From Air Force to Academia

How come Air Force to Academia? is a question I have been asked several hundred times till now and will probably hear many more times in the years to come… Here’s my detailed response in case you are contemplating career choices or just curious.

This poignant post written by the brother of the late Flt Lt Abhijit Gadgil provides a good backdrop to my response. The article hits the nail on the head from the right angle! Let me add that those that join the services tend to be a bit idealistic, full of josh, full of life, virile and starry-eyed young men. Heck, they even made us watch “An Officer and a Gentleman” as part of our Indoctrination (that’s the official word for it!). That forms the backdrop for what I am going to write further on.

Abhijit was neither the first nor the last officer who I would dine with and, sometimes barely a few hours later, would be described as “still warm pieces of burnt flesh” by the recovery party because that’s typically what remains of the pilot after a fighter plane crash. Abhijit was one I remember particularly vividly because he was my neighbour at the bachelor officers’ quarters a year before his death and a very fine officer, a clearly superior human specimen.

Even before that, in my previous posting at Pathankot, just as Op Vijay was tapering down, I had been admitted to the military hospital for jaundice, a juvenile civilian illness and saw from close quarters soldiers returning from J&K with gory battle wounds that made me feel I was not made of the same material as these men! Kind of “impostor syndrome”! My ward mate was a Major injured during a para commando training. He must have been a strapping fellow, at the peak of his physical fitness then but now moved around in a wheelchair with a colostomy bag (bowels emptied once every 3-4 days manually and no hunger) and a catheter, and the prognosis was, that’s how he’d spend the rest of his life. He was married to an ayurvedic doctor and they had hopes that he might eventually regain some sensation and function even when modern medicine had given up. The quiet strength and dignity with which he talked about his situation seemed super-human to me and felt unsure whether I am made of the same material and whether I want to be so in the first place. That and the treatment meted to Lt. Saurav Kalia made me ponder deeply.

Even before that, within my first few weeks of ab initio training at AFTC, while at the small arms firing range, a trainee airman (who was barely be a teen), lost his fingers when the vintage .303 rifle we were firing had a chamber burst. I didn’t personally see the injury but we were told he would be discharged from service with no benefits/compensation because he was still on probation. Okeey…I tried to wrap my head around this, it didn’t make sense to me but there was no time to dwell on this as my own indoctrination was still on.

Point is, reality is gory. Those gory details aren’t shown in films or advertisements. Films are made to evoke certain sentiments and ENTERTAIN AND SELL. So Border (1997 when I was still a trainee officer in Bangalore) was the LAST war movie I saw. I didn’t watch Rang de Basanti. I didn’t watch Uri. I didn’t watch any war movie. I found it abhorrent that someone makes money out of entertaining someone else, and the person who lost his bladder and bowel control or life, on whose story the film was made, he or his survivors get nothing… Sorry, I digress to terrain that no one likes to talk or hear about.

So beyond the daily likes and dislikes of my job, I found myself in deep, philosophical conflict with the whole notion of nationhood, war, torture, of willingly giving up one’s life and limb for a “larger good”. As for the daily affairs, I was at best an average officer, too much of a thinker and not enough of a doer. I found most officers far smarter than me and were thriving in that environment. They enjoyed the party life, some could drink 10 times more than my liver could handle, I get tired of small talk very soon, like to have my dinner at 8 and sleep at 10 and would rather go running or play squash than socialize in the evenings. I hated the late night parties, cracking the same old PJs, humouring the CO and his wife (“CO ma’am” as the more servile officers used to address!) and the same whiskey and soda and dhaba menu. Others relished it it but I felt miserable.

The things I enjoyed were all in the outdoors, firing (got to the stage of competitive .303 rifle firing at Western Air Command level), becoming a parasailing instructor, training with and earning my parajumping wings along with No. 2 Para, one of the world’s more elite special forces, and such perks that I lapped up greedily. But they were few and far between.

It is no wonder that I opted out, after serving my six years bond as an SSC officer, honorably. With two service medals (Op Vijay and Operation Parakram) on my chest and para wings on my shoulder, I left feeling proud of having served in one of India’s finest organizations working with the finest men. Most of my brother officers who quit service quit because they felt they were too good for the services but I quit because I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t want to live like an impostor forever (that said, somewhere deep in my heart I think, if the situation had warranted, I too would have delivered. I have had such moments as a climber).

Now, over a decade and a half later, I have not the slightest regret of hanging up my uniform that I so cherished and used to wear with immense pride. Today I am able to enjoy dual life as an academic and a climber with full gusto, exploring new ideas and new vistas, that only a climber and an academic researcher can enjoy. I feel like a free bird that can soar across countries, across mountains and forests as per my will…