Those Magnificent Men

The Avro, Baba's last military aircraft

Today is 08 October, Indian Air Force Day. On this day in 1932, the Royal Indian Air Force, its precursor, came into being. It had 6 RAF-trained officers, 19 Airmen (called "Hawai Sepoys" then!) and a grand total of 4 Westland Wapiti IIA Army Cooperation biplanes. The world's fourth largest air force is now 87 years old. Just to give you some perspective, the Wright Flyer-1 flew over Kitty Hawk, NC, USA on 17 December 1903 for a total of 12 seconds over 37 meters to launch the world into the Aerospace age. Today, we are about to receive the Dassault Rafale with a range of 3,700 km and a top speed of Mach 2 (twice the speed of sound), with an operating ceiling of over 15km above MSL. We have, in every way, come a long way, touching the sky with glory, literally.

Our Flight Simulator at Jeet Aerospace Institute

My best friend, accomplice, and fellow womb-sharer

But today's post isn't about the big, hairy things that our Air Force has done and is doing. It is about the people that make it up, and some of their quaint but loveable traditions that I got to see first hand as the son (first) and a brother (later) of military pilots, both of them thorough gentlemen apart from being very able officers and flyers: My father the late Wg Cdr Anil Gadgil (Retd), who passed away on 08 August 2019, exactly 2 months ago, and my kid brother the late Flt Lt Abhijit Gadgil, whose MiG-21 crash over the Western Sector triggered a movement initiated by my (and Abhi's!) mother, Kavita Gadgil that began with insisting that the government probe his crash carefully before jumping to conclusions (they claimed he was a bad pilot, within 12 hours of his crash), fought over 7 years, received an apology and a correction (the crash was due to multiple-instrument failure and a trim runaway at take off on a moonless night over a horizonless landscape), passed through various other milestones (The Abhijit Air Safety Foundation and it's school Jeet Aerospace Institute, where we trained over 650 pilots in the past 12 years), and culminated in the brand new jets we are taking delivery of today.

As I said, while this story may have started talking of the big events, it is actually about something small that happened on 21 December 1996.

Waiting for the freshly minted Gazetted Officer

It was the day Abhijit got commissioned in the IAF, passing out of the Air Force Academy, Dundigul, Hyderabad. We were all there: Baba, Maa, Deepak Mama, Shaila Mami, Aditi (their daughter), Leena Mami, Dada Mama, Aji (my grandmother, Baba's mum), and I. We had, as you can see, kept alive the tradition of a ratio of around 10 to 1 for every person departing by train, arriving at the airport, passing out or entering a school or academy, or even popping off on a honeymoon. We are a communal people, maybe because of our family values or maybe because there are just so many of us (1.3 billion is not a joke!). Whatever the reason, we all made the trip to Hyderabad on that beautiful, crisp, cold morning in December 1996, and found ourselves seats as close to the dais as we were allowed. Then, we had a bet on who could spot Abhi (I won) in the parade because all of them look the exact same in their haircuts, lean muscular frames, scowling expressions, and their smart uniforms. But this story isn't about the parade either. It is about what happened after.

Karan-Arjun anyone?

Before I begin, let me tell you about an interesting tradition these pilots follow: When they pass out as commissioned officers and pilots in the IAF, they receive their "Wings & Rings", meaning the stripe ("Ring") signifying their rank on their shoulders is uncovered (it is covered with a white mask during their cadetship) and the symbol of the Ashok Chinha (four lions pointing to the four directions) with white wings, signifying their status as now-trained pilots is stuck (now-a-days using velcro) to their uniform shirt by the Chief Guest. Once the ceremony is over, the freshly minted officer pilots normally go up to their favourite instructor and exchange their "Wing" with them as a mark of respect and reverence.

Justifiable pride, carrying on the family tradition!

Now, we were waiting on the tarmac with all other attendees and parents for Abhi to come and see us after passing out when we saw his tall, lanky figure striding towards us, almost marching. All of us waved and shouted with joy, but I noticed Baba was a bit quiet, as if he was apprehensive about something. I let it go. As he came closer, he actually started marching formally, approached Baba, came to a snappy attention, saluted smartly and asked, "May I have the honour of exchanging my wing with you, SIR?"

We did not know this, but Baba had carried his old IAF wing in his jacket pocket all the way from Mumbai, without breathing a word about it, since he was not sure whether Abhi would ask him. He was our first guru, and for sure, Abhi learnt a lot about flying from him. There was no doubt, but he wasn't sure whether Abhi would acknowledge it with the ceremony.

Exchanging wings: The guru and the chela!

So, he fished it out of his pocket, and pinned it on Abhi's left breast, then stepped back with a feeling of pride in his eyes I spent the rest of my life striving for. And then, for the first time in my 24-year-old life, I saw him cry.

I miss you, Baba, my Superman, my guru, my perfect human! And I miss you Abhi, my best friend and chela! Happy 87th, Air Warriors. You did touch the sky with glory.