Opinion The MIG-21 takes its final bow today, and with it, our brother Rajan
Thirty-six years later, the pain of his crash returns with the farewell of the jet he loved. The hurt is not only ours but of many families who, like us, lost their young sons and brothers in trying to 'touch the sky with glory'
We were so proud when Rajan was commissioned as an officer, the entire family trudged to the Air Force Academy in Begumpet, Hyderabad, for his passing out parade. (Source: Indian Air Force) 
Written by Rekha Krishnan
Our brother Rajan was a hero in our family. He was six feet tall, handsome, had a way with people around him, especially women; he could make friends with anyone from a toddler to a senior citizen and was always up to some mischief. He was a rebel, he was generous, he was quick to temper, he was a charmer, and he was a nuisance at times.
Confidence was his middle name, like many boys, he always came out of an examination claiming to have “maxed” the paper, only to be disappointed when the results came out a few weeks later to realise that he had just managed to scrape through. He claimed he could jump a bar which was placed at 3 metres, could complete a 100 m race in less than 10 seconds (Usain Bolt was only three years old when we lost Rajan) and so much more. When he finished school, he applied only to IIT and BITS Pilani. St. Stephen’s College and Hindu College were his safe choices.
When none of these colleges thought that he was good enough to be admitted, his educational path had to be recalibrated. With much difficulty he got admission into Sri Venkateswara College (These were days before CUET and each college had a different form, which he hadn’t even filled up) only because of my mother’s persistence and ingenuous storytelling abilities.
College bored him. It is then that he discovered the NCC Air Wing and spent most of his time in the Safdarjung Airport flying gliders. From a student pilot license to a private pilot license, he soon began enjoying the thrill of flying. It was then that he started talking about joining the Indian Airforce through the NCC route. Like all previous occasions, we thought this was also one of his pipe dreams. The summer of his last year in college when I was also home to deliver my son Srinjoy, I remember watching Top Gun at least a dozen times with him. In those days, we needed to rent the VCD from a local shop and watch it.
And thus began our family’s tryst with the MIG-21.
We were so proud when Rajan was commissioned as an officer, the entire family trudged to the Air Force Academy in Begumpet, Hyderabad, for his passing out parade. He was proud and possessive about his aircraft, of his uniform, his wings and of the Indian Air Force. Since I couldn’t attend his passing-out parade, he flew in directly from Hyderabad to Calcutta to surprise me. When he rang the doorbell, my mother-in-law got scared that cops had come home (In those days Air Force officers wore khaki uniforms). The apartment complex where we lived in Calcutta was soon filled with a buzz — children, the elderly, the young all trooped into our small apartment to see flying officer Rajan Krishnan. And all of us at home basked in reflected glory.
His first posting was in Tezpur in Assam from where he would often visit me in Calcutta. Though ostensibly his visits were to buy trophies and plaques for retiring officers from the Cooke and Kelvey showroom, in hindsight, I realised the reason for his frequent visits were a few young women in our building. He fit the quintessential Air Force officer’s image — suave, handsome, charming, sporting a Ray-Ban. Tom Cruise paled in comparison to his charm.
On his 25th birthday, he threw a party in our house in Safdarjung Enclave. We were new to the flamboyant ways of young Air Force officers who could party just as hard as they worked. Since it was getting late and the food was getting cold (much before the age of microwave ovens), my mother announced, “Arre jaldi se tum log ‘up my bottom’ karo aur khana khane ke liye aao”. Even today, 36 years after his 25th birthday celebrations, in our circle of family and friends, when we want someone to finish their drink quickly and move to the dinner table, this is what is said.
On October 8, 1989 during the 57th Air Force Day Parade, we lost Wing Commander Ramesh Bakshi when his Mirage 2000 fighter jet crashed at Palam Air Force Station in front of our eyes. Rajan, too, was a part of this Air Force Day Parade and was completely shattered to have lost his senior. We all were scared and panic-stricken. That day, he sat us down and told us about the high possibility of this happening to him and the processes that Ma and Pa should be aware of when this happened.
Five weeks later, two officers came home with the news of his crash. We lost him in a MIG-21 crash near Jodhpur on November 16, 1989. With the MIG-21 fleet of aircrafts being phased out today, September 26, the wounds have been opened again, as we lose Rajan once again. The hurt is not only ours but of many families who, like us, lost their young sons and brothers in trying to “touch the sky with glory”.
The writer is former principal, Vasant Valley School
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