It is only the fully ops fighter pilot who is also a fighter combat leader who can be the big gun, he dwells on the highest floor of headquarters, rides his two wheeler like a bullet, tanks need to keep out of the way of his car, does not dilute his foreign libations, and talks only to others of his clan if they are senior to him.

The helicopter pilot is fearless, carries important people to hazardous places, sometimes flies with the opposite sex, leaps the highest mountains with ease, helps feed and save those doomed to banishment there, often uses diluted waters.

The transport pilot is master of traffic and trade, carries heads of state, is essential to transfer your goods on posting, can get you shopping from anywhere in the world, will often use IMFL.

The engineer has his (or her) own Air Force and finds pilots to be naive and gullible.

The doctor is demi-god, looks at fliers each day to rule on their ability to fly and can stop them for good if he wants.

Many others support all the above and grease the wheels for the Air Force to make it function properly.

Sometimes strange quirks are encountered which seem to make a mockery of the officially laid down rank structure. Soon after becoming a Flight Lieutenant, equal to a Captain of the Army and a Lieutenant of the Navy, in May 1955, I got a task no one else wanted in the burning hot summer. I was told to proceed to No. 1 Armoured Division, at that time the only one equipped with tanks in the Army. It was located near Jhansi and having spent two years there in college, I was well aware how Jhansi could scorch you in the summer. But then the pecking order meant that not only I could not protest but also I had to really grin and bear it with all the fortitude at may command. In the event it turned out to be quite an event.

On arrival at the railway station in my uniform, I was received by an over-courteous Captain of the Division Headquarters and taken straight to the office of the General Officer Commanding, Major General Wadalia. A meeting was in progress in his conference room. The General invited me to join in. I then discovered that this was the gathering of the eminent officers who were the umpires for an exercise beginning the next day. This included air support, which explained why I was involved. I was an umpire! This explained the reception at the station and the deferential escort to the conference. I probably deserve mention in the Limca Book of Records as the junior-most rank ever to have been given this job. All other umpires were Brigadiers, four ranks above me.

After initial briefing, we moved out to examine the exercise area. Suddenly at one site the General ambled up to me and said, "You Air Force characters are very clever. You always claim more tanks than the Army has". I humbly told him that our traditions had been handed down to us from the Senior Service, the Army. He burst out laughing and obviously took a shine to me. After the inspection of the exercise area, he told Brigadier I S Rikhye (later the UN Commander in Gaza in the 60s) to look after me and put me up for the first night in his caravan. He intended to use it only from the second night onwards. Brigadier Rikhye took me home, gave me a gourmet dinner and duly installed me in the caravan.

The caravan was a beautifully furnished, teak wood lined, air-conditioned, bed-sitter cum office. This was luxury beyond my experience. I took off my shoes, put my feet up on the General's table and started to read my science fiction. A while later I heard a jeep drive up. I overheard an officer asking the guard outside who was in the caravan. The guard said some Air Force Colonel was staying in it.

A very smart Captain came in and gave me an even smarter salute, to which I replied with a casual wave. The exchange then went something like this. "Are you comfortable, Sir?" I told him that I was. He then asked me, "Do you need any thing, Sir?" By then I was getting tired of the sirs. I told him that there was no need to address me like that as I was the same rank as he. Next question, "What do you mean, Sir?" I explained Air Force ranks to him. He then asked me, "You mean we are of the same seniority, Sir?" Foolishly, I said yes.

The Captain yelled, "Then what the hell are you doing in the General's caravan". I was taken by the arm and whisked out by him. Before I could catch my breath I was under a hot tent on a steel cot. The next day the General asked me if I had a comfortable night in his caravan. The poor Captain was listening, with a pleading look on his face. I did not give him away. I told the General that the caravan was a wonderful place to stay the night and that I had been very comfortable indeed. I carefully avoided telling him that it was not in the caravan.

That day at about two in the afternoon, I was in the middle of nowhere in the barren lands of Bundelkhand, famished and looking out for air support. Suddenly, I saw dust rising on the horizon. Its source gradually grew into a jeep with my friend the Captain in it. He delivered two hot cases. One contained a piping hot meal, the other a bottle of chilled beer. Inter-Service amity had been duly restored.

Over the years I became a Squadron Leader without ever leading (read commanding) a squadron. After even more years I was promoted to be a Wing Commander. You guessed it - I was not in command of a wing. Then came my final rank of Group Captain. That is when I did get a wing of my own to run. I retired from this rank after twenty-six years of service since becoming a Pilot Officer (see accompanying story in this issue about saving Chetak helicopters).

The fun with the rank hierarchy did not stop on retirement. Many people, who are not familiar with the armed forces, ask me why I failed to become a pilot officer. They were convinced that only that rank and the one of Flying Officer were the ones at which IAF people did any useful or important job. Perhaps they were not far wrong. But now IAF has abolished the rank of Pilot Officer and commissions are given straight at the rank of Flying Officer. My main trouble is with the rank of Group Captain. Almost every civilian I meet is totally unfamiliar with this one.

Starting from the earliest years, you get captains of a class and even of a school. Each sport and even debating team has a captain. Five star hotels have captains as chefs or for banquets and of course bell captains for all odd jobs. Every pilot who flies an aeroplane is a captain. Even security guards at apartment blocks are managed by captains. With such a profusion of captains around, who ever heard of Group Captains? Everywhere I go, and in most of my documents, such as phone bills to be used as proof of residence, the Group is dropped. No secretary of a bureaucrat or business executive ever gets it right. Actually my rank is named after the Navy’s Captains who command ships and I should be in exalted company. But Captains in the Army would be three ranks below me and even that status is not accorded to me by most people.

All I can do is to grin and bear it - something to which I got well accustomed in the IAF. I give thanks that at least when visiting a hotel I am not asked to deliver luggage to a guest’s room, or show diners where to sit in the coffee shop. But you never know, it may happen some day. .