Highs and lows of a pilot’s life

Col HP Singh (Retd)

A successful pilot is one whose total number of takeoffs is equal to his total number of landings — this was what we were told during our training days. Soon, we learnt that flying had more to do with the ‘feel of pants’ than the procedures enumerated in our pamphlets. When we were awarded the flying badge at the end of the training, our joy knew no bounds.

On joining the squadron, while we underwent tactical flying training, we also received some pearls of wisdom from experienced aviators. ‘There are either old pilots or bold pilots and there can never be an old bold pilot,’ my Commanding Officer would say. ‘While flying in the Thar desert, whenever you feel unsure of your position, just turn due east or else you will return via Islamabad’ — the flight commander had his witty way of making a point.

Avoiding birds, scanning of force-landing fields and taking split-second decisions became second nature. Air maintenance for troops deployed in treacherous terrain was extremely gratifying. More than supplying fresh rations, life-saving medicines or letters from home, we provided the soldiers the most essential commodity — morale. Carrying body-bags, however, was equally disheartening; a dead man weighs as heavy in the aircraft as he does in the mind of a pilot.

Then there were those tense moments, coupled with an adrenal rush, while handling emergencies. I once just managed to reach my destination in the desert with only a minute or two of fuel left before the engine flamed out. Getting lost in a featureless terrain was not uncommon in those days devoid of GPS or autopilots. On another occasion, a catastrophe was seconds away due to an oil leak in the hydraulic system. Providence came to my rescue each time.

Evacuating the wounded has been another great experience. The sight of hope in the eyes of a dying man would only toughen our resolve. The smearing of our shoes with the blood of the person lying behind our seat would be nauseating. When one did get to meet this man after he recovered, his gratitude would eclipse the joy of being awarded a medal.

The greatest challenge of flying was at the Siachen Glacier, where the machines, the pilots and their guts were tested to the hilt. The decision on whether to attempt a rescue mission in marginal weather was never easy.

On World Pilots’ Day today, I salute all the flyboys by repeating the words of a mortally wounded officer, evacuated by a colleague during the Kargil war. His last words were, ‘Thanks for trying.’

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