We had been routed from the Poona academy after a short break to an old Second World War airfield, somewhere south of central India. It was a flying school that had yet to take off. The station was slowly settling down but the morale of the under-trainees was down to the flying boots. Vijay was one of the 30-odd survivors of the senior batch of cadets. Others had been suspended thanks to the kind of flying that alone was possible with the kind of facilities available.

``Yes, sir'', I answered him. New arrivals had to be formal at least for a few weeks. Wehad lined up in front of the billet and the seniors were having their share of fun.

``Chris, this guy says that he'll get through'', someone yelled. ``Do you know that we were 80 of us when we came?'' Now it was Chris' turn to talk to us. ``Anyhow, welcome to the gang as we are going to be trained together and our seniority will only be on paper.''

After a few weeks, the question was put to us again. There had been more suspensions. We had a few more candidates from our sister service who could not be suspended easily. The officer instructors had to get their families from the old station. The town was small and there were not many houses befitting their status. An inspection team from the headquarters was due.

The wind picked up after noon, making instructional flying difficult. More suspensions would have made the task of the school and the station easier. ``Do you think you can make it?'' We had all assembled in the mess for dinner when suddenly the duty officer landed up for an inspection. It washis question this time.

To cut a long story short, Vijay was our mentor. He passed on to us the skills of survival he had acquired over three months of toughening. The basic idea was not to give or take a chance. Flying procedures were rehearsed and repeated so that no one fumbled in the air. Our batch escaped with just one suspension at the basic level. We were again with the seniors in Jodhpur for the `inter' stage.

It was an interesting six months of flying with Umed Bhawan overlooking us. We were launched from two different satellite airfields simultaneously. We later separated into groups for fighters, transports and helicopters but both courses were commissioned in a combined passing-out parade, in full strength. As a fighter pilot, Vijay was posted on the banks of the Teesta and I a little distance away.

The DC-3 was in the clouds and tossed by mild turbulence. I couldn't help looking back... I had actually gone to Vijay's base to catch a civil fights to Calcutta when I learnt of Vijay'saccident. The ejection after the engine flameout was successful but his head was hit by a panel from the wing. The head was protected by a bonedome, yet the impact was fatal. A clinical description.

Vijay's fight commander took me to the station commander who asked me whether I would mind accompanying the coffin as its destination was close to where I was going on leave. Was it a coincidence or was it thanksgiving?``Do you think you could make it?'' I think we did. Thanks, Vijay.