Baaz

by Anuja Chauhan

  ‘No, no,’ he starts to say weakly. ‘That’s not what I meant…’

  The old man clears his throat authoritatively.

  ‘I’ve already said yes.’

  ‘What the fuck!’ Shaanu whirls to face him. ‘No! A thousand times, no!’

  The old man points a shaky finger at him.

  ‘If you say no to this girl also, I’ll cut you off without a penny. No land, no money, nothing!’

  Shaanu shrugs. ‘Fine.’

  The Choudhary’s eyes almost start from their sockets. ‘What do you mean, fine? Chutiya gain?’

  Shaanu grins, his grey eyes glittering with anger. ‘That was your trump card, wasn’t it? Your father played it on you and it worked – you buckled. So you think it’ll work on me. But it won’t, pitaji, you’re welcome to cut me off. I’ll only marry a girl I like, when I like. Get this gori-kori-tijori married to Shelly instead.’

  ‘Oh, I would have,’ bursts out the old man, goaded into revelation. ‘But they want an Armed Forces officer!’

  Shaanu stares at him, incredulous. ‘That was a joke! My God, what’s wrong with you, Shelly’s only fifteen!’

  ‘What is age?’ The Choudhary starts to wave away age as a thing of no importance, but Shaanu has had enough.

  ‘Stupid bloody conversation.’

  Saying which, he threads his belt through the loops of his overalls with unsteady fingers, yanks open the door and strides out of the room.

  • • •

  ‘Ishaan?’

  He is running lightly down the wooden staircase, putting on his aviators, heading for the mess exit, when the hesitant voice halts him in his tracks.

  Tinka Dadyseth, sitting at the edge of a rattan sofa, dressed in a black poloneck and a bright bandariya skirt, looking both pale and resolute.

  Shaanu staggers slightly and has to prop a hand against the corridor wall.

  Oh, great.

  Like there aren’t enough women in his life already!

  Also, how come his name has never sounded so sexy before?

  Also, why the hell is his heart thudding so fast?

  He recovers and walks towards her, not bothering to modulate his voice or make it officer-like. ‘Yeah? What can I do for you?’

  She gets to her feet, slowly.

  ‘I came to apologize,’ she says.

  He schools his face to register polite surprise. Inwardly, he is appalled by just how absurdly happy he is to see her again.

  ‘Whatever for?’ he asks incuriously.

  ‘For…’ She hesitates, then squares her shoulders. ‘For saying I owe you nothing. It was ungrateful and uninformed. Because you let me run away that night, you didn’t get the Sword of Honour.’

  ‘Sword of Honour?’ Ishaan is really confused now.

  Is he being deliberately obtuse? Never mind, she can be clearer.

  ‘The Sword of Honour. Back in Flying College. Juhi told me.’

  ‘Juhi!’

  She has been avoiding his gaze, but now she looks directly into his eyes.

  ‘Yes.’

  The cockiness, never absent for long, comes coursing back into Shaanu’s veins. He folds his arms across his chest. As he’s wearing his flying overalls and the sleeves are rolled up and his forearms are all sinewy, this is highly fortuitous.

  ‘So you’ve come to thank the poor fool whose small dream of rising from bumpkin to gentleman you nipped in the bud? You’re welcome.’

  ‘Huh?’ She looks confused and then annoyed. ‘That’s not what I meant!’

  He puts on his aviators.

  ‘Well, that’s what I heard.’

  ‘Okay, so maybe I said it wrong,’ she capitulates immediately.

  Sweet, strong exultation surges through him, seeing the general’s daughter so eager to please. Facing down this girl is like facing that childhood train again. Somehow he contrives to hold his inscrutable expression.

  ‘Maybe you did,’ he drawls, his voice deliberately arrogant.

  Tinka flushes but perseveres.

  ‘And she said your dad got mad at you…’

  Perfectly on cue, the Choudhary appears at the head of the staircase, leaning on his lathia, breathing fire.

  ‘Shaanu!’ he calls hoarsely. ‘Ei, Shaanu!’

  ‘And he’s still mad at me,’ Shaanu says, starting to grin a little. ‘Look what you did, Dadyseth.’

  She looks confused, then sketches a polite namaste at the old man and turns back to him.

  ‘And she also said that Popo uncle wrote something nasty in your permanent file which will cripple your career—’

  ‘Nothing can cripple my career,’ he interrupts. ‘Let alone your popat of an uncle.’

  ‘Popo, not popa—’ she starts to say, then frowns. ‘You are really quite insufferably cocky!’

  He rocks back on his heels. ‘Careful,’ he says, the grin getting wider. ‘Remember you came here to apologize.’

  But Tinka is not in the mood to apologize any more.

  ‘You know what, maybe you didn’t get that Sword of Honour because you just weren’t good enough,’ she flashes, irritated. ‘And I’m the excuse you came up with.’

  One dark eyebrow flies up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’ She nods firmly.

  Shaanu takes off his aviators and leans in, his eyes sparkling intimately, openly letting her know how glad he is to see her.

  ‘I’m the best there is,’ he tells her.

  She sniffs, looking away. ‘The best don’t fly Gnats, they fly Sukhois. Or BiGs.’

  ‘You mean MiGs. Mikoyan Gurevich.’

  ‘Speak in English, please, you sort-of know it.’

  ‘It’s not about the plane,’ he says. ‘It’s about the pilot. Ask anyone—shit!’

  Tinka frowns. ‘Huh?’

  He is no longer looking at her but behind her, where Jana-Gana-Mana and several other young Gnatties have just appeared. They’re in jogging gear, laughing and talking, but stop abruptly at the sight of Shaanu in a tête-à-tête with the Freesia girl at this hour of the morning.

  Meanwhile, on the staircase, the Faujdaar brood troops up, resplendently dressed, and takes position besides the Choudhary.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ mutters Shaanu, now caught between two sets of very interested spectators. Tinka gets the feeling he’s holding himself back from using far more colourful language.

  Ishaan glowers at his gawking squadron mates. They get the hint and slink away down the corridor. But the Faujdaars hold their ground.

  ‘Look, seriously?’ He turns back to Tinka, knocked off-balance by these intrusions, the tips of his ears a telltale red. ‘Juhi is a sweet girl, but not very clever.’

  ‘Can I tell her you said so?’

  He ignores this. ‘And Raka should stop obsessing about his bombarding technique and focus on his girl, so that she, in turn, stops focussing on my girl. Pay no attention to what either of them says.’

  ‘You said my girl,’ Tinka says.

  Shaanu goes fiery red. ‘What?’

  ‘Just now, when you were talking about me, you said—’

  ‘Yes yes, I know what I said,’ he says hastily. ‘My English isn’t very good, like you just-now said. I make mistakes all the time.’

  Tinka immediately wants to pull him in by the stripes of his navy-blue overalls and kiss him on his slightly open mouth, right where his lower lip dips in the middle, so firm and springy. Appalled by this highly improper desire, she steps back.

  But Shaanu has something else on his mind.

  ‘Look, do you need money?’ he asks in a lowered voice. ‘Is that why you did that ad? And you don’t want to ask your family? I could organize some. We could ask Maddy or Raka – they’re both rich, especially Maddy…’

  ‘No!’ Tinka says, startled. ‘I didn’t do the ad for money.’

  ‘Okay okay. So then why did you do it? For a dare? I do shit like that all the time.’

  Tinka groans inwardly, then decides he deserves an explanation.


  ‘I did it because – well, yes, partly because I don’t want to ask my aunt for money any more – but more importantly, I wanted to shut Ardisher up. He goes on and on about getting me married, and this seemed like a good way to get all the goody-goody Parsi boys off my back.’

  Shaanu’s lips twitch but he manages to keep a straight face.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she asks coldly.

  His eyes are dancing as he asks, ‘You thought bathing in a bikini under a waterfall on TV was a good way to get boys off your back?’

  ‘Uff! You know what I mean.’

  He nods, not unsympathetically.

  ‘Just don’t be embarrassed,’ he tells her. ‘Or regret doing it. It isn’t immoral or illegal, and it’s making a helluva lot of people, like your loyal fan Dilsher Singh, very happy. Why the hell should you be ashamed?’

  How strange, thinks Tinka as a disproportionate wave of gratitude sweeps over her at these simple words, that it should be a Jat from rural Haryana who gives me this advice.

  ‘Yeahhh,’ she says feelingly, the childhood American twang suddenly prominent.

  ‘Yeahhh.’ He grins. ‘It was fun, right?’

  She grins back. ‘Yes, it was, actually.’

  They stare into each other’s eyes for a long, rapt moment, before, somehow, Tinka manages to look away, pink-faced.

  ‘I’ll, uh, see you then.’

  ‘Then,’ Shaanu echoes her witlessly.

  Tinka twinkles. ‘When?’

  He puts on his aviators again.

  ‘Now,’ he says bossily, striving for masterfulness and managing to achieve it. ‘Why don’t you come watch me fly today, and reassure yourself that in spite of your meddling my career is secure?’

  ‘What?’

  He gestures to the staircase.

  ‘Join the gang. Watch the flight training today. I promise you a good show.’

  ‘Hi, Tinka didi!’ chorus Sari and Sulo from behind their grumpy father. Sneha smiles reluctantly. Jaideep Singh grins, blushing.

  ‘Hi, kids!’ Tinka waves back excitedly. Then she tosses her hair and walks snootily past Shaanu to join them, without saying goodbye.

  Strangely unfazed by this cavalier treatment, he smiles and strides out into the balmy day to get his bike started.

  ‘La…!’ a Gnattie materializes at his elbow in the parking lot, crooning in a lilting falsetto.

  ‘La-la-la!’ joins in a second Gnattie, hoarsely happy.

  ‘La-la-la-la-la-la-la!’ chimes in what feels like the entire squadron. They inhale deeply and hit the crescendo, arms spread wide. ‘La-la-laaaa!’

  ‘Chupp chutiyon,’ growls Shaanu, very red-faced, as he kickstarts the Bullet and rides away.

  • • •

  But when Shaanu and the rest of the Streaks report at the airbase, they are told that all training sorties have been suspended for the day. They are to spend another day all suited up, playing Scrabble, waiting for the order to scramble.

  Shaanu shrugs philosophically, gets word out to his family that their visit to the ATC has been postponed, bolts down a huge plate of scrambled eggs, baked beans and bacon and sits back in a happy haze to savour the memory of his early morning encounter with Tinka.

  She came to see me, he thinks exultantly. She must’ve had to set an alarm for five a.m., find out my schedule, organize a vehicle – shit, it was a huge step coming alone to the Officers’ Mess. What a girl, what guts – she must really like me!

  He springs to his feet and starts to pace up and down the room. Jana-Gana-Mana, who were squabbling over the Scrabble board, look at him and nudge each other slyly.

  ‘Ants in Baaz’s pants,’ says Jana.

  ‘Take a cold shower, hero,’ Gana suggests slyly.

  ‘Under a waterfall,’ adds Mana and they start to guffaw.

  Shaanu grins foolishly, flips them the middle finger and throws himself down on an empty settee near the huge glass windows. He stares up at the empty skies, dreamily hugging a conveniently placed packed parachute.

  How pretty she is, he thinks with hesitant possessiveness. Not in that obvious, long wavy-haired, fair and lovely way, but somehow finer. Sleeker. More – he searches for the right word and finds one that satisfies him – aerodynamic. I bet, he thinks, his pulses leaping jaggedly at the thought, she has an incredible body…

  Oh God, the moment he gets out of here, he’s going to go buy tickets to whatever movie is running at Tivoli and see her ad again. But the damn thing is such a tease, the shots cut so fast, you can’t see anything properly!

  But then, he sits up, why should he see the ad? He can see her in person! Clothed of course, he clarifies to himself hastily. He is not some lecherous cheapie, the kind who’re always ripping saris off Sharmila Tagore in the movies. He could swing by the club in the evening, without his friends this time, sweet-talk that dragon of an aunt and sneak her away for a ride on his bike. He’s low on fuel though, but that’s okay, Maddy will lend him the dough…

  Kuch Bhi Carvalho comes barrelling out of the main ops room.

  ‘Go go go!’ he shouts. ‘Now! Four of you, Cocktail formation. Baaz, you’re leading. Over the Boyra salient. Get those Sabres today!’

  • • •

  ‘Don’t tell me.’ Mana’s voice is hollow.

  ‘I’m telling you,’ Shaanu replies resignedly. ‘Ghanta Pakis in sight. You lads see anything?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘But we got here in six minutes!’

  They are circling over the now familiar terrain of Garibpur again. The Forward Air Controller has greeted them as glumly as before, informing them that the strafing Sabres were right here, two minutes ago.

  ‘But maybe I’m imagining them,’ he says. ‘Maybe living in this mud with these surds have turned my brain to curd.’

  The Gnats circle over the salient cursing.

  ‘This whole experience feels like when the missus went to the MH three times before the baby was born,’ says Gana dispiritedly. ‘Bloody false alarm.’

  And then, just like that, Shaanu spots it.

  A glint of gun-metal grey below him.

  He sits up, electrified.

  ‘Bogey!’ he shouts over the R/T, his heart thudding like a drum. ‘Below us – at three o’clock! Gana Gana Gana, d’you see him?’

  ‘Negative!’

  ‘He’s right there, I tell you!’ Shaanu swears, wishing he could bust through the glass, reach through the sky and point Gana’s skinny neck in the right direction. ‘Your three o’clock, low! Gana, you’re right on top of him. Take him out, man!’

  ‘Where’s the fucker, where’s the fucker, where’s the fucker?’ Gana’s adrenaline is up, but he hasn’t made visual contact yet.

  Shaanu swears colourfully.

  Three seconds later Gana calls, suddenly steady and very cool, ‘Okay, I see him. Mana, stay with me.’

  The Sabre, which seems to be levelling off from a climb, is veering gently to the north. Gana, on the right side of Cocktail formation and best positioned to follow the Sabre, peels off behind him in pursuit, Mana on his wing and slightly behind.

  ‘Baaz, bogey!’ Jana’s warning is sharp.

  Shaanu’s head jerks around. ‘Where?’

  ‘There’s another bogey, ahead of the one we just spotted.’

  ‘And one more, behind. Fuck! There’s three of ’em!’

  The Sabres, large, mean and steely grey, are in a circuit, the one in front flying in the same direction as Shaanu and Jana, the one in the middle now curving away, and the one behind, some way below the Gnats, pulling up, probably from a strafing run. The Gnatties of Cocktail formation are not yet close enough to see the nationality markings, but there is no mistaking the Sabre silhouettes. And they have to assume that the Sabres may be carrying missiles – Sidewinder heat-seeking missiles, the one weapon the Sabres have which outranges anything the Gnats can throw at them.

  It’s becoming clear that the Sabres are in a loose circuit pa
ttern, taking turns to strafe the troops below. They are slipping in and out of sight, between small patches of cloud, even as the diminutive Gnats dart above, pursuing gun-firing positions in the rear quadrants of the Sabres.

  Shaanu, staring at the Sabres, experiences the weirdest sensation of unreality. This is it, he thinks numbly, as tiny clouds go scudding past his Gnat. The real thing. When we press the gun button, real bullets will shoot out of our cannon muzzles. Real fire, real lead.

  He grins.

  Shit, how cool is this?

  He hunkers down and focuses on locking in on the Sabre leader, who is fortuitously heading eastward, away from him. He is getting closer to firing range, sneaking up…

  The Sabre slows down and Shaanu has to weave, using his rudder pedals, to stay behind it. Then he realizes the Sabre only seems to have slowed down; it is in fact climbing, he now realizes, as it pulls into a smooth curve and starts to gain altitude. Fuck, it’s seen him!

  Shaanu’s fast-closing Gnat turns too, pulling higher and then into a wing-over, to stay behind the turning Sabre. He can feel the relentless weight of gravity tightening its grip on him and the reassuring pressure of the G-suit inflating against his abdomen and legs. And he knows Jana will be right with him, on his wing.

  The tight-turning Gnat holds the turn and keeps Shaanu above and behind his quarry.

  But then as the G-forces increase, Shaanu’s vision blurs and the lead Sabre vanishes, melting into the clouds.

  Huh? Shaanu blinks, his helmeted head swivelling as he searches for the enemy.

  As he scans the skies, he spots Gana well and truly engaged with the Number Two Sabre which has peeled off towards the north, with Gana in hot pursuit, while Jana is now in a direct confrontation with the third, who is charging at them head-on. At the closing speeds of two jet fighters head-on to each other, the Sabre is on them in seconds, flashing past Jana at just a couple of hundred yards’ range – close enough to see the green-and-white fin flash and the crescent moon and the star painted on his sides.

  ‘Go, Jana!’ Shaanu breathes.

  Thanks to the Sabre’s over-aggressive approach, Shaanu’s wingman is the first man in Cocktail formation within firing range – and he seizes his opportunity. A sharp, bright line of tracer stabs from his ADEN cannons.