Simply Fly

by Capt G R Gopinath

  I told Doug that the government was about to fall; that there would be an election. I had used the first helicopter for 150 hours during the previous poll campaign. I needed one more this time.

  Doug called back half an hour later to say that he had a seven-seater Long Ranger available. I accepted it and planned to travel to Singapore with Sam and our chief engineer Vidya Babu immediately, inspect the helicopter, sign the lease, and fly it home. It had taken me three years to get my first helicopter; it took me a mere three minutes to get my second. It showed me how important it is to build relationships.

  At noon the following day, Sitaram Kesri was on television again. Congress had decided to withdraw support to Deve Gowda. TV channels flashed the news and I was tempted to think that Sitaram Kesri had taken his cue from me!

  Three or four days before Christmas, we flew to Singapore. Doug received us and took us to the helicopter. It looked good. Doug introduced us to Mike McCormack, the engineer who would have the helicopter fixed and ready for air-worthiness certification. Vidya Babu would inspect the helicopter and Sam would test fly it. The helicopter was owned by a Japanese company operating in Singapore and had an American registration on which it would be flown to India.

  I watched Mike at work, all on his own. He gave the helicopter a thorough cleaning, gathered wastes, carrying them on his shoulders, walked a hundred yards to dispose them of. He got back and did serious business with an FAA inspector.

  The latter wanted Mike to complete the technical formalities in accordance with the regulations. Mike went about them unmindful of us with a focus that could only be termed religious. Viewed from this light, Deccan had a hierarchical work structure. It functioned like the mechanic shop I had in Hassan, in which the chief mechanic sat on a stool and shouted instructions while the ‘grease monkeys’ went about the chores. The Deccan engineer had a support team of ten people but he never got his hands dirty.

  Mike, like his kind in the West, combined all roles in one: it was he who worked on the aircraft, he who checked off, cleaned up, and got the FAA auditor to initiate the final signoff. Indian work ethics encourage several people to hang around the engineer, with the engineer preferring to sit in his office; he is the ‘sahib’.

  Mike was a very experienced engineer. Babu recognized him as the boss in his previous company. Seeing Mike, I thought I must bring in his work ethics and the concept of metrics to our workplace.

  Doug invited us home to dinner. We met his wife, Helen, a very gracious Chinese lady. As I have mentioned, Singapore has a large expatriate population, mainly of British and Dutch nationals, and there is also a large ethnic Indian population. The Chinese are in a majority (78 per cent), followed by ethnic Malays, besides the mixed Malay—Chinese, called the Peranakan Chinese migrations, began in the fifteenth century and gathered momentum in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

  Now that we had a new helicopter we would have to transport it. Doug suggested that we hire professional pilots, who took a break from routine work for some adventurous cross-country flying, to India.

  Elections were round the corner and we couldn’t afford to lose time. Doug’s mention of freelance pilots who flew for fun set me thinking about flying the helicopter and having some adventure ourselves. It would be faster, cheaper, and more exciting. Our plan was to take off from Singapore and fly overland via Malaysia to Thailand; cut across northern Thai territory and enter Myanmar; fly over the Arakan mountain range and land in Bangladesh; negotiate the arc from Chittagong via Dhaka to Kolkata, and finally hit the Kolkata–Bhubaneshwar–Vizag–Tirupati trail, heading for Bengaluru.

  All we needed, to fly on our own, were clearances from the ministries of civil aviation and defence of countries on our flight path. On the helicopter side, we had submitted documents to be sent to the US for the export certificate of air-worthiness. The Singapore FAA cleared the helicopter on 22 December but, as Doug realized, everything in the US closed by 22 December. Ahead of Christmas, offices would remain closed till the first week of January, but we were stuck till New Year’s Day!

  On one occasion, Doug introduced me to a bunch of freelancing pilots. The conversation veered to our helicopter ferry plan. One of the pilots, someone like the old seafarers that hung around eighteenth century English colonial clubs, told us his story of Myanmar.

  He said when he flew over Myanmar, his helicopter was targeted for attack by armed gangs, perhaps Myanmarese rebels waging a guerilla insurgency campaign against the Myanmar military junta on the Thai–Myanmar border, or perhaps it was the drug mafia operating in the nearby Golden Triangle. There was an avalanche of machine gun fire targeting his aircraft. The pilot was fortunate. He playfully warned us to be very careful: ‘You fly Myanmar, fellows and you run the risk of being shot through your backside.’

  We were unruffled. Sam is a decorated war veteran and I have seen action on the battlefield, but we didn’t want to take any chances. We decided to fly a bit higher, above the usual 1000 ft above ground that helicopters fly, to keep beyond the range of small arms fire. We did our homework on rebel and mafia hideouts, not wishing them to take potshots at us.

  Doug’s networking helped and we were fortunate to have the export air-worthiness certificate cleared on 30 December. We left Singapore the following day. Babu flew back on a regular airline. Sam asked me to pack light so that we could carry more fuel and fly longer hours. I had bought a Panasonic video camera to capture sights on the way.

  Sam and I went to the FAA, the US aviation regulator. Sam showed them his licence. We were anxious that the agency might raise objections because Sam had never flown an American registered aircraft and he did not have a US flying licence. We submitted our papers and waited. The FAA officer came up to Sam, asked him a few questions, stamped his licence, and handed it over. This lack of bureaucracy just astonished us!

  We planned to take off at seven in the morning on the New Year eve. We had our backpacks and my camera ready. Sam had test flown the helicopter, checked everything, and signed the log-books. Doug briefed Sam on the flying time. That was done quickly. Sam started the rotors, and just then Doug called me a side and said, ‘Gopi, you have not signed the lease agreement.’

  We had spent ten days, Doug had spent a lot of money and done everything necessary to fly the helicopter out of Singapore, and now suddenly I realized that we had not signed the lease agreement!

  This was evidence, if evidence was needed, that we trusted each other implicitly. I looked at the lease agreement. But the rentals were much higher than for the first helicopter. I said, ‘Doug, the lease rentals are very high.’ Doug was furious. His hands clutched at the lease agreement and were trembling. He looked at me fiercely, and snarled: ‘Sign the f****** thing!’

  A moment’s stunned silence followed. ‘You can’t now get into an argument about the lease rental,’ he said. Yes, that was true. I couldn’t let Doug down, but at the same time I could not sign something that was ridiculously high. Also, as we had expended enormous physical and emotional effort in charting our business plans, pulling back now was not an option for either of us.

  I told Doug, ‘We should have sorted this out five days ago. But you’ve trusted me and I’ve trusted you. The British have been fair people. What I’m saying is simply this. I think the lease rentals are very high. If you charge me higher than the market price then you are actually shooting yourself in the foot. We are a start-up company. It’s in your interest to keep me flying. This is only the second helicopter. I will lease a third, a fourth, a fifth … If I go bankrupt because of a lease rental which is uneconomical then you will be responsible. You have to bring it down.’

  I left it to his sense of judgment and fairness. We were running out of time. Sam, whose first flight it was across different countries, kept waving to me that a delay might cause us to miss our landing slot at Kuala Lumpur airport. We also ran the risk of losing entry slots to the other countries en route.

  Doug returned with a revised document. I ex
amined it and could hardly conceal my joy: the offer was better than that which might have suggested.

  We signed the papers and Doug put them away in his briefcase. Doug joined Sam as co-pilot. The plan was for Doug to accompany us on two legs of the journey to help Sam familiarize himself with the local flying conditions. He hopped on to the flight deck into the rear seat.

  Sam was initially a little uncomfortable flying in foreign skies. He was not conversant with handling the different ATCs (Air Traffic Controls), experienced difficulty in decoding the various accents. Doug was familiar with the different protocols and procedures, and he helped.

  Our first halt was at Kuala Lumpur. Malaysia is a country of immense scenic beauty, but industrialization and development have taken a toll. Topsoil denudation and loss of forest cover are visible from the sky. Malaysia, Indonesia, and Brazil are home to the largest rain forests and serve as the lungs of the world. Indonesia had once preserved its rain forests better in its Sarawak and Borneo regions, but surveys have shown that these too are being denuded at an alarming rate. In South America however, and to a certain extent in Malaysia, the better part of the forest covers have been transformed into palm-oil plantations, rubber plantations, and mining and quarrying sites. My heart bled when I saw the price Malaysia has paid to be recognized as an Asian Tiger.

  We approached the extremely busy Kuala Lumpur International Airport. Doug asked Sam to stay clear of marked areas which were defence zones. Doug sounded a little impatient but Sam is a fast learner and he soon got grip with things. We landed at KL and spent 20 minutes there: grabbed a coffee, refuelled, got back to the chopper, and took off to meet slot timings at various airports along the way.

  We flew northwards towards Thailand, a breathtakingly beautiful country. We landed in Phuket at 5.30 p.m. and were dot on time. We planned to spend the night in Phuket. We found ourselves in an ocean of Caucasians: thousands of them thronged—all New Year revellers. They jostled with one another and did not mind where they went. They hungered for the sun and the pleasures and gratifications of Thailand.

  Though Thailand is known as the Sin Capital of the East, one cannot help but fall in love with the land and its people: the beaches and mountains are enchanting and, the people are friendly and disarmingly affectionate.

  Phuket airport was an ocean of tourists who shared a collective, impatient longing to soak in the sun and the waves on white sandy beaches, and indulge in the fiery gastronomics of Thai food. There were Europeans, Americans, and Asians waiting for tour operators to collect them. In Thailand, backpackers can holiday at $5 a day. I saw young couples, honeymooners from the subcontinent; families with children and old people in travel groups. The buzz was palpable. Thailand’s controversial carnal offerings may be anathema to India’s cultural milieu, but I couldn’t help thinking about what could click for India, with so much to offer, to enable it become a tourist haven.

  Doug called all the hotels in Phuket. He must have made hundreds of calls between 5.30 p.m. when we landed and 8.00 p.m. Hotels were full choc-a-bloc with year-end visitors—with not an inch of space to spare. I spotted poster advertisements of beach resorts on islands that seemed to form an emerald necklace. I found the islands irresistible and asked Sam if we could just take off and land on one of them and spend the night, as we did not seem to be finding a place at which to stay anywhere. Sam said the sun was setting and he needed landing coordinates for the islands and clearances.

  We had resigned ourselves to spending the night at the airport when Doug found two rooms for the three of us at 8.30 p.m. Sam and I were scrounging every rupee so we decided to share a room, Doug taking the other. It was 10.00 p.m. by the time we reached the hotel. We were exhausted from the exertion and excitement of our first ‘solo’ cross-country flight. We needed to set off early the next day to ensure we did not miss the time-line for Myanmar, where the military government was extremely strict. Any deviation from schedule could mean spending an extra four to five days in Thailand.

  Sam was a severe guy when it came to discipline. He ordered me to bed rightaway, adding that he must get a good night’s sleep with a long day at the controls tomorrow. Having had his say, he headed for a cool shower.

  An interesting thing happened after Sam got into the shower. I received a call from the reception. A lady said, ‘Capt. Gopinath, are you comfortable?’ I replied, ‘Yes.’ She asked if I needed a massage in the room. I said, ‘Yes.’ Then she asked if I needed a normal massage or a sandwich massage. I was flummoxed. She explained that sandwich massage is one in which two girls massage one man. I asked for a normal massage but two girls. I thought Sam could do with a massage too.

  Sam was a severe, God-fearing puritan. I knew he would not want even a harmless, ordinary massage. I decided to enjoy a bit of harmless fun at Sam’s expense. As soon as he got out of the shower, I rushed inside and left him to welcome the girls.

  When I was in the bath, I heard the doorbell ring. Sam had no idea what I had done. I left the bathroom door a little ajar so I could hear him. He opened the door. The two girls walked in and closed the door behind them. Sam was taken aback. The girls spoke broken English. They repeated the word ‘massage’, ‘massage’. Sam said he didn’t ask for it. The girls insisted he had. Sam has this peculiar stock expression. When he is surprised, Sam’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. He came charging towards the bathroom. I shut the door when I heard him coming. He knocked and ordered, ‘Gopi, open up.’ I opened the door a slit and peered out. Sam said, ‘Did you ask for two girls for a massage?’ I said ‘Yeah, I thought we were tired and had had a long day. It would be good to have a good massage, otherwise, it would be like going to Scotland and not having whiskey.’ He said, ‘You can have a massage, I will not. On second thoughts, I will not let you have one either, because you’ll not get up early and I can’t sleep while you are having a massage. So I’m sending them back.’ Without waiting for me to answer, he turned them back and closed the door. We had a good night’s sleep.

  We were at the airfield at 5.30 a.m. Doug said he would leave us at the end of the next leg of journey. By now Sam was comfortable handling the controls and the ATC. Before the Myanmar crossing we landed at Surat Thani airstrip in Thailand for refuelling and to grab a meal. Doug gave us a big hug and bade us farewell. We took off. Thence commenced our greatest adventure. Thenceforward, I became Sam’s co-pilot. One of my duties as co-pilot was to read his map for him.

  I was in the cockpit trying to make sense of completely unfamiliar territory and remembered the lines of Robert Frost’s poem ‘The Road Not Taken’;

  I shall be telling this with a sigh

  Somewhere ages and ages hence:

  Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

  I took the one less travelled by,

  And that has made all the difference.

  We had another four days of travel and nearly 5,000 kms to cover. Sam focused on flying. I was like a little child savouring every new distraction that came my way. We flew over the Andaman Sea and then cut across the narrow strip to East on the South China Sea and flew straight North towards Myanmar. The sea was emerald blue; the beaches a soft white; the skies pure azure, and the green of the flora a deeply refreshing tint. The scene was of such exquisite beauty that ‘to me it did seem apparelled in celestial light, the glory and the freshness of a dream’.

  I kept urging Sam to descend slightly so that we could take a closer look at a lovely alcove or lagoon or bay or island. These design elements of sea and land appeared out of nowhere. Some of them looked like bizarre mishapen promontories ringed by fluorescent beaches, placed there for some strange creature to perch upon. They looked like a desolate retreat and I wished I were Robinson Crusoe shipwrecked on one of them. Along some beaches, men and women were sprawled naked in the sun. I frequently asked Sam for little detours and he, though severe of expression, never failed to oblige. We refuelled again at Hua Hin and like rally pilots raced towards the Thai border town by dusk and landed at P
hitsanulok, South of Chiang Mai near the Myanmarese border.

  We took off at the crack of dawn and entered Myanmarese airspace. As we flew over thick jungles, we kept higher altitude beyond reach of rebels’ small arms fire. We did not want to take any chances with Myanmar and we were a touch nervous because aircraft had occasionally been turned back. Under military rule, Myanmar was paranoid of foreigners and very tightly controlled its airspace. There was very little civil aviation in the country. Even a minor problem or mess-up would be sufficient excuse for them to turn us back. When we were about 50 km from Myanmarese airspace, Sam flashed our YA number and radio ID. After a minute’s pause someone at the other end asked Sam to repeat the YA number. Those moments, lasting a minute or two, were the longest I have experienced.

  Sam received the clearance and gave the thumbs up sign. We were in Myanmar. Myanmar is politically, socially, and geographically a remote territory. We saw the thickest forest cover over Myanmar, which was at least a good thing for ecology. Spreading like an enormous umbrella, the forest glades prevented the sunlight from penetrating to the forest floor. One could imagine the dark, vegetated, musty, damp, and marshy undergrowth beneath. Large parts of Myanmar were like this. There were paddy-fields in the river valleys. The Irrawaddy is Myanmar’s most famous river. According to Hindu mythology, Irrawaddy is the consort of the celestial elephant Airawatha.

  When we saw the wilderness and inaccessibility of Myanmar, Sam and I felt we should have brought our engineer Babu with us. As he was our only engineer and had to attend to another aircraft quickly he had flown back directly from Singapore. Sam and I experienced a fleeting moment of fear: what if we have a technical glitch and were forced to land in this utter desolation? No one would know where to look for us. All the accounts I had read and heard suggested that Myanmar remained distant and sequestered from modern society.