When my father was a child, he and his sister would go to visit their uncle in Allahabad. Once, a young and distinguished air force pilot, who was also a relative, came to visit them there, and the children were riveted by his stories of wartime flying.


He came to dinner one evening, and told the children to go up to the terrace at dawn the next day and look out for his fighter plane, which he would be flying out from the airbase outside Allahabad. My father, aunt and their cousins were unable to sleep that night with excitement, and went up early next morning to the terrace. Then, as they watched above the treetops, there was a sudden fiery glow in the sky and a loud explosion. Later that morning, they were told that their pilot-hero's plane had crashed, and the children had actually witnessed the crash.

Read more