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REMEMBERING GOOD OLD DAYS

 REMEMBERING GOOD OLD DAYS

 

LT COL NOEL ELLIS

 

21/V/2023

 

It was this day in 1990 when I was going through the Basic Paratroopers Training Course and did my first jump. A fantastic feeling, which ended on a bad and a very bad note.

 

It took me back to my IMA days in December of 1984, when one had volunteered to go for the paratrooping course but they sent me on a rock climbing (RC) course instead. Wearing the ‘paratroopers wings’ on my sleeve was a dream. Gentlemen Cadets rushed home during term break but I was in a mood for something adventurous.

 

Gathering courage, I walked up to my Div O, to ask him why send me on a RC course, instead of the para jump course. You piddly idiot, FO before I punish you to keep running around the tea gardens of Dehradun during term break. I saluted the B, did an about turn and trooped out of his office.

 

Destiny came full circle. Having finished the ‘Guerrilla Warfare’ course, I filled in the volunteer form for the ‘para basic course’ again, which I had missed five years ago. There were two reasons to undergo it. Besides, being my dream to wear para wings, ‘maroon berets’ in the battalion I was posted to on deputation, made fun of the ‘Muck Infantry’ types. They had to be given a shut up call.

 

Next morning was our first jump. Course officers were in the Chief Instructors home till the wee hours of the morning. We left his home when it was just about time to report to the dumbbells. All of us quickly changed into dungarees, tied our boot putties, and reached the aprons in ‘high spirits’.

 

Fit chute was completed. Walking like pregnant ducks, we hopped into a waiting MI-8 helicopter. Smell of burning kerosine and the stinky sweat of the man in the ‘stick’ next to you caught our nostrils. The bird rolled to proceed to the dropping zone (DZ), carrying all novices scared as scared could be. Though we kept a brave face on.

 

It was time to hook up the chute to the static line. A final check and we were good to go. I was to jump third in the stick. The feeling of jumping in the well rushed through. No one counted “ek hazaar, do hazaar, teen hazaar”, the count for your parachute to deploy. It was when a jerk was felt on the shoulders that one realised ‘Chatri Mata’ was kind enough to deploy.

 

Mind was blank while floating in thin air at 12000 feet above ground. Soon, the ground started approaching fast, when suddenly my feet touched the canopy of a parachute just below me.

 

The ground was no longer visible, but I knew it was close. I pulled all the strings hard, till I slid to the side of that parachute. My own parachute had turned into a ‘candle’. That is what happens when your chute goes limp instead of bellowing when you are on top of another chute.  In the nick of time, a gust of wind separated us. We were so close that I could have kissed the other fellow. I landed hard with a thud. Much harder than one had practiced. Something in my knee snapped. I could feel the shooting pain.

  

There was no question of showing any sign of hurt. My ‘para wings’ were at stake. Four more jumps were ahead of me to ‘earn’ them. We folded our chutes and reported to the RV. As the dust settled, the pain kept increasing. One could make out that the knee had swollen. I kept a straight face, while we returned laughing & chattering on a great achievement. My knee was the first bad news.

 

That swelling could be a reason for curtains to my dream. My wife, who was accompanying me, was worried beyond words. Loads of Iodex and crepe bandages were the only temporary relief while we stayed in our guest room tent.

 

The Para Basic Course Officers & families were in mess discussing the heroics of the day. That is the time when it was announced on TV that tragedy had struck India. Our Prime Minister had been assassinated in a terrorist attack. Our hearts sank, as this was the worst news for any country.

 

Aircrafts which had come for our jumps were diverted for security related tasks immediately. It was after a twenty days gap that they returned and we could complete our jumps.

 

My wife played a crucial role in giving a healing touch to my knee. I never reported sick. ‘Malish’ with Iodex and ‘Garam Patti’ was the knee saver. Within ten days, my knee got back in shape and I was ready to jump again. Had the aircrafts returned earlier, I would have not earned my maroon beret.

 

Where have those good old days gone? I wonder!!!!!!!!!!

 

JAI HIND

© ® NOEL ELLIS







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