It was a bright sunny morning… wait... it was not supposed to be so bright… oh no we were late already… so a few hurried phone calls to wake up the other eligible bachelors who were accompanying me, and another set of hurried morning procedures we were on our way to the great indian aeroshow… after all the hype generated by the press giving us photos of dazzling display of gravity defying and pure foolhardy stunts, who would not have their brain floating in adrenalin already.
When you set your heart to something the whole world conspires to help you achieve it is a popularized myth created by a equally hyped author and his mindless readers… the truth is generally just the opposite… when we set our heart and mind to buy those ridiculously overpriced tickets, the whole world was conspiring against us… first it was the alarm that didn’t go off loud enough, second it was the traffic police… looking up google maps I had charted out a nice course along the much touted superfast national highway to the airport when we found a few totally tacky banners which had an arrow pointing to a right much before the right shown on the google maps…
Anyways, despite our mind telling us not to follow that route, madness took over and we turned… we did realize the mistake immediately… traffic was crawling not because it was overcrowded, but it had to move ever so slowly for fear of hitting the people who had set up shops so close to the road, making it a drive-through market… and they had put in a lot of craters like any other major road for good measure… and of course the traffic police were conspicuously missing after that stupid sign that made us take that right turn.
A pretty bumpy ride followed during which we met a lot of people who were absolutely ignorant in geography, and finally we managed to catch a caravan of cars following a huge overloaded truck which was trundling along slowly negotiating the craters like a huge rolling ball. And since this was a Monaco grand prix track, overtaking was literally impossible. Somehow we managed to stumble into the elusive NH7, but the elation was short lived as we had to slip into another narrow service road to enter the parking lot… ok, not so fast… we had to drive through some long winding dirt road in a slow procession as people who had managed to wake up earlier than us tried to find their parking spots…
Finally we did too, passing the scrutinizing eyes of the tired sunburnt security guards and the indifferent nose of the sniffer dog. Ignoring the shade provided by the tents we eagerly made our way towards the fence to be as close to the jets as possible… and we waited for the show to begin hoping to witness the famed defense punctuality.
And begin it did I think on dot at 1000 hours, since there is no way to ascertain the exact time by our highly inaccurate personal times and the inaudible voice from the tents, let us assume the indian standard time effect has not yet affected them. The first jet was already parked a few minutes ago and it rolled on to accelerate for take off… the cheers of the crowd seemed to contest with the booming of the engines as the mighty metal machine took to the skies.
It came back, flipped over – once, twice, thrice… and then in the opposite direction… then a straight pull up and an apparent free fall… and a smoke trail drawing lines and circles in the sky… then it came straight at us and then did a few more back flips intertwining the smoke trails behind it… then proving that it could also do a slow motion fly past drawing audible gasps from the crowd at every pass, before coming back one last time to land, parachute extending and all that. Again the crowd cheered, despite the sun beating down upon us. And for a few minutes, the pride of being able to witness the amazing capabilities of the indian airforce swelled my heart, brought a shortness of breath, like when you watch a super patriotic movie of Sunny Deol, and a curse to my lips about why I could not have joined the defense forces.
Then a second jet went up in the air, a slightly different looking one but still the same grayish blue colored body which camouflaged perfectly with the clear gray sky behind it (pardon me for my illiteracy in identifying models from their looks). It came back, flipped over – once, twice, thrice… and then in the opposite direction… then a straight pull up and an apparent free fall… and a smoke trail drawing lines and circles in the sky… then it came straight at us and then did a few more back flips intertwining the smoke trails behind it… then proving that it could also do a slow motion fly past drawing audible gasps from the crowd at every pass, before coming back one last time to land, parachute extending and all that. Again the crowd cheered, despite the sun beating down upon us.
Then a third jet went up in the air, a slightly different looking one but still the same grayish blue colored body. It came back, flipped over – once, twice, thrice… and then in the opposite direction… then a straight pull up and an apparent free fall… and a smoke trail drawing lines and circles in the sky… then it came straight at us and then did a few more back flips intertwining the smoke trails behind it… then proving that it could also do a slow motion fly past drawing audible gasps from the crowd at every pass, before coming back one last time to land, parachute extending and all that. Again the crowd cheered, despite the sun beating down upon us.
No the last 2 paragraphs are not a copy-paste error… this is how the show went on. As each jet answered its roll call and did the same set of maneuvers, the sun beating down upon our heads seemed a little more relevant now. And with each passing model, it seemed to take away my patriotic pride that had sort of reached its peak at the second jet. After the third or so jet, I lost count, and my mind started wandering much like it does when you are attending the marriage of some distant relative at around the same age.
There were 2 changes from the normal routine, when a jet sported the indian tri-colors over the gray of its body came into the tarmac – of course there was no change in the routine, but seeing a difference in the colors and that too the tricolor seemed to send a short spike in the patriotism-vs-time graph. And then one jet seemed to send out a challenge to the anti-anti-indian-culture-upholders by drawing some hearts in the sky… maybe it was hearts, or maybe due to the hot sun and my muddled up brain it looked like hearts, some respite from the routine.
Then there was a huge plane which had the US Air Force painted on it, which drew gasps from the crowd mainly due to the fact that it was a US Air Force plane and in size it resembled a boeing passenger jet. The flight took off as the crowd waited with built-up expectations of the same routines. Then it came back, and passed us, took a turn, came back and passed us and took another turn much before than last time, and again came back and took a turn before finally landing. No flips and the maximum tilt achieved was when it took the turn. Being an engineer, I had not built up my expectations on the bulky plane doing acrobatics, but hope is such a wonderful thing…
Then came the helicopters and the crowd heaved a sigh of relief, as the press had put up nice pictures of the chopper formations. As the crowd expected some death and gravity defying feats from the helicopters, the helicopters surprised the onlookers by disappearing behind some trees in the distance. After some time, when the crowd was getting excited over contemplations of a pakistan planned abduction of the indigenous technologies, they reappeared in the horizon flying damn too slow for someone who was low on impatience and tolerance to the hot sun, with nothing else to distract the mind as by now the distractions with all their boyfriends and/or escorts had retired to the safety of the tent shades.
As they passed by each other in slow motion, this way and that way, letting out smoke to remind us of the unforgotten paths taken by them, the patriotic feelings were slowly entering into the regions of irritation. We moved on closer to where the aircrafts were parked, but were stopped by the fence a few kilometers away from them. Those (#%*% exorbitant tickets could not even buy us a closer view of the planes. Meanwhile some parachutists also emerged out of nowhere and appeared and disappeared in spots as the blue shaded fabrics merged with the sky in the background.
Now a totally new feeling had taken over – hunger. So we just moved on, found our car thanks to the remote locking mechanism, and after a few roundabout routines trying to diligently use the map printed behind the tickets to find the exit, gave up and exited through the entrance. Saturday afternoon did not seem to hinder the people taking to the roads and crawling through the signals of NH7, finally reached the restaurant for a decent meal and huge glass of spiced buttermilk.
Our hunger satiated and tired out of the drive in the sun, the new feeling that took over now was sleepiness. As I retired into the cooler confines of my bedroom, darkened by the curtains, I drifted off into a dreamless sleep, the forgettable aeroshow already forgotten.
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