Flt Lt Raj Kumar 'Baldie" Mehta (1930-1960), Kirti Chakra (Posthumous). 
[The plane in the background is the Harvard, a variant of the North American T-6 Texan. 
He would execute perfect loops in them even while pushing their flight ceiling]

In 1960, in the second week of November, the Indian Air Force tragically lost two stellar officers in quick succession. It happened over a surreal sequence of connected events unfolding within a quick span of 24 hours, but over 3600 miles apart.

One of the deceased was the head of the IAF, Air Marshal Subroto Mukherjee, who had been on a visit to Japan at the time. The other, much younger officer who perished the next day was a very promising Flight Lieutenant named Raj Kumar Mehta - a distant granduncle who thus left the world much before I arrived in it. Or greatuncle, as they're referred to in some countries.

The news in the print media of the Flight Lieutenant's demise was understandably overshadowed by that of the Air Chief, but within a much smaller service record of 9 years, the former's deeds had already started to draw gasps of admiration and disbelief from his peers and etch themselves in their collective memory.

Many accounts state, wrongly, that Air Marshal Mukherjee had traveled on Air India's first-ever flight to Japan, as one among the dignitaries included on board to mark the occasion. In fact, the airline already had a weekly service to Tokyo since 1955, on a Lockheed Constellation L-749. Possibly, it was the first ever use of a Boeing-707 for that route, a newer model acquired with some fanfare by the airline just a few months earlier- making it still an inaugural flight of sorts.  

Air Marshal Mukherjee's combination of flying skills, gallantry and inspirational leadership was such that the following he commanded from the IAF staff bordered on reverence. For someone who had survived enemy gunfire on multiple occasions, death had lurked up from rather unsuspecting quarters to ensnare him. On the evening of Nov 8th, at a restaurant in a Tokyo suburb, while having dinner with a senior officer of the Indian Navy, he accidentally choked on a piece of fish- and death arrived before help could.

The sudden development cast a pall of gloom in the Air Force, down to the rank and file. Officials rushed to promptly repatriate his body back to Delhi, and as one mark of respect, a flypast of 49 aircraft over his funeral ceremony was planned- one for each year of his life. Before that, however, when the plane carrying his body back from Tokyo came in the vicinity of Delhi, 4 fighter jets were sent up to provide it with a ceremonial escort. 

One of those pilots was Flt Lt "Baldie" Mehta, as granduncle Raj was affectionately called by his colleagues thanks to the genetics of a prematurely receding hairline. At the time, his squadron was based at Ambala, not too far away from Delhi. Coming in to land at Delhi's Palam Airport, where Air Marshal Mukherjee’s body arrived that day,  Flt Lt Mehta had already initiated his own landing approach, when the pilot of another Gnat performing the same role indicated a need to get ahead in the sequence. In the unverified accounts of family elders, it was said that the other pilot had suspected a brewing mechanical trouble. Granduncle Raj then pulled up and got out from his approach, enabling the other pilot to get ahead and touch down first- which he did, safely. In the utmost irony, while circling overhead in wait for the next landing opportunity, his own plane had a bird hit, and its sole engine suffered a flame-out.

Being the skilled and determined pilot he was, Flt Lt Mehta had tried his best to save the aircraft, consciously rejecting the option (and also the advice radioed from another just-landed fellow pilot) of abandoning it to bail out and save his life. Other pilots in that formation recall how calm and unperturbed he was when he radioed his intent to instead attempt a deadstick landing, presumably seeking to leverage the small additional altitude regained in the process of circling overhead. 

On other days, he had often executed and taught PFL, or 'Practice Forced Landing' - a manouvre that mimics engine failure by deploying flaps and reducing engine speed, and getting the best possible glide to touch down at a safe landing spot. Key differences existed this time, however- including the absence of available time and glide distance, and also the nature of the aircraft involved.

Considering the Gnat's solitary and somewhat disproportionately large jet engine and the narrow wing span typical of fighter jets, it was a near-impossible task that only the most qualified would have even considered attempting in the situation. Upon determining soon after that his plane's trajectory would not extend to the runway, he did decide to eventually eject, but a crucial delay meant that it was at too low an altitude for his parachute to deploy. Injuries from the free fall, compounded by the failure of the seat to separate, killed him instantly. Unknown at that time, that delayed ejection was to become a renewed focus of discussion years later.

Group Captain Hari Mander Pal Singh Pannu, then a Flying Officer, had been tying his turban in the Officers' Mess close to where the runway began, when the loud sound of the crash made him rush outside. He was the first fellow officer to reach the scene. The location and the gravity of the moment were to become a vivid imprint in his memory, life-long.  

When the deceased pilot's mortal remains arrived home, his mother Smt. Hukam Devi was persuaded by the IAF personnel to not open the coffin. "Mataji, we would like you to remember him as the way you had seen him." The injuries that had caused death had been grievous.

It was a double blow of sorts to the lady who had lost her husband the previous year. To cling on to her youngest son's memory, his room at the family's residence on Chhindwara's Narsinghpur Road was kept maintained with practically no change for the next 13 years she outlived him- as though to make up for the missed last glimpse. It helped convey the feeling that like other serving personnel, Rajkumar was merely away at a posting. Having died a bachelor, he had left behind no spouse or child.

A few years into service. The nickname 
"Baldie" was presumably acquired by this time.

For someone who had wowed his colleagues with many an astounding skill as a fighter pilot, his family had a comparatively sketchy awareness of his professional side. The numbing shock of the tragedy widened the disconnect. Even before his own recruitment, he had routinely exhorted nephews to don that same uniform, instead of joining the mining industry that had become somewhat of a tradition in his branch of the clan. The sudden death caused all of them to get held back by their immediate families, and nudged towards alternate career choices. Ironically, two other young lads belonging to the same vicinity but outside of the clan did not waver from course, and went on to eventually retire as Air Marshals, including the late AM Tej Mohan Asthana AVSM VM , the first Commander in Chief of India's nuclear Strategic Forces Command. 

Nearly a quarter of a century after that fateful incident of 1960, Rajkumar Mehta's grandnephew (and also my cousin) Sundeep Mehta joined the Indian Air Force, finally lifting that moratorium of sorts, and reconnecting with the tradition of serving in uniform historically associated with our larger Mohyal ethnic group. A helicopter pilot, he became one of the HU114 Siachen pioneers whose exploits have spawned other volumes. During visits to his grandfather's home in Chhindwara as a small child, Sundeep had often wondered about the room that used to always remain locked and off limits to kids of his age, until one day another granduncle (Pran Mehta, elder brother of Rajkumar) briefly opened its doors and took him along for a supervised visit. Of everything that the awed child's eyes took in, the sight of the late pilot's flying overalls, photos, a few handwritten notes, and the posthumously-awarded Ashok Chakra-II was what would stay on in adulthood as vague memories of that rare treat. 

A more complete awareness of his grand uncle's feats came about gradually in the course of his career, much like the slowly increasing light of dawn. Every now and then, he would encounter a mention of the name being taken with awe in conversations, despite being in a completely different stream that did not fly fixed-wing aircraft, and despite the decades that had elapsed since then. 

"Ace material", the highest accolade fighter pilots could give to another, was one of the first he heard.

Raj Kumar Mehta was born into a Punjabi family in 1930 in Central India, in District Chhindwara. The more exact location was either the tiny hamlet of Bhamodi or Jata Chhapar adjacent to it- no one elder enough remains in the family now to say for sure. His clan had relocated from Pind Dadan Khan in District Jhelum in three distinct phases- the earliest of which was in 1925 when his father Mehta Sant Ram had ventured to the Pench valley for coal mining related prospects, after stints at Dandot Colliery and mines in the Sor range in Baluchistan. The rest of the clan arrived in times that were relatively more turbulent- some from Quetta after the devastating earthquake of 1935, others after the partition riots of 1947 that had uprooted religious minorities from Pakistan. Raj grew up in a large family of 11 siblings. Of the 8 brothers, he was the youngest.

Raj Mehta as a Flight Cadet, Oct. 1950

In the air force, he was assigned the prestigious No. 23 Squadron, also known as the Panthers. It had, and still continues to have, many firsts to its credit. It was the first squadron of the air force to have the Folland Gnat, a new jet of that era, the first squadron to score an air combat victory for India (on the second day of the 1965 Indo-Pak war, when Flt Lt Trevor Keelor downed an F-86 Sabre in a cleverly executed decoy tactic). More recently, another first was the addition of one of the IAF's first three female fighter pilots, Flying Officer Avani Chaturvedi.

The Folland Gnat was truly a sea change over the de Havilland Vampires the squadron previously flew.  A "thrust-to-weight ratio greater than 1" meant it had an engine powerful enough to lift its own weight-  enabling very steep takeoffs from short runways without stalling, a trait that Indian Air Force would not experience in any other fighter jet until the induction of the MiG-29 in the late 1980s. The Vampires in contrast had offered only a 0.3 thrust to weight ratio, necessitating gentler climbs after longer take off runs.

Three "conversion specialists" were designated to adopt the Gnats into the squadron, of whom Baldie Mehta was one. The other two highly-rated pilots incidentally went on to reach the highest echelons of the Indian Air Force - JN Jatar who retired as a decorated Air Vice Marshal in 1984, and Subramaniam Raghavendran who retired in 1988 as Air Marshal and vice chief of the Air Force. (A photo of the three on Bharat Rakshak, an unofficial defence forces website, at this link )  

In 2013, while penning memoirs more than a quarter century after his retirement, the aged Raghavendran wrote of Raj Kumar Mehta as "a very cool customer" who had taught him how to do loops in the air with a Vampire aircraft at speeds as low as 110 knots, hugely less than the commonly recommended speed of 300 knots. 

The mention of Baldie in Raghavendran's autobiography was something my cousin Sundeep Mehta had not been aware of. In 2016, at a gathering at Air House (as the residence of the IAF chief in New Delhi is called) he spotted the veteran, then 86 years of age, in conversation with Air Marshal Birender Singh Dhanoa, the vice-chief of air staff at the time. 

The request that followed from the Group Captain to an Air Vice Marshal also attending the event was somewhat audacious, as it cut across multiple layers of hierarchy- but one that he had been unable to resist. 

"Sir, may I please have an introduction with the gentleman?" he asked. Upon the good fortune of being obliged, he had a chance to finally address Raghavendran.

"Sir, I'm from the place over which you had ejected after engine failure in March 1960", said my cousin- referring to an incident of engine touble that Raghavendran had once encountered over Chhindwara.

"..and I understand you knew Flight Lieutenant Raj Kumar Mehta. He was my grandfather's brother"

The swift recollection that followed was, to Sundeep, a delight. It was a source of pride to hear about his granduncle directly from an IAF legend, who vividly remembered Baldie despite the interlude of 56 years and multiple wars. It was a reaffirmation of sorts, of all that he had heard from others about granduncle Raj.

On account of his skills and temperament, Rajkumar Mehta was assigned to be an instructor at FTW (Fighter Training Wing), and his work often extended to instructing other instructors. He held the high rating of a category A2 QFI (Qualified Flying Instructor) and an IRE (Instrument Rating Examiner) who could certify other pilots' ability to fly without visual aid and was a Master Green himself- one who could come closest in poor weather conditions to structures that a majority of other pilots were required to keep a greater distance from. 

Recalls Air Vice Marshal Tapas Kumar Sen (retd), who had been one of his colleagues at FTW. "At one time, at Hakimpet, Rajkumar Mehta had led a 12-aircraft formation, comprising of all instructors, and done a loop at below 4000 ft- and not only was that during a bad weather day, it was also executed with no prior profile briefing." Despite the smoothness with which it was executed, it was an act that, in present times, would assuredly invite court-martial due to the risks involved. However, that was a different era that accorded greater flexibility for instructors on certain occasions. At the time, what folks therefore noticed more was the superlative leadership, bravery, skill & confidence that had enabled him to pull off something like that. "Given the evolution of rules, it's difficult for the present generation of young officers to even comprehend the deed", says Sundeep.

Another nugget that Sundeep heard was narrated to him by the late Air Vice Marshal Manjunath Sadanand, who had also been RK Mehta's junior colleague at FTW. He recalled of the time when Raj had non-chalantly mentioned of having perfected doing a loop in a variant of a Harvard trainer at a certain altitude. Considering that the altitude mentioned was the flight ceiling for that variant, where it was supposed to just sustain straight and level flight, it was hardly surprising that nobody believed him at first. Finally two observer aircraft flew along to confirm Raj Mehta's claim and their pilots returned shaking heads in disbelief at what they saw. 

The delayed ejection that claimed Raj's life became the subject of much speculation afterwards. Surely a pilot as skilled as him had known the minimum altitude needed for bailing out, and had also been well aware of the essence of time when the decision has to be made closer to the ground. For long, the dominant theory was that he had shared a flaw stated to ironically exist among many highly skilled pilots, that of being reluctant to abandon their malfunctioning aircraft as easily. When it comes to bailing out, the psyche of a pilot is also said to work differently between peacetime and war, and some statistics show that ironically the former has greater fatality rates. Others felt that he had been unfortunate to just not have sufficient altitude to begin with. Perhaps, the plane hurtling down uncontrollably had imparted an unfavorable trajectory at the exact moment of ejection. 

A chance discovery, years later, gave another whole new angle to the incident. That was when the pilot of another troubled Gnat in the sky discovered, much to his chagrin, a critical malfunction that made the plane's ejection mechanism unreliable. Luckily for him, there was adequate altitude for eventually managing to separate from his plane, and his experience prompted the need for a closer look. Writing in a flight safety magazine, the 1965 war hero Wing Commander Trevor Keelor VrC VM explained that the problem with ejection mechanisms in Gnat was rectified by something as ridiculously simple as changing the direction of split pin that fouled with the ejection handle linkages. The article named Rajkumar and three other highly skilled pilots who perished similarly like him and had, until then, been all presumed to be cases of delayed decisions to eject. Incidentally, after the needed modification, the IAF did not record even a single case of delayed ejection in Gnats, right up to the time when the model was retired from service.

Unfortunately, there was no way to conclusively prove if that's what had indeed happened in the case of granduncle Raj. What was beyond doubt however, was that he had died placing the country's interests above his own personal safety in a very calm and most courageous manner. Ostensibly for that act, but likely prompted by his spectacular years of service as well, he was awarded the Ashok Chakra Class II, as the Kirti Chakra was then known. It was India's second highest award for gallantry away from the field of war, and the peacetime equivalent of the Maha Vir Chakra. It was received on his behalf by his mother Smt. Hukam Devi from Dr. Rajendra Prasad, the then President of India. It continues, as of today, to be the highest gallantry award earned by the Panthers.

Smt. Hukum Devi receiving her son's posthumous Ashok Chakra Class II from Dr. Rajendra Prasad

With the doting mother's passing away in 1973, the unoccupied space in the form of Rajkumar's room in the family house finally caved in to the pressures of a growing clan and the exigencies of practicality. His belongings found a smaller home inside a trunk, along with his posthumous medal. They were lovingly preserved by granduncle Pran, who passed on in 1997- and then remained under the care of his wife who breathed her last in 2016. 

In 2018, after it had stayed as a family treasure for over half a century, Sundeep and others in the family decided to hand the medal back to the No. 23 Squadron, that had been no less a dear family to Raj. The thought was that the Panthers were better positioned to take care of it going forward, and that even though in real life Raj had an unfortunately truncated innings, his was a story that deserved to live on- especially for the sake of new recruits. It was as though the intent aligned with the Panthers' motto of Amritam Abhayam (In Sanskrit, Immortal and Fearless). Fearless he had already proven to be, and now the Panthers were being entrusted to make his memory even more assuredly immortal.

The gallantry medal being turned over to No. 23 Squadron IAF, by Shri Amarnath Mehta to Air Marshal Kuldeep Sharma, the Commodore Commandant of the Panthers. Also seen in the picture is Lt Gen Ashok Mehta (retd). 

On September 15th, 2018 in a solemn ceremony at Suratgarh Air Force base in the Western Sector, the current home of the No. 23 Squadron, amidst the Diamond Jubilee of the Squadron's raising, the late pilot's nephew Amarnath Mehta had the honour of handing over the relic to Air Marshal Kuldeep Sharma AVSM VSM, completing its transfer from the late pilot's biological family to his professional one. 

Weeks leading up to the ceremony provided yet another insight into the late pilot's standing in his squadron. When the family suggested a simple function to Gp Capt Girish Dantale, the Commanding Officer of the Panthers, he rejected the idea outright, and insisted it had to be more befitting. He went on to facilitate an event that was meticulously planned and flawlessly executed along with the salute of an air display.  Besides Sundeep, the other relatives present at the occasion included the late pilot's niece Seema and her husband, Lt Gen Ashok Mehta AVSM VSM (retd). 

The poet Iqbal once wrote:

     hai bulandi se falak-bos nasheman merā

     abr-e-kohsār hun, gul pāsh hai dāman merā

     [Tanslation mine:]     
     With an altitude that is high,     
     My abode nestles with the pristine sky     
     My robe sprinkles down rose petals     
     The mountain cloud am I 

Even though the lines were penned in a different context, they seem apt for granduncle Raj- with the only difference that instead of representing rain drops sent down to bounce off mountain slopes, the metaphorical rose petals are, in his case, a sprinkle of unceasing inspiration- especially on his No. 23 Squadron that, for much of his short life, had been very dear to his heart.