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Journalism of Courage
When I tell people that I once flew the MiG-21 fighter, they instinctively raise their eyebrows to their hairlines. The unkind media label of 8220;flying coffin8221; has heaped egregious infamy on the MiG-21. I have to be at my persuasive best to convince them that the fighter jet is still a magnificent bird and the IAF does its utmost to keep her shipshape.
Military aviation is intrinsically perilous and accidents can only be wished away. The loss of an aircraft hurts but what is more painful is the death of an aviator as it is akin to losing a family member. In fact, every fatality devastates you.
The lakebed was 20 ft deep and weedy. Once underwater, he undid the harness, bone-dome, oxygen mask and flying boots, opened the canopy and swam ashore. After swimming 10 m or so, unfortunately his legs got stuck in the weeds. His valiant struggle to disentangle came unstuck. He drowned.
The news of his demise cast a pall of gloom on the habitually boisterous aircrew room. Heads drooped. Hearts sank. The grim silence eloquently conveyed our collective agony. Before the mood turned melancholy, our instructors got us all airborne. It was done intentionally to mentally reassure us rookies and to tersely state that life had to go on.
The obsequies were to be observed at his native place near Gurdaspur. An IAF Avro landed at 9 p.m. to ferry the coffin. The coffin, draped in the IAF flag, was laid on a platform. It was time to bid the final adieu. The solemnities and emotions choked us. Once the officers laid wreaths, we flight cadets marched up to the coffin two at a time, and paid floral tributes and saluted our course-mate.
Bains and his heroic battle to save himself have been engraved on our minds. Though 20 years have passed, his memory lives on.
