Desperate in Dibrugarh – The story of a grand welcome gone awry!

‘Operation Safed Sagar’, the Netflix series about the Indian Air Force’s (IAF) 17 Squadron, has been receiving great reviews. A custom that has caught the public eye is that of ‘bouncing’ by the young bachelors, who land up unannounced at the home of their Flight Commander and are wined and dined with gusto.

In the relatively innocent old days some decades ago, there used to be another popular tradition in the IAF —of welcoming a new bride in novel ways, to help ease her into the ways of the service. This was mostly through harmless practical jokes, such as dramatising an unknown episode from the life of her brand-new husband, or by ‘presenting’ her with a forlorn-looking and fictitious former love interest and so on. But in our case, the story turned out quite differently.

Posted to an active flying unit in Dibrugarh in Assam in the late 1990s, we flew our Mi-17 helicopters all over Arunachal Pradesh, Assam and wherever else the IAF would send us. Led by a dynamic but demanding Commanding Officer (CO), the unit had a young crowd and a vibrant atmosphere. In the midst of the political turbulence that gripped Assam, we led a charmed existence flying over the hostile terrain, often in unpredictable weather.

One of our young officers, Shanks, got married and was to return with his new bride in a few days. The unit was abuzz with discussions on how best to receive them and provide Chitra with an unforgettable experience.

It was finally decided that we would separate her from Shanks while on their way from the airport. During the time that Chitra was kept alone, everybody would assemble in the CO’s house to welcome her.

A plan was hatched with great enthusiasm—the team would be led by the Flight Commander himself, with young Todi and Sri as ‘leg men’. Being blessed with a rare luxury of those days, a beaten-down second-hand Maruti-800 car, I was the designated driver. Sehgal would act as the scout and Jamie, our Engineering Officer, would be the rear guide.

On being contacted, Shanks happily agreed to the plan and never breathed a word to Chitra. We then worked out the nuances and practised our roles till it met with the old man’s approval.

The day of reckoning finally arrived, and along came a glitch—the Flight Commander had to go off on a flying commitment, rather lucky for him as it turned out! This made me the senior member of the team, a promotion which was to have unwelcome consequences.

The execution itself went off without a hitch. Sehgal warned us in time about the couple’s location. We dashed out, overtook the cycle rickshaw carrying them and forced it to a stop – so realistically that the poor rickshaw puller took one look at us and ran away, leaving the vehicle behind. On seeing the unlikely marauders, Shanks couldn’t help it and started guffawing. Luckily, before Chitra could register what was going on, he managed to slip away.

Somehow, we coaxed Chitra into the car, speaking to her in a pidgin language that we had invented the previous day. She seemed a bit scared and rather worried—perhaps more so at her macho husband running away at the first hint of trouble!

Meanwhile, Jamie went chasing after the rickshaw puller and persuaded him to return. That is how Shanks eventually managed to reach the ‘honeymoon cottage’ in the Officers’ Mess with their bulky luggage.

Our next challenge was to keep Chitra safe for a while—as per plan, we latched her inside the outhouse of the house above ours, diagonally across from the CO’s residence. As far as we were concerned, it was a job well done, and we relaxed our vigil. Unit officers and families gathered to welcome the couple, share a good laugh and have lunch.

However, the next scene came straight out of a poorly made movie—we were surprised to see the wife of our Station Commander (the CO’s boss) come running barefoot, yelling that a woman was attempting to jump from the floor above us!

Chitra had proven to be a tougher nut than we had given her credit for—quickly regaining her wits, she had somehow accessed the balcony outside her room and started gesticulating to be brought down immediately. Unfortunately for us, the blessed terrace could be seen from the Station Commander’s house some 50 feet away. The guard on duty there misinterpreted Chitra’s gestures and reported to the lady inside. Assuming the worst, she came hotfooting to address the apparent crisis.

Our unit ladies now ran upstairs to get Chitra down, and the whole situation was explained to the first lady of the Station in the fervent hope that she would just laugh and join in the festivities. That certainly did not happen, and she went off looking rather dour. In a few minutes, her husband’s blue IAF Gypsy came to a screeching halt outside, and he emerged looking distinctly angry.

To my credit, I read the situation and told my mother-in-law, who was visiting us, that the first written warning of my career was assured. As it happened, I was being overly optimistic.

The Station Commander’s great annoyance got converted first to a simple Informal Investigation, followed by a stricter Formal Investigation—standard military procedures used for factfinding in the face of probable infractions. Both were entrusted to the kindly CO of our sister flying unit, but the findings stayed adamantly unknown to us.

Soon, rumour mills had it that a Court of Inquiry was being ordered. There was dark talk of a Court Martial too. This mysterious escalation was beyond our comprehension, and we were convinced that our careers were over even before they had properly begun. Surely, telephone calls and guftagoo must have been taking place at higher levels—but no one would tell us anything, except to look at us with a mixture of sympathy and suspicion. A few weeks of interminable waiting then ensued.

Finally, our prayers gained some traction – a well-regarded senior officer arrived to conduct the feared Court of Inquiry. Though he grilled us at length, he was patient and fair. He also spent considerable time with Chitra and Shanks to understand exactly what she had gone through.

After many days of work, he concluded that the whole episode was an honest and well-intentioned effort by youngsters, and that there was no misbehaviour or indiscipline involved. His clean chit, stating that such customs enhanced the cohesion and morale of combat units, which would prove invaluable in times of war, saved us in the end.

Small though the episode was, there is a lesson in it on the importance of good communication, grace and mutual trust amongst the top people at every level in an organisation. We could have taken the Station Commander into confidence in advance, or he could have elected to take it in his stride on coming to know of it – neither of which happened. I guess that in today’s era of transparency, hyper-awareness, and modern value systems, such an event may not have taken place at all.

In retrospect, we were lucky that Chitra proved to be a star, standing like a rock by the side of strangers that we were, through the intrusive investigative process.

It helped that there was no social media or mobile phones those days, and so the matter stayed localised till its final resolution.

In the end, our unit emerged stronger and more cohesive from the episode, and we got mentally tougher. It might even have helped us to do well later - Shanks retired a two-star, and they are our friendly neighbours now in Pune, while the CO went even higher!

For my part, in the remaining thirty years of my service, I welcomed new brides with only a smile, a kind word and maybe a handshake—once bitten, twice shy!

The author is a proud Veteran with four decades of service in the Indian Air Force.