The Dreams that live with us
There are two types of dreams (in my opinion). Firstly, there are those, which you want fulfilled and you work really hard to achieve them. Secondly, the ones which are not meant to be, no matter how hard you try.
The second kind, are best left as is, as a dream, till the last day of our life.
Below is a story of one of my childhood dreams that belong in the second category. It just wasn’t meant to be. As a child, I wanted to be a pilot and rule the sky. The dream still lives with me.
Background
My story goes back to the early 1970s. That period was very stressful for us, for many reasons. In the middle of the year 1971, our family was uprooted from Kolkata and we migrated to Delhi due to political reasons. Then, there was growing tensions between India and Pakistan followed by a full blown war.
It all started after the 1970 general election in Pakistan. The Awami League of East Pakistan won by a clear majority but they were denied their share of power in the country. The growing resentment among the Bengalis led to a civil war in East Pakistan in 1971. It led to a struggle for independence by Bengalis. The Pakistani Army was called in to quash the independence struggle. The tension started spilling over to India, as refugees started crossing the border into Indian Territory. The tension between India and Pakistan was building up.
Now you must be wondering why I am talking about Pakistan and the war. Read on.
During this stressful period, my father had to travel to Germany for some official work. My mother opposed that due to the growing tension. But he had to go.
Those days, there was no direct flight between India and Germany. The first stop between Delhi — Hamburg was Karachi followed by a couple of more stops in Turkey and Poland (most probably).
My father travelled during this stressful situation. His journey from New Delhi to Hamburg was smooth with no problems.
The situation between the India and Pakistan got worse and an open war looked inevitable. As he completed his errand in Germany, an all-out war was declared on the 6th of December 1971. He finished his work a couple of days later. After weighing all the pros and cons, he started his journey back home.
The stressful flight / journey
His return flight took off from Hamburg and after a couple of hops, it was time to land at Karachi Airport. My father was a bit worried about what was going to happen at Karachi airport. He was scared of being a victim of the bitter India — Pakistan relation. The countries were at war and he knew “All was fair in love and War”. He just didn’t want to be a PoW.
My father voiced his concern with the Pilot. The pilot promised to help. The flight landed at Karachi. All the passengers disembarked the flight. Till the plane was again ready to fly, my father was allowed to stay in the flight. The whole idea was, if my father didn’t disembark the flight, he didn’t “technically” touch Pakistani soil and hence, couldn’t be taken in custody by the Army. My father spent the hour or so talking with the pilot and air crew.
It was time to continue the flight on its last leg of the journey. All the passenger again boarded the flight and the plane took off. He was happy and relieved. He looked forward to landing back at Palaam. His happiness was short-lived. This time the whole flight was in trouble.
As the flight approached the airport, instead of the usual announcement “We are about to land at …” by the pilot, there was an unusual silence from the Pilot and the flight went round in circles over the airport. Being a frequent flyer, my father understood that something was not right. He did try to ask the flight crew, but nobody said a word. He was worried.
After about an hour of going round in circles, the aircraft started its downward approach to the runway. The usual landing announcement by the captain was broadcast. Everybody was praying in their own ways. There was an unusual calmness in the flight. Nobody moved or talked.
It was a perfect landing and all the passengers had a sigh of relief. As the touchdown happened, people started talking again. They kept sitting till the door was opened and the ladder/ stair was connected to the aircraft door for disembarking. As people got off the aircraft, they noticed lines of fire brigades and ambulances on standby.
Were they expecting something bad or dangerous to happen? My father saw a few of his colleagues and enquired. They asked my father to come to the office. They were not allowed to talk anything about the incident in public.
My father collected his luggage and walked into his office. What he heard from his colleague was very scary and he was glad that it was over.
As the aircraft approached the airport for landing, the pilot pressed the switch to lock the landing gear in place for landing (usually the tyres fold inside the belly of the aircraft and taken out for landing). The switch couldn’t confirm that the action was completed. The pilot wasn’t sure of the malfunction.
There was two options, first was, that the switch was not working and second, the landing gear wasn’t out and locked. It wouldn’t be a problem if the switch was malfunctioning, but if it was the second option, the flight could crash on the runway and it would be devastating.
The pilot contacted the ground control. The ground staff could see the gear out but couldn’t be sure that it was fully out and locked. The pilot was very experienced, he decided that he would approach the runway and would take it down to a level where he could check if the tyres touched the ground. If it happens he would land and if not, he would fly back up, offload all the fuel and then do a belly landing at the nearby fields.
The passengers were lucky, it was the first case. Only the switch was faulty. The landing gear was perfectly fine.
Flying an aeroplane — a distant dream
As so much happened, father got very late, my mother was waiting for him at home. He had to tell her the two stories. Generally my mother would be happy and smile, when my father came back from his overseas visits, but that day, she cried. My father tried hard to console her that it was safe but she wouldn’t listen.
From that day, something got into her mind and she hated flying. She was scared.
Every time my father went alone in a flight, my mother wouldn’t stop praying for his life, till his safe return.
Can you guess now why I told you this long story?
Yes, my hopes and dreams of being a pilot took a big nose dive. Every time my father talked about my future, my mother said “amar chele train driver hotey parey. Pilot noi (my son can be a train driver. Not Pilot)
As time passed, we forgot about the incident and my mother slowly regained her confidence back in the aviation industry.
My dream of being a pilot got a second setback in 1980. Sanjay Gandhi (son of the then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi) died in a crash while learning to fly (as we were told). My mother probably was sure after that, Pilot was not an option for me. Deep in my heart I knew that my dream could never be a reality. By that time I had picked up new interests in other areas.
Missed opportunity
My father, deep in his heart didn’t lose his hopes. I think, he also dreamt of becoming a pilot when he was younger. He was a poor orphan and couldn’t afford the studies, so he was probably hoping to fulfil his dream through me. He was earning well and could afford a Commercial Pilot licence course for me. But with my mother’s resistance, he sure was facing an uphill task.
As they say, God gives you at least one chance to fulfil your dream. You got to grab it.
God gave me one chance too.
My father met an old time friend of his, from Kolkata days, an Anglo-Indian gentlemen who was a pilot. They both had moved to Delhi from Kolkata but lost touch. He accidentally met my father at the airport. While having a discussion about themselves and the families, my father mentioned about me. He offered to help as he was an experienced trainer at the Safdarjung Airport flying club. My father however, mentioned my mother’s hesitance about my flying. He agreed to come to our house on a weekend to meet us all and specially to talk to my mother.
It was a sunny and cold on a Sunday winter morning. My father and I, decided to go to the market for our regular shopping. After a couple of hour of shopping we, father-son duo, came back home with the day’s purchases. My father’s pilot friend had visited our house while we were away.
The gentleman knocked on our door. My mother was alone and she opened the door. He greeted my mother. My mother had never met him so he introduced himself as “dada ka purana dost from Kolkata (dada’s old friend from Kolkata)”. My father was more known as dada in his work and friend circles.
Before my mother could let him in the house, he made the mistake of introducing himself as a Pilot. My mother, without any doubt, realised that it was part of a conspiracy by my father. My mother reluctantly let him inside the house but wanted to make it clear that she didn’t want her son to be a pilot. He drank a glass of water and waited for sometime. He left the house.
We returned home and my mother didn’t look very happy. She told my dad about his friend. My dad knew that the only opportunity the he thought was going to work, failed miserably. The opportunity couldn’t go past my mother. My father asked my mother about what she told him. My mother in her tone said “Hamara ladka train driver karega to bhi thik hai .. par pilot nahi banega. Hum kya sara din puja kartey rahenge kabhi baap ke liye, kabhi bete ke liye. Dono ko udne ka bahot shok hai (My son can be a train driver, I am happy but not Pilot. I will have to pray the whole day, sometimes for father and now for my son. Both of them love to fly)”.
My father kept quiet.
We moved on.
I had picked up new interests in Share markets, investments and Economics. I was happy and accepted that “flying” was going to be my dream for the rest of my life.
As I got older, one day I casually asked her why she thought that I couldn’t be a good pilot. She smiled and replied that I was her child and she knew me inside out. She couldn’t just think of me risking my life and the lives of other 200 odd passengers. (I was very unpredictable and wasn’t scared of experimenting — that is what she thought of me.)
She didn’t stop praying for all of us, specially me. After my father passed away and my sisters got married, it was just me. I was her life. I still am. It’s been 22 years, since I have moved to Australia. I have my own family now. She doesn’t interfere in my day to day life. I know she still prays for me. She will pray for me and my family till the last day of her life.
Now my mother prayers have graduated too. Now, she not only prays for us, but for the whole world to be “Covid mukt”. She feels one day, God will listen to her.
I have an old model of Boeing 747 (in the pic) sitting on my desk, waiting for my “go ahead”.
Disclaimer: This is not a lesson on history nor on aviation. I am just sharing my experiences. This is my story.
