A Very Small World – 5: Picnic at Pinjore Gardens

Our lives are but long strings of incidents.   The incidents themselves are little beads that get threaded over a string of time.   As time goes by,   the beads recede into obscurity and are lost sight of.      Yet,  after many years, if one decided to pick up one of these discarded strings and looks at one of the beads threaded there on, one finds that though encrusted in dust, the bead itself has lost none of its colour, nor its ability to revive the taste and smell of that time.

As I travel back in time to 1962 and pick one incident, I find that it is as complicated as one could be.   It has all the little shades of events and emotions to be remembered as a story.   So, here you are….. 

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My Time with The Bullets – 5 : Breaking an Aircraft

For the year 1966 I wore two hats at work.    My primary job (as I was told by my bosses) was to be the Station Flight Safety Officer of Ambala.   My primary job (in my own eyes and according to the official posting order that I had received) was to be the flight commander of Number 18 Squadron.    There was a difference in the two interpretations that had to be reconciled.