around. The cab driver came running from wherever he was resting. I ran away. The cab drivers got together and raised a ruckus. The noise bought Baba down to the gate of the house. He was immediately accosted by the agitated drivers. Baba asked them to identify the boy they were complaining about. They pointed at me. Baba then asked the driver to quantify his loss. The driver was unable to name a sum. Baba then walked to another cab of the group and noted the meter reading. It was one rupee six annas more that the minimum fare. Baba took out his purse and paid the aggrieved driver the difference. He then looked at me with stern eyes, shook his head and went back into the house. That shake of his head prima-facie told me that he disapproved of my conduct and he was disappointed with my behavior. It was for me a very severe censure. But now, many years later, when I recollect the incident and try to evaluate the values that he must have transmitted to me through that simple shake of his head, I am amazed by the expanse to the educative value of that simple gesture.

a I should understand that my misdeeds will become known
b My playful mischiefs must not cause damage and distress to others as it did in this case
c When an innocent man is harmed it is better to bring succor to the victim before finding and punishing the guilty
d If direct evidence is not found in the scene of a crime, where are many other evidence that can be gathered and used effectively.

The fact that I remember the incident so vividly indicates to me that Baba’s that little shake of head indeed succeeded in transferring all those values to me even though neither of us ever spoke about it. Learning to understand what is right and what is not can often be done through intangible means. There must have been thousands of such interactions between me and my elders in my growing days to make me what I am. This process of transfer of values through generations is what culture and civilization is all about.

Enough said.

Now on to real life and to real tales about ethical quandaries.

Over many years of internal struggle I came to the conclusion that moral behavior is the ability to choose a better plan of action under the existing environment , circumstances and available options. Bits and pieces of the chosen action plan may contain actions that in absolute terms may not be correct. But, if the over all effect of the chosen planned action gives the best possible result then the action can be considered to be morally correct.

Sounded wishy washy did it not? Yes I know that even after many years of cogitation my definition of moral correctness was not crisp or cut and dried. But I had to admit that if my thought process functioned through the English Language, this was the best that I could do. So, for the sake of emotional comfort I even tried to process my thoughts in Bangla/Hindi/Sanskrit. I found that it was somewhat easier that way. In vernacular, my question to myself became – ‘Is my Karma Dharma-Sammata?’ (Before I proceed any further, I must apologize to those of my readers who have drifted totally away from their vernacular tongue or have had no opportunity to learn a Sanskrit based language. If you feel uncomfortable especially because of the use of words like Dharma or Karma, just leave this paragraph out) . It became easier to structure an answer to that question because by definition Dharma is situational; Dharma is role based. It is also acknowledged that each human being enacts multiple roles and Dharma for each role can be different. Dharma for a father would be different from the Dharma for a king. When a king is also a father, this multiplicity of Dharma can cause conflicts. It is also acknowledged that such conflicts are common. There is even a name for this state of affairs. Such conflicts are called ‘Dharma Sankata’. A Karma or action that is Dharma-Sammata, i.e. is within the bounds of the related Dharma, is an action that can resolve this conflict or Sankata. Such an action would be morally/ethically correct.

Through out my life there have been many occasions where I have had to face such sankatas or conflicts. I wish to record my reconciliatory actions in such cases. My readers can then judge for themselves whether I had managed to resolve my conflicts successfully or whether my actions were actually just compromises.

The stories are to follow.

Our terminal academic results came out. I was happy to note that the only -1 (minus one) grading indicating a Below the Average assessment that I had picked up in the mid-term test (in Hindi) had been converted to a zero grade (Average) for the term final. The grading for the other subjects had also improved. The humanities grades were mainly zeros, the science grades were mainly plus one (Above the average), with two subjects (Physics and Engineering Drawing) fetching a plus two (Excellent). I was happy to realize that there would be no need to to hide my results from Baba and Ma when I reached home.

On the last day of the week before the end of term the academic pressure was called off. There were no classes. PT in the morning and Drill after Breakfast of course did not count. Those had become a part of our daily life. For the rest of the day we were allowed to pack our bags, clean up our rooms, and remain in our billets. That itself was a strange and relieving experience after a six months grind. We were handed our break-instructions in a little cyclostyled sheet. We were also lectured on how to behave ourselves in public away from the watchful eyes of our mentors in the academy. We were reminded about our turn out and dress during the holidays. We were admonished about the misuse of uniform. We were reminded that our uniform was not to to be mixed in use with civilian clothes. It was impressed upon us to remember that we represented the Services to the general public and that we must not bring disgrace to our uniform by our behavior. We listened to all that sermon in total silence. Then came the surprise announcement. We were asked to collect our pocket money for the holiday! Since it was not yet the first of the month, I had not thought about collecting any pocket money. My surprise became bigger as the bursar gave back ALL the money in my account instead of the 30 Rupees per month that we were used to. Baba had deposited a caution money (perhaps 200 rupees?) and also paid in advance for my pocket money for the first six months, that is another 180 rupees. A couple of months after my arrival, my monthly government stipend of thirty rupees per month had been sanctioned. That added two months worth of stipend to the kitty for the two months already spent. Therefore, all the money I had brought from home plus the arrears of 60 Rupees was still in my account. All that money came back to me. I felt overwhelmed and very rich.

Dispatch of about three hundred ninety cadets on leave on one day was a large organized affair. Two convoys of trucks were arranged. The first one left at dawn. The Doon Express to Calcutta was scheduled to leave late in the afternoon. The group heading east was therefore allowed to go to the station by the second convoy starting at ten. Even so, we had many hours to kill before we could board our train. From the group heading east, nine of us from the third course formed a subgroup and went town-roaming. Apart from the air force Bong group of BK Chattoraj, Atin Das, Chinmoy Nandi, GC Dutta, and the two Sens – TK and KK, we took in two Pongo fledgelings, Pradeep Dasgupta and Dipankar Bhattacharya. All of us were headed for Calcutta except for G.C. Dutta, who would go on to Ranchi.

We strolled through the market; it was not very far from the railway station. We bought knick-knacks for our dear ones. It was a strange sensation of having time to think about home and having money in our pockets to think of purchasing little gifts and being free to roam in a bazaar all at the same time! After some time we grew hungry and we ate the packed lunch that we had brought from the mess. We still had some time left and our pockets were still heavy. By about two thirty we spotted a new (or newly refurbished) ice-cream joint. It was called the Kwality. We rushed in and settled down. The restaurant had a menu that was long. It was difficult to decide what to eat. The price tags on the right hand column also seemed excessive. There were items costing as much as three rupees! What the hell. It was an ice-cream joint. We were free to explore it as we had money in our pockets. We splurged and ate as much as we could. The bill came to a princely sum of rupees fifty seven plus some change. For the nine of us it averaged a little over six rupees each. Considering the base line large cup of vanilla at four annas a cup, that was a lot of ice-cream. Happily we returned to the station and got into the train as soon as it was positioned on the platform.

We had hoped that our gang will get our seats in a bunch together. We however found that we had been distributed over tour different bogies in twos and a three. Chinmoy Nandi travelled in my compartment. Rail carriages of 1950s were quite different from the ones that are used to today. Bogies were not inter-connected. Each bogie had four or five different compartments. Some were small, containing only two berths. These were known as coupe. Other compartments had four or six berths. Chinmoy and I got lodged in a six berth cabin. The other four seats were occupied by a Calcuttan family with of two adults and two kids. We got two of the upper berths, which did not bother us in the least.

It is rather difficult for a boy to look at himself from an outer point of view. All of us at the academy took our being in the teen stage of life without a second thought. To us, our growth and our appearance seemed normal. We did not realize at all that the six months at the academy had visually changed us. Now that we were going back home, we would realize how much we had changed. During the train journey we got a fore taste of what was to come.

We sat around for some time. The train went past Haridwar where we had some refreshments. (We seemed to be eternally hungry!) . As the evening turned to night we decided to get to bed. Without a second thought, we got up, put our weight on the chain holding the bunk from the roof and swung our legs up. It was the easiest way we thought of getting into the high bunk. For the sake of politeness, as we stretched ourselves in the bunk bed we poked our heads out and said good night to our co-passengers befriended over the last few hours. We found them looking at us with open mouthed amazement. It slowly dawned on us that our simultaneous athletic vault into the bunk was unexpected for our friends. Without realizing, over the last six months, we had become unusually agile. Our muscles were toned, and what we felt to be normal movement looked like acrobatics for the uninitiated! We smiled inwardly and fell off to sleep. Through out the next day however, we had to demonstrate our vaulting ingress and egress to /from the bunk a number of times at the request of the two kids who could not have enough of that athletic demonstration.

I reached home to a tremendous welcome. Grandma, parents, aunts and uncles every one was taken by my crewcut hair, smart dress and crisp movements. The transformation from a sickly college kid to a smart cadet of the Academy took them by surprise. To me, the household looked the same as I remembered and did not understand the fuss they were making about my ‘transformation’. Of course I had grown taller by an inch and had increased my weight by about twenty pounds, but was that not normal for a growing teen-ager? My first holiday after putting on uniform turned out to be fun.

From early next morning, I went around Calcutta re-connecting with my friends. Gora (Kumar Debakram Majumder) was full of news. He had cleared the UPSC exam in his second attempt. We had sat for the test together last time when I had passed and he had stayed back. He had now also cleared his Services Selection Board tests and had got his call-up letter. He would be joining me in Dehradun shortly. Of course he had opted for the Army and not the Air Force. None of my friends from the Academy lived close by. Automatically our old group of Anil Banerji, Gora Majumder and I resumed our daily Adda. For the moment, Parameswar Bhattacharya, the other regular in our gang of four was missing. He had joined the Indian Navy as a Boy Apprentice just before I had got into the Academy and was then under training at INS Cicars which was located at Vizag.

Slowly, a realization dawned on me. I had changed in the last six months! Previously, I would have readily agreed that I was physically the weakest in the gang. I was shorter and thinner. I used to tire easily. And I would be happier to sit and chat over a packet of peanuts than go for a long walk or run. That now did not seem to be case. I had grown taller and had put on some weight. I did not consider myself weak any more. I would happily wrestle and run, and often win. In the academy this change was not visible or evident to me. but now amidst my old friends it was very visible. The other thing I noticed was that my reactions to events and my speed of decision making had changed markedly for the better. I now felt irritated when the others took undue time to decide which movie to see or where to head for in the evening. The other nice feeling I enjoyed amongst my friends was of being rich. In my college days, my allotted pocket money of four annas a day did not take me very far. But now, with all the money that I had collected from the Academy before coming home on leave was still in my pocket. I had of course offered to surrender all that money to Baba as soon as I had returned, but he was generous and had permitted me to splurge if I wanted to do so. It was a great feeling.

A few days later Parameshwar Bhattacharya joined the gang. I found that changes on him over the past year were even more marked than it was on me. He was in any case a tough boy even in school, but now he was really tough. He never seemed to get tired of any physical exertion. I, with all my new-found stamina and smartness still could not outrun or outwrestle him. He had started smoking heavily and took pride in the fact that he could go through a whole tin of fifty cigarettes in one day. I did not like this change in him. In awareness of the world however, I had inched forward. We were good friends as we always had been, but there was this slow realization that all of us were well on our way to become individuals with our own distict identities.

For the three weeks of our break we kept ourselves busy. One round of get together in the morning either around the Dhakuria lake or around the Maidan or the New Market, A meal either in my mama-badi at Janak Road or at Gora’s house, and a second get together in the evening ending with a movie a day. The time ran out before we realized that it was gone.

On our way back we found that we were bunched closer together on the reservation chart. Three or four four-berth compartments were filled with cadets returning to Dehradun. In addition to the nine Bongs of the 3rd batch, the rest were seniors from first and second courses, traveling back with us in the same train. I was put in with a bunch of senior cadets. I did not have much to talk about with these guys; I had a lot of time to introspect and surprisingly a lot of things to introspect about. The first thing that surprised me was my own attitude about this journey to Dehradun. Six months ago when I had undertaken such a journey to join the Academy, the main feeling in my mind was that of an adventure admixed with a small strain of anxiety. This time in contrast, the feeling was similar to a feeling of returning home. I was surprised to realize that subconsciously I had started thinkning of the Academy as MY Place! I was happy to get back there. Another thing that surprised me was the realization that I was beginning to be more comfortable with my friends I barely met for the last six months compared to the friends I have grown up with over many years. These old time friends seemed to be frozen in a a social mould from which I was drifting away. It is not that I loved them any less. I still held deep affection for each one of them. So why was there this feeling of drift. It slowly dawned on me that the main difference was the expansion of my own horizon. I now knew many more people and about many more things. I had been exposed to a very large pool of human relations, human feelings and human emotions which had changed my priorities and my outlook. In comparison, the space occupied by my old friendships had shrunk from the time when my universe was much smaller. Perhaps such feelings are common to young people when they move from school to college or from home to a hostel? Still, I tended to feel privileged by the sheer enormity of exposure that was available for me just by stepping out of a provincial environment to that provided to me by the Academy. It was a happy journey back to Dehradun.