first flight at fifty...

FIRST FLIGHT AT FIFTY

(A MOTHER'S STORY IN HER SON'S WORDS)

poornachandra... for sree valli

My seat-belt fastened, I braced myself for something I had never experienced before. The huge bird of steel shuddered, noisily building up power. As the pitch of its mechanical music reached a crescendo, it began rolling ahead on its wheels, eating up the tarmac with an ever-increasing speed. With all its might it strained itself to free itself from the shackles of earth’s gravity. I waited anxiously for the result of this great struggle. And suddenly, the bird was free! We were airborne. With its head held high in victory, the giant bird soared into the blue skies. Soon we were in the heavens, enjoying the companionship of clouds and the sight of earth far below. I was headed westwards with my husband, to meet my children in Ohio, the birthplace of aviation. A hundred years after the Wright brothers accomplished a magical feat, I tasted the flavour of my first flight. First flight at fifty. The beginning of an unforgettable adventure.

Fifty. Half a century. A small but cherished landmark in any batsman’s innings on the cricketing field. Golden Jubilee for any event worth commemorating. What was this number fifty to me? My age. The length of my existence as a living being. A major part of my life’s innings is over and done with. Was it eventful? Born into a traditional South Indian family, a large one at that, I grew up in the confines of a middle class milieu. A great imbalance prevailed between requirements and resources. Reality, with all its hardness, was always in your face. And even dreams never really took off in the absence of opportunities. And I was a girl-child. Even before my teens whizzed past, I was married, and entered another big family. At twenty five, I was the mother of three. Soon I became a working woman supporting my man in making ends meet. Many a battle was fought for survival and for the security of my home and hearth. Life in all its unfairness was the constant adversary in the midst of changing times. I never realized how fast my brood of three little birds grew wings. One by one, they took to wings and flew out of our nest. They traveled far, to distant lands, each seeking its own destiny. Each in search of its own place in the circle of life. When comprehension set in, we were alone, man and wife, awaiting the onset of Autumn before the inevitable Fall.

Free from responsibilities, we could now begin the second innings of life. This one would be played at a relaxed pace, with no pressure of striking hard and fast to chase some complex target. We made a few leisurely trips, and soon succumbed to wanderlust. Very soon we found a happy reason to travel across the seas. Our younger son and the daughter were graduating from Ohio State University at Columbus, Ohio in the United States. My boy Anil had earned his doctorate in Molecular Genetics while my little girl Uma finished her Masters in Anthropology. The occasion was to be a much awaited family reunion and a celebration for the academic success of my kids. The only one missing was our eldest son, a Major in the Indian Army, who had just moved to Bhutan on a foreign assignment.

It was the 28th of August, 2003. A great day with memories to treasure and cherish. After a wonderful graduation ceremony, my children decided to celebrate. Some would pop a cork and say cheers with some bubbly. Some would gorge themselves on a feast. Some would shake a leg and break into a jig. To each his own, they say. My brood of little birds, when they left our nest, had learnt to fly in the literal sense. One after the other, they heard the skies call, responded to it, and found it irresistible. The elder son is a paratrooper in the Army and he calls himself a “Professional Dropout”. He initiated his younger siblings during a visit to the US years back, and since then all three have been badly bitten by the skydiving bug. Parachuting was the family prescription for an adrenalin rush. So we traveled to AEROHIO, the largest skydiving centre in the Great Lakes Region of the American Midwest. The kids would jump while the parents watched, and together we would celebrate the happy occasion at the drop zone, or Dee Zee as they called it. I was full of questions about what was their favourite sport. The last time I had seen someone jump was during a demonstration in Hyderabad sometime in 1998, when my soldier-son participated. That, they told me, was a static-line jump used for mass military drops. What I was to watch here was a display of freefall and relative work by my kids.

They got into their jump suits, wore their rigs and flew away. We kept looking up at the wide welkin till our necks went stiff. Out of the blue appeared a few colored blips. They grew bigger as they got closer. One by one, each of these blips blossomed into a rainbow of colours when the canopies of the parachutes opened and caught wind. They floated beautifully, making exquisite patterns in the sky. They circled the drop zone lazily, and glided back onto terra firma almost reluctantly. Among the dozen jumpers who returned after a heavenly flight were my little babies, now looking really big and grown up. I was awestruck and overwhelmed with joy at the sight of my winged angels. They were really inspiring.

Looking at my face, a kaleidoscope of emotions, my “pretty little butterfly” Uma asked me if I would like to experience the joy of a skydive. I didn’t even blink before saying yes! You only live once and so never let go of an opportunity that comes your way. It was knocking at my door and I was surely going to welcome it with wide open arms. So eager was I to partake of the heavenly feast that was on offer. I had no idea of what lay ahead. Nor was I prepared in any way. But I recalled the tag line of an airline ad that asked “When was the last time you did some thing for the first time?” I’d do it, whatever happened. I had to change from a sari into a jumpsuit. My kids plunged into the task of finding a jumpsuit large enough for me and my little tummy together. Several trials followed in the changing room, but with no success. I was getting despondent that there wasn’t one that would fit me well. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to jump! Anil consoled me and said that we’d try again at San Diego, California, where he was moving for his post-doctoral research. But Uma was not one to give up. With her never-say-die attitude she kept searching and I kept trying. Just when I was about to say enough, we got lucky. Someone did make a suit large enough for me. While I changed, the kids announced that they’d be accompanying me all the way from the ground to the sky and back.

I was to do something called a tandem jump. This tandem is a jump which requires only thirty minutes of training after which one would freefall attached to a highly experienced skydiving instructor in a parachute system built for two people. We would be flying up to a certain height, exit the plane and freefall for one minute. The instructor, or jumpmaster as he is known, would then open the parachute and glide me through a five minute descent and a smooth landing. This, I was told, is the easiest way to experience a first skydive. I got ready while I took the instructions from the jumpmaster. He too was excited with the proceedings and looked forward to helping an old lady from India discover flight. He briefed me patiently and said all I had to do was cooperate. It wasn’t over at that, what with risk and responsibility attached to the whole thing. They gave me some documents to read and sign: they outlined various aspects of hazard and liability in jargon that was very much legal Latin. Well, I had no mood to go through them. If they wanted my signatures, they’d get them. I didn’t even bother consult my husband or seek his approval. I was raring to go and take my leap of faith. So off I went hurrying to the airstrip. The jumpmaster observed all my enthusiasm and decided to make the occasion a truly memorable one. He convinced a fellow instructor to accompany us and film the jump. That would mean a lot. I could actually carry my memories home on video.

I almost ran to the aircraft with my children by my side. This plane was small and cute. They told me it was a Super Otter. Compared to the metallic monster that transported us across continents, this looked like a toy. The rotors were revving with a melodious hum, and they seemed to welcome me into a new world. I was young again. My dreams came back, and I could make them come true. I’d start here and now with flying. We were some ten odd jumpers. I was to jump last and so boarded the plane early, right behind my instructor. The roof was low and so we moved on our knees. The others followed suit. We sat down in two rows, legs stretched ahead. They closed the door and the plane ran ahead on the runway. A short sprint and we were flying. All the way up my kids kept pepping me up with encouragement. The camera was focused on me, recording the emotions that illuminated my face. I was in some kind of a hypnotic trance, oblivious of the world around me. Anil shook me out of it and pointed at my altimeter. It showed 14400 feet above ground level. The door was opened and people started jumping out. In twos and threes, they exited and plunged towards the earth. I was impatient for my turn. I watched Uma and Anil lock their hands together and dive. I was next.

My harness was attached to my instructor’s on our way up. So we waddled together to the door. The jumpmaster yelled out his commands and we jumped. I went out with a cry of “Jai Hanuman”. I saw the world upside down as we tumbled. Faster and faster we went. Everything zipped by in a blur. Suddenly we were stable in our freefall. The wind rushed past as we shot towards the ground. This must be the terminal velocity they talked about. I was flying in the sky! I saw the other jumpers below me and the photographer right in front. The world I lived in was a small image far, far below. It was an exhilarating feeling. Now I began to understand the saying that only skydivers know why birds sing. I wished it lasted for ever. I could feel my jumpmaster pull the rip cord, and then there was a loud pop. Our fall was arrested and we were pulled upwards. The canopy was deployed. We began a slow and gradual descent. The jumpmaster kept talking to me, asking me to look around and enjoy the view below. A bird’s eye view of the landscape was one of the best sights of my life. It was a long slow canopy ride. I didn’t want to down to the ground, but gravity is an undeniable fact of life. What goes up has to come down. We glided down to the drop zone and the jumpmaster ensured a smooth landing. It was a happy landing from the blue skies. The jumpmaster unhooked me from his harness, and I rushed into the arms of my children. They were absolutely thrilled. They exchanged greetings with my jumpmaster and he complimented me on my performance. He parted with a “Welcome to skydiving.” A great ending to a superlative adventure. Real celebration of life. A life that is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the number of moments that take our breath!

The Child is father of the Man. True to those great words; my children taught me something great and opened the doors to a brave new world. They gave me a gift I shall cherish to the end of my days. It was a personal achievement and a milestone for the family too; four out of five members having made skydives. Any attempt to complete the list by making my husband jump was precluded by his state of health. Maybe some other day. Months later, I am back in India enjoying my retirement, but am looking forward to the day when I return to the skies and dive solo. Meanwhile I look at the firmament every time I hear a plane and say a silent hello. I’ll be back.

"Give me one moment in time when I'm more than I thought I could be...

Give me one moment in time when I'm racing with destiny,

then in that one moment in time I will be free"

- Whitney Houston

04 Feb 2004