With my fighter flying days behind me, I am not only able to look at the profession more objectively than earlier but also talk about it with more candour. I would have said “write dispassionately”, but one just cannot be dispassionate about any kind of flying, least of all fighter flying.
Coming from a small-town, middle-class family in the pre-Internet era, I did not know much about the Indian Air Force or the armed forces in general. It was just this urge to soar into the blue yonder beyond that made me con my parents into letting me join the National Defence Academy. Many well-wishers did try to dissuade me, telling me I did not have the required aggression, or the so-called “killer spirit” that they thought a fighter pilot should possess. Luckily, I knew better. The first time I looked down at my college’s sports fields from the cockpit of the National Cadet Corps glider, I knew this job was not so much about aggression as it was about passion. It was about freedom.
Fighter pilots have been called modern-day gladiators, the last of the lone warriors. But the truth is that a fighter pilot is anything but a warrior. He is just someone who gave into his inner child. He does what he does, not to satiate a desire to vanquish but to soar above such petty desires. The ferocity he brings to his job is not the cold fury of a warrior but his desire to excel. As he manoeuvres to get on his adversary’s tail, he is only competing with himself. He is always analysing his every move, every turn, and trying to best his own “score”. When you see a fighter pilot with an intense look on his face, his hands mimicking the flight of an imaginary aircraft, you know he is analysing a flight or preparing for one. Lack of preparation for a flight can be lethal — for the pilot in actual ops and for his ego in peacetime.
Given a chance, a fighter pilot would spend an evening drinking with the guy he shot out of the skies in the morning. He would compliment the adversary on a flight well flown, quiz him on his aircraft and manoeuvres, and revel in his compliments. The aircraft swooping and gliding in a dogfight may seem like they are engaged in a duel, but they are actually enacting a ballet. A ballet choreographed by years of training and executed by instinct. Yes, instinct, for the situation in the air is so fluid that nothing and nobody can prepare you for every eventuality. Ultimately, it may come down to what is called “seat of pants” flying. But reverting to instinct rather than training does not count as lack of a professional attitude.
Most fighter pilots are not bothered about a professional attitude towards flying because they don’t know of any other attitude. While the land (and sea) lubbers only see the glamour, aggression and risk in this line of work, the fighter pilot sees none of these. He does not even see a line of work. For the biggest punishment you can give a fighter pilot is to stop him from flying.
No reprimands, no pay cuts or loss of seniority. Just take away one flight from him.
Longing to soarAs you see him gazing longingly at the departing aircraft, you know there is no remorse greater than that of a grounded pilot. This love becomes evident at the Air Force flying academies. The cadets who sought doctors’ prescriptions to escape the rigours of the tough training at the National Defence Academy, suddenly start shying away from the doctors at the flying academies. The medical certificate they now seek from the doctor is not for an illness, but for fitness. Though proceeding for a flight without adequate preparation could invite strict disciplinary action from the instructors, even an ill-prepared trainee would rather proceed for the flight and face the music later rather than forgo a day’s flight. As they say, once you have tasted flight, you will always walk with your eyes skywards, for that is where you have been and that is where you want to be.
Having seen death at close quarters so very frequently, these pilots remain cheerful, carefree spirits, revelling in the present with no regrets about the past, and nary an apprehension about the future. What is seen by many as a violent, aggressive profession is actually filled with so much nobility that leaves but little space for petty feuds.
Maybe I am being a tad melodramatic. Maybe someday I will be able to shake off this stupor and pen a few real-life anecdotes from my days spent with a jet strapped onto my back. But for now, nostalgia does wear rose-tinted glasses. Or blue tinted, for the flyboys!
(The author retired from the Indian Air Force as a Wing Commander. raman.iaf@gmail.com )
