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Get Set Go

20th April 2002. The MI-8 helicopter hovered over vast plains of snow, from a height of 7,000 feet. The time was 7:45 pm, but clear daylight made the world visible. This was in the land of the Midnight Sun. From Barneo Ice Airport, at the 89th Latitude in the Arctic Circle, a group of ambitious skydivers had been airborne to Point Zero at the North Pole. I was one of them in the group, waiting to plant the Indian flag and create history, being the first Indian woman to do so by skydiving on the North Pole. An opportunity of prestige and pride. An experience of a lifetime. Our jumpmaster decided the point of exit from the aircraft. When it was my turn, I waited for him to shout ‘go’ while my eyes were focused downward. My vision from that height though, didn’t stay locked within the chunks of snow scattered below. It was on the surface of the frozen ocean, that I could see my entire life inscribed in uneven crests and troughs. The visual was cloudy and blurred, but my memories were as transparent as crystal, as indomitable as the nothingness I was about to jump into.

“Go!” I heard the jumpmaster scream. And I loosened my feet, to dive into the space and fly free like a bird in the air.

As a child, I often fantasized soaring high up in the sky like the eagles. That was where I wanted to be. Flying an aeroplane was the ultimate dream. I could spend hours on end just gazing at the large birds in the sky, both the real and the metallic ones. I was mesmerized by the sky and it always had this special magnetic attraction, beyond explanation. I knew there lay my freedom and happiness. Born in a small town to middle-class parents in the mid- 50s, the ambition to be a pilot was next to impossible. So, the closest option was to be an air-hostess. When the hidden fantasy was out, my mother commanded me to either tame my obnoxious dreams or leave the house.

This was way back in 1970. A totally different era. Certain professions had some taboo attached to them. Women were meant to be obedient and submissive. Youngsters today will not even be able to fathom such thoughts. But then, the brain is from Mars; the heart is from Venus. I figured that soon, when life spread before me a massive opportunity that was way bigger than my little dream. I grabbed it with both hands.

My story was already written by my Maker. I was born to fly!

It was the 5th April 1979, and we were celebratingRaising Day at the Para Centre Mess of the Parachute Regiment in Agra. Life took a twist for me at this very formal Army dinner. The images, the people, the tables, even the menu—memories just roll back to me now. How did I find myself standing with that group? I have no clue. Call it a great destiny being orchestrated for me. And guess what was the topic of discussion? Not shopping or movies, rather it was about the new institute that was to initiate training for skydiving! Today, as I close my eyes and transport myself back in time, I cannot fathom how I decided to join this bandwagon without the faintest idea of what skydiving was all about. Yes, as a paratrooper’s wife I had witnessed paratrooping on various occasions and had seen skydiving too. Yet, I had no clue what I was getting into 

It all started on a passing evening, with a crazy decision. Mrs Chantal Singh, wife of Capt. Shamsher Singh, from the Parachute Regiment, was armed with an instructor’s qualification and a fierce determination to start this institute in the country. I recollect this French lady asking very blandly, “How come there are no ladies who are keen to try and learn skydiving?” On an impulse, before she could change her mind, I asked if I could join the fledgling group.

Mrs Satinder Bath and Mrs Nishi Singh in the group decided to join the bandwagon too. Aah! The gleam in Mrs Chantal Singh’s eyes! Without waiting for a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No’, she promptly told us to report for ground training the next day at 6 am sharp at the designated training area. I am sure she would have thought in her mind, let’s wait and see if these three will really turn up.

Sharp at six o’clock the next morning, we three musketeers were there at the old isolated tin hangar for ground training, close to the Para Training School. Those days there were no mobile phones to check with each another. Each one decided on their own and we were there. My husband, along with Satinder’s husband, decided to join the group. My hunch was that he did it more for my safety than for the love of the sport.

I was undeterred, despite being a small-town girl who was not yet 23 years old, a homemaker and mother of two kids, aged five and three. I must admit it seemed like a trance, call it ‘divine afflatuses’. Nothing else mattered save the sole mission to learn skydiving. What was the motive? The rationale? What would I gain from it? Not once did those hard thoughts come to my mind. All I can say is, the sky had tantalized me to the point of seduction. Whenever I looked up, I felt a strange oneness with the freedom I could find in its vastness. Both Nishi Singh and Satinder Bath had an advantage over me as neither had babies waiting for their mum at home. But I was determined to do the course, no matter what.