In 1989-90, while commanding 104 Sqn, there was great deal pressure on my
wife ‘T’ and I to organise an entertaining event for IAF day celebrations in
Bhatinda.
It
kicked off as a briefing, by then the Station Commander ‘Counta’ Sir, with
three months’ advance notice, to my cm Gahlot (then CO 17 Sqn), Gulati
then CO of an SU (3 courses senior), and Walia (then CO of the GCA Unit, who
was the indisputable darling of the Boss Counta), an appeal to his three
musketeers, to make the event memorable to a large audience / invitees from
the army, including GoC 10 Corps.
At
that time my boys and I were extremely busy, 24 x 7, doing AST/OST including
air to ground firing at Halwara and Pokran, writing SoPs, war plan, employment
doctrine and incredible amount of paperwork including SoCs for KLP, WET, WWR,
minor and major works, ATG, and the usual things that happens in a new raising,
trying to get ourselves ‘fit for war’ quickly, very very
quickly. It seemed the war was coming, since CIA reported that Pakis were taking
out nuclear warheads out of the Kahoota tunnel.
So
I delegated the AF day entertainment by 104 to ‘T’. ‘You got controls’, I told
my wife, an executive order like the Roman Centurion, ‘Pontius Fuckusall’.
As
the days went by, Mrs Counta (lovingly referred to, behind her back, as
‘Counti’) observed that the ladies of 17 Sqn were seriously practising ‘Gidha’
(Punjabi Dance), Gulati’s group, a Gujerati Girbha / Dandia, Walia’s unit
practising this or that, but 104 ladies were doing nothing. Counti
complained to Counta, and I was admonished. That evening I gave a severe
reprimand to T.
‘Ayyao,
what can I do ?, T remonstrated. ‘Our ladies don’t have any new
ideas to do entertainment. I am MA in international affairs, not a bloody
nautanki’, she baulked, refused to kiss me or give me dinner. Though the ‘AF
Act’ gave me some control over the men I commanded, I had absolutely no control
over the ladies, or even my then 9 yr old son. The rascal frequently went to
race with his best friend Dhruv, son of my sweeper, on their cycles , on the
runway or taxi tracks, when Migs where lined up for take-off.
All
of these didn’t do me any good.
As
the days went by, because everyone was doing their bit, and 104 was doing
nothing, Counta Sir rightly got the ‘heebies and the jeebies’, because all and
sundry VVIPs in 10 Corps had confirmed attendance, inter-service
camaraderie at its best. Walia had in addition taken on the catering and the
menu / bar was ready to roll. All except 104 who did nothing.
So
Counta Sir blew the bugle and marched me into his office two days before the
party, to send me to the firing squad, without an SCM.
‘Sir,
Shir, Shirjee’, I pleaded guilty, in the most sugary, syrupy sycophancy
that I could muster. I had to make it up to him, because a few days
earlier, during the dress rehearsal, my Sqn Doc had hijacked his flag from his
car and Counta Sir was convinced, because of my rascally reputation, that it
was I who had done it.
‘The
AF day is falling on a full moon night’, I pleaded.
‘Can
we have the party on 31 dumbbell instead of the mess, which has no lawn and
gets everyone’s shoes dirty ?’, I requested.
‘Trust
me, leave everything else to me’, I pleaded (most sugary, syrupy,
sycophantic tone, like the mewing cat). I was good at pleading
like that, about 18 yrs experience of being in the dock daily !!
Counta
Sir had no choice, so he marched me out without SCM and firing squad, but he
liked the idea of the party on the runway. After all, the runway and ORP are
the epicentre of all activity on an AF station, even nocturnal mischief.
I
went back to my office in blast pen 19, a lonely agitated man.
I
rang up the Col Q (late ACA Pundir, my nemesis in NDA but good friend afterwards)
in 10 Corps, with SoS for this or that.
I
then called my best friend, my Flt Cdr (2 i/c) Bupi (Sablok). We
were slated to do night flying as usual that night. I asked him to invite
all ladies to visit us on top of the blast pen 19 while we did night flying.
I
had 4 NCEs trained as exceptional cooks by Miss Harinder Singh, then Dir
F&B in Hyatt in Delhi. Out of air crew ration and Titar which got ingested
into the Ogives (air intake protection of the engines), they usually
produced the famous mouth-watering ‘250 kg keema bombs’, our Sqn speciality.
We had a lovely party.
‘Pat’,
I told Pathania, ‘Go contact the Punjab Police and see whether you can borrow a
set of police uniform, the khaki shorts, riding puttees, pagri and a 303 DP
rifle from the armoury. You are going to be a Hawaii Sepoy’.
‘And
you, Rajbir, you are going to be Meher Singh, go find some loose fitting
old flying clothing, wrap a bed sheet around your head that looks similar to what he wore
during air lift to Srinagar in 1947’.
‘Ashu’,
I asked him to take my wife T to 17 Sqn and find her a G suit that fit her, as
also a bone dome and pressure breathing mask. I also told him that he was my
‘Subroto’, the day he took over as chief in 1954, and to dress like him.
I asked
my EO ‘Venky’ to go to the fire section and borrow the silver coloured fire
retardant protective suit with mask and be Rakesh Sharma, the space man.
Every
one of my 24 officers were asked to dress and behave like someone from AF
history, with Bhupi as master coordinator, to dress up like ACM Dilbagh.
Avnit,
Rajbir’s wife who was the smartest lady and who spoke very well, was made MC. I
wrote a brief script of IAF history for her and asked her to edit and adapt it
as she liked, and add humour. I asked for suggestions and offered to shave my
head, colour my face red, and be ACM Moolie, who was like an angry carrot all
the time when he was the chief. But unanimously my team told me to dress just
like CO 104, just as I was. I think they felt I fit the role of ‘Ravan’ like a
glove !!
Alam
my STO was to coordinate positioning of spot lights, PA Syst, Mig-21s,
Mi-35s and SAM-IIIs, bombs, RPs, all the
arsnel in the bomb dump, right there on the dumbbell, touching distance from
the guests. He was given all the odd jobs along with the youngest, EO PO
Bhupender, who was to dress like a newly inducted airman in 65 war, chasing parachutists
at Ambala with a 'Danda'. The ladies were told to look through old albums and
dress like their grandmothers when they were young.
In
bright full moon night, about 80 offrs/wives of AF Stn Bhatinda and about 300
invitees including the Corps Cdr assembled on 31 dumbbell with sofa and chairs
laid out in a semicircle by Col Q Pundir, who also provided shamiyanas and
field toilet – food stalls, outdoor party kit including a tandoor, with
manpower, generator and subdued lighting, all under the supervision of Alam. NDA
camaraderie at its best. The party started with Gidda, Girbha, Dandia dance,
and unpalatable skits & PJs by Walia, while gentlemen hit the bar like a
frontal assault at Hajipir Pass.
My
NCEs provided the snack of the day, ‘250 kg bombs’, Titar Keema and its
equivalent of Potats for Vegetarians, tandoori stuff, mini samosas, iddali
fried, exotic snacks that Harindar had taught them in Hayatt, dressed in
spotless whites like Hyatt chefs. Liquor flowed like Ganga and Yamuna. There
was live army band, and dancing, mostly Punjabi Pop,’Tootak, Tootak,
Tootia’, favourite of Counta Sir.
And
when the clock struck nine, Avnit took over.
104,
put up a ‘Son et lumière’ of ‘AF
down the ages’, with absolutely no practice. Out of the dark came a ‘Hawai
Sepoy’ (Pat) doing a Dhawakar at Wazaristhan, followed one by one by the
venerable characters from AF history, wearing the many AF uniforms of the
past, with their wives dressed like their grandmothers, holding
hands, spot lights by Alam tracking them while they strolled about the
dumbbell, with Frank Sinatra belting out ‘Strangers in the night’, quite a
change from ’Tootak, Tootak, Tootia’.
Venky
outdid ever one else. From behind a Mi-35, which looked like a lunar vehicle in
the moon light, he came bunny hopping in slow motion, defying gravity,
like Neil Armstrong during his moon walk,
to a thunderous ovation. The show stopper was T. She marched into
the centre of the dumbbell wearing a G Suit, with the bone dome and oxygen
mask. T stopped in the centre of the circle with her hands on her hips. Avnit
announced that this is the fighter pilot of the future. T bent forward,
took off the bone dome in one swift motion, shook her long hair loose in one
flick of her head as she went back to the hands on the hip stance.
There
was thunderous applause and standing ovation from the army.
Afterwards,
Counta Sir gave me the ‘bamboo’ in his office, for stealing his flag. Though I
didn’t do it, it was my pleasure and duty to own up for crimes done by my
equally zestful rascals of 104. I was their team leader, wasn’t I ? Good thing
he didn’t order a firing squad. Otherwise I couldn’t have written this silly
story.
Counta
Brar & Counti Brar, both are jolly good fellows, so say all of us.
Cheers
CYCLIC
