Ever since I can remember, all I ever wanted was to become a fighter pilot. I learnt in my early teens that the surest and fastest route to becoming one was through NDA. And so, I joined the 73rd NDA in the January of 1985.
But then I am running ahead of myself. So please indulge in me as I lay the background for this.
My first motivation to become a fighter pilot came from my father and his colleagues. Dad was a Navigator in the IAF and had flown eight combat missions on the venerable Canberra in 1965 Ops. Many an evening did I spend as a young boy listening to him and his mates recount their war stories. They, of course, scarcely needed the encouragement which I provided in abundance. The names of the Pak airbases that they struck were enshrined in my young mind forever. Mauripur, Sargodha, Peshawar (always pronounced with an Anglo-Indian accent as ‘PayshaWere’), Chor; I knew about them way before I knew most Indian cities.
The fact that I wore the khaki uniform as a seven-year-old boy in Grade III of Stanes High School helped. It was the same colour and fabric as the then-IAF uniform. At age ten or eleven I would don my father’s overalls and pose for pictures which my sister would click. I even learnt to stand in the classic pose and swagger with the helmet on my hip. Dad’s mates loved it and would even loan me their precious Rayban Aviators.
In my 8th standard, I joined the Junior Wing of NCC. The trips to Kalaikunda were particularly exciting for we would see the mighty Sabre-Killer, the Gnat in action. All heady stuff. I enjoyed the entire training; the drill, firing the 0.22 and even the 0.303. I won a shooting competition as well and Dad gave me an air gun as a present.
In time I joined Bangalore Military School. Again, the khaki beckoned, and I was on a roll. Life at BMS was a mixed bag. There was a lot of bullying, ragging, and some unmentionable stuff that goes on in boys boarding schools. But I am grateful that the school encouraged me to play all sports. I won medals in cross-country, football, athletics, and even book prizes in debate and elocution. I learnt and participated in boxing, a love that has lasted a lifetime. I will always have tremendous respect for our teachers and coaches at BMS. Students of the XIth and 12th standards regularly joined NDA. These seniors would come back to school and address all juniors in the Assembly Hall. It was mesmerizing. They spoke of the fantastic infrastructure, the immaculate layout, boxing, cross-country, games, and the amazing food; it was enough to make me besotted. My only desire from now onwards was to join NDA.
For various reasons, I left BMS and joined Kendriya Vidyalaya Shillong. My father was serving as the Ops II C, handling helicopter operations in Eastern Air Command. If I recall correctly, he had to work a lot with the Command Ops Room. Young officers who had bounced fighter flying would man the Ops Room in shifts round the clock. Dad was always quite popular with them as he was a great host, and my mother always laid a superb table. Most of these officers were ex-NDAs and I would listen to their tales in rapt attention.
Having finished my XIth, I broached the subject of the NDA Entrance Examination. Incidentally, I wasn’t aware that I could have applied six months earlier. Nevertheless, I went ahead. Now, my mother was not at all inclined, but my father was delighted. A JWO who worked under my father got the application form; his son who was undergoing graduation too was going to appear. We filled it up and there I was ready to go. However, I hadn’t foreseen my father’s fervour. This JWO would recount to my father how his son was burning both ends of the candle whilst preparing for the exam. He would elaborate on the vast amount of material that his son had accumulated. How it was his third attempt and how tough the exam was going to be, and how stiff the competition was. In contrast, there was me. I had done nothing to prepare for the exam. My father would blow his top. He would see me and yell, “Awamanam!”. This is a pretty descriptive word to describe everything that a father feels for his prodigal son. Disappointment, the looming loss of face, societal embarrassment, I am sure you get the drift.
Now, please don’t get me wrong. I didn’t take the exam lightly. I simply didn’t know how to prepare. I had gone through the syllabus. It consisted of GK, which was a personal favourite. The academic syllabus of Math, Physics, Chemistry and very little Biology was of IXth and Xth grade standards. I had just cleared my Xth board with distinctions. So, I was quite confident. But this constant graphic description worried me. So off I was dispatched to the JWO’s residence where I met this veteran examinee. Looking at the amount of material he had, I was petrified. There were barely 2 weeks to go. He told me that my preparation was hopeless but was kind enough to motivate me with a “there is always a next time”. In desperation, I went with my father to the Command Reference Library and issued a book that had the question papers of the last five years. That was 10 sets of papers. I went through a few and found them not very daunting. I dismissed this as a case of luck. The papers asked what I knew. So I decided to give it a shot.
The first exam of the three-day schedule was on 17 May 1984. As time went by, that day became significant for a good many reasons. If I remember correctly the KV School opened on 14 May. I went for three days and was to bunk school for the examination which was held in Shillong City. The venue was the State Auditorium near Ward Lake.
I have always been quite an independent boy. I was brought up in boarding schools where there is zero mollycoddling. So, I worked out a way to go. The JWO’s son, two other seniors from the officer’s kids and I would walk up to the Five Mile Point. The Command Unit Ration LP Run was a 3-ton Shaktiman that would route along this place and drop us off at Shillong Bara Bazaar. From there it was a short 15 min walk to the Auditorium. Now, my parents had gone to Nepal a week before. They shopped a lot at Dulabari. Crockery, cutlery, carpets, and all sorts of knick-knacks. They even got all three of us kids a pair of jeans each. I still remember the brand; it was called One-Nine. It looked the part. Brass studs, rivets, a brass zip.
So, wearing the new jeans, I swung myself over the tailboard clambering aboard the truck. And it happened. The horror of horrors! The jeans split along the inner seam all the way from the bottom of one leg across the crotch all the way to the other. My 'friends' collapsed laughing. If I think back the situation was comical. But I was in tears, literally. I sat with my legs pressed close together to salvage what little I could of my dignity.
After getting off at Bara Bazaar I bought four packets of safety pins. I then stitched together the trouser flaps with the safety pins. I walked in that way all the way to the auditorium. My eyes were blinded by hot tears as I felt everyone laughing at me. Getting into the Exam Hall, I mumbled to the invigilators. I finished the identification procedure and somehow made my way to my seat and collapsed. A kingly invigilator brought a glass of water for me and consoled me. He tried to get me to relax and composed for the exam.
The first paper was ####. It went in a blur. I think there was a break of about an hour. With my friend, I dashed to the market and found a tailor. The tailor gave me a rag to tie around my waist in a vain attempt at hiding my modesty. He then stitched the jeans. I put them on and tested them for strength by squatting and swinging my legs around. They held and I breathed sighs of relief.
We then got back to the exam hall. The second paper was like the first. I was unable to concentrate. But I finished the paper and submitted it quite ahead of time. After the others finished up we headed back home. The Shaktiman trundled up and again I swung myself gingerly over the tailboard. The blessed jeans held and I silently but profusely thanked the tailor.
My father was there at home as I walked in. He took one look at my red and swollen eyes and feared the worst. I held back my tears as I related the day's happenings. He had little sympathy as I guess he was maybe more anxious than me about my performance. After a few rounds of 'awamanam', we were done. The next day had two papers on Mathematics. I went through the mechanics having been disappointed with the earlier day's mishappenings. Listening to the other colleagues and their descriptions of the questions and answers, I was very disheartened. The NDA dream just disappeared in a pool of streaming tears and ripped tears.
My father soon got posted to Baroda(present-day Vadodara) and we left for that city. I was in my XIIth and was quite distraught at having to change my school. But the domestic problems of staying without my father, my sister being already in a hostel in Vadodara etc made the move inevitable. I joined Kendriya Vidyalaya Harni. The school was boring as compared to Shillong. I gave up on the NDA dream as there was little support at home.
A month into Vadodara I was aboard yet another Shaktiman that was our school bu. A classmate was waving a copy of the Economic Times that had the NDA entrance exam results. The paper was nearly a month old. . I tried to act casual as I asked for the paper. Since I didn't remember my Candidate Number, I took the paper home. To my absolute delight, I cleared the exam. On making a few enquiries with some ex-NDA officers at the base I realised that I had not received my SSB call letter. They advised me to write to Dholpur House with the details. I received a prompt reply that they had sent two call letters to our Shillong Address that had not been replied to. A last and final call letter was enclosed asking me to report to SSB at Varanasi.
To cut to the chase, I cleared the SSB and the medicals and made it to the merit list getting Air Force as my first choice.
The rest as they say is history.
