Skip to main content

Tumble in the Air

Have you ever walked and walked around the outer perimeter of a commercial airfield following the fence, on a hot summer day, wearing a suspiciously prison-break-looking orange top?

I am the idiot who did it, twice over, and this is my story.

The last air show I attended was when I was seven, in Thiruvananthapuram. The show was canceled because the air-force personnel were not able to control the crowd, who insisted on watching the show standing on the run-way. Ever since, aviation display and I have politely avoided each other.

‘Maybe it’s time we got reacquainted,’ I thought as I set out enthusiastically for the Prairie Air Show this morning. It looked like a piece of cake—take the local bus to the airport, watch the show, and come back by the same bus.

But when Priya rushes where angels might want to take a rain-check, could disaster be far behind?

Of course the air show was at the other end of the air field, in what seems to be a different county altogether. Of course I was misled by the lady at the airport shop who sold me the ticket (she obviously got a commission). Of course I should’ve taken the hint from the unsure look in the eyes of the other man in the shop when I announced my intention to walk.

Oh, but I was unheeding, cavalier, intent on my adventure. As I came to the main road, I realized that I had no clue how to get to the air show and there wasn’t anybody around to ask – I was totally alone, save the indifferent cars rushing by, the twittering birds, and the aircrafts.

Ah, a police car! Ah, a police officer standing next to it! I will ask him!

It was evident that the police officer had also noticed me. “Taking an exercise this morning, kiddo?” he called out.

I grinned sheepishly. “I want to go to the air show, I don’t have a car, and I’m lost. Can you help me?”

“Oh well, it’s at the other end of the air field – you’d be better off following the fence. It’s not close but it will be a good exercise,” he said cheerfully, motivating me for what turned out to be a good 45-minute walk.

But boy was it worth the effort!

I saw fighter planes of all vintages--WW II Mustang, Vietnam War MiG 17, Czech L-39 Albatross, US Navy F/A 18 Hornet and all sorts of aerobatic flights, performing mind-boggling aerobatic and combat maneuvers. Oh, did I mention the jet car that can go up to 360 mph, which raced with an aircraft, twice?

I am such a nerd that until today, I didn’t know that aerobatics was like gymnastics with a standard set of heart stopping maneuvers.

What all I learned today—the torque spin, avalanche, barrel roll, Cuban eight, scissors, and my favorite, the lomcevak (pronounced lohm-sheh-vock). (It’s a Czechoslovakian word translated as "berserk headache", meaning a drunken bum. It appears to be a totally out-of-control maneuver in which the plane tumbles nose over tail, wingtip over wingtip.)

I also saw what supersonic means—it was awesome the way the F/A 18 approached us, seemingly noiselessly, at Mach 1, followed by the roar of its engine, after a time gap!

And boy, those precision parachute landings by free fall divers! Breathtaking!

Oh, it was a day of many, many wonders. That it was presented with all the bells and whistles of appropriate music and excellent commentary just made it unforgettable. Vide the sponsor's exhortation of the crowd to use ethanol fuel, following a demonstration of an enthanol-fueled aricarft, "Use Ethanol. Because Ethanol kicks gasss! Oh yeah!"

The friendly police officer spotted me on my jaunt back, stopped his car, and courtesouly enquired about my show. Well, this is a small town. :-)

I'm now sporting my two-colored face (the upper half protected by the brim of my cap in its usual color and the lower half burnt a deep reddish brown) and my now-immobile legs as badges of honor of a day very well spent!



Comments

Remember cycling all the way to the beach to c the air show in tvm !! Never seen one after that ... :)

Nice post ...
PriyatRaj said…
Thanks Vinod. SO you are from TVM also?

Popular posts from this blog

Priya’s Must Watch Movies List

(Warning: a long post) “Why don’t you write a blog post on Tamil movies that non-Tamil people can enjoy?” Arif asked me the other day, perhaps in a bid to stop me from going on and on about a recent Tamil movie I watched. It was a capital idea. I decided to take out couple of hours from a week that is killing in its work load to write the post. I knew I was going to have fun. Thank you Anup and Anil for helping me come up with the list! The Tamil Milieu “Frank passions of Tamil cinema”, said Nisha Susan in a recent article. How true! Hot headed, vocal, simple, loyal Tamils with centuries of unbroken performing arts tradition embraced cinema as early as 1897. It was the beginning of a long, passionate, earthy love story, making cinema an extension of our identity, a part of our popular culture, intermingling with politics and daily life. 50-feet cut outs are but a small expression of our love. We make countless stars and worship them with pure hearts. Our whole hearted approval of the f

Catharsis

How relevant can a play that was first staged in 458 BC and won a goat as a prize in the Festival of Dionysius be to our lives now? I was cynical. Damn it, the hole burnt by the 75 USD I wasted on that completely puerile, award-winning musical on Broadway with a far shorter history still smoked in my purse. But it was a beautiful day outside – sunny and warm after 10 days of gloomy, cold, and wet weather. The play was happening practically next door and was priced at an affordable 14 USD. I’d never watched a Greek tragedy in my life and I had promised Geetha that I would come back and bore him with it. So off I went to watch what I thought was an ambitious presentation of the entire trilogy of Oresteia by Aeschylus by the Bradley University Theater group. Of course I had my reservations: I wondered how were they going to make me care about a story so bloody and unrelatable – hell, the plot outline sounded like a handbook on “How to kill your family and come up with convincin

Sundarbans – The Mystic Vastness

You need to be in a state of preparedness to visit the Sundarbans. I suggest that you wait until you are over 30 and have experienced a few knocks, some heartbreak, and a little disappointment in life. It would help if you had ever searched for anything—God, happiness, truth, yourself. It might also be useful to believe that it is necessary to get lost to find your way. If you are the sort of person who finds music in the sound of the quiet lap of water against the tarred hull of the boat or the metaphor of life in drifting along endless waters on a little vessel, then you are ready for the magnificent mangroves. Because the Sundarbans is not for the weekend holidayers, the types who would want to drink beer, scratch their bum/crotch/head/something, throw plastic and Styrofoam into the water with impunity, and hope to get laid. I only hope that the crocodiles that eat them would not develop indigestion. It is important to find the right tour guide for the Sundarbans, as we did. Bi

The Messy, Boozy, Bro-y, Funny World of Tamil Movie Heartbreak

Season of Love It seems like every young person in the 16 – 22 age group in Tamil Nadu is in love—with someone unacceptable to their parents. They are expressing their feelings vocally and dramatically, through TV music channels, FM channels, friends, WhatsApp and other social media. They are shaking up the very fundamentals of societal structures and hoary traditions. They are eloping or standing up to opposition; they are marrying in police stations, registrar offices and temples. Some end tragically, but a lot of them seem to be thriving, as parents are resigning to the new order. Sociologists might talk in terms of social mobility, aspirations, westernization, urbanization et al. Be that as it may, every time I call home, I hear one more story. Of clandestine actions, dramatic proclamations, and cinematic gestures. And Tamil movies—that bastion of “ energetic physicality and frank passions ”—supply the voice, plot, lyrics and music for these micro-epics unfolding in

"Low Life Fictions" of Sadat Hasan Manto

My auto came to a halt atone of the dusty, grimy, grey traffic signals that dots the Mumbai suburban landscape. It was just another Mumbai road moment, the air vibrating with the restless thrum of the million engines carrying a million impatient people to their various destinations.  A dusty, grimy, grey street child was making the rounds of the waiting vehicles, begging. He was so small that any smaller, he would have been mistaken for the million bandicoots that live under the pavements and sewers. He was begging the way street children are perhaps taught in their Fagin’s academy—touching the passengers, knocking on the raised car windows, his tone whining and pitiful. He approached an auto containing two teenage girls. As he tried to touch them, one of the girls shrieked in a tone colored by disgust and fear, “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” The little child, as like some of us around, was taken aback by the violence of her words. Just then the signal turned green

Labels

Show more