Usman Shabbir
05-30-2005, 03:11 PM
My honeymoon with the PAF
Ashfaque Naqvi relates his story of joining the PAF College Risalpur, days and nights of nine long years he spent at the academy and his long-lasting memories about his friends and colleagues there
Just as one cannot forget his honeymoon, so can I never forget Risalpur, for it was there that I spent my honeymoon with the Pakistan Air Force (PAF). And mind you, it was not a short honeymoon; it lasted a full nine years. During that period, I saw a lot of water flow down the Kabul River.
It was in the late 50s when in response to an innocent looking 'ad' in the newspapers, I applied for editorship of the PAF journal, Shaheen. In those days, the Air Headquarters was at Mauripur. I was provided an airlift in the good old Bristol freighter that took only four-and-a-half hours to cover the distance from Lahore to Karachi. Quick, wasn't it? After an overnight stay in the Officers' Mess at Mauripur, I faced the interview board the next day. It consisted of three members headed by the Director of Education, Group Captain Fayyaz Mahmud.
During the conversation, the topic somehow came round to Allama Iqbal's poetry and I managed to utter a few sensible words (or so I think) on the subject. (It was only later that I learnt that the Gp. Capt. was an ardent lover of Iqbal). So, the end result of that interview was that instead of editing the Shaheen at Air Headquarters, I was granted a Special Purposes Short Service Commission (SPSSC) and landed at the PAF College Risalpur, as an Instructor in Urdu. They needed one anyhow.
At the outset, I would request the reader to bear in mind that during the days I am talking about the present PAF Academy was known as PAF College, and the language spoken in the PAF was English and nothing else.
For me personally, entering to teach the first class of my lifetime was a horrifying experience. I took hours to prepare for the lesson and went loaded with all possible answers to all possible nasty questions. However, when the period ended, I came out thoroughly disappointed. The 30 odd students in the class remained quiet and attentive throughout the 45 minutes and did not even ask a sober question. After a little thought, I discovered the reason. I was teaching them Urdu, a language they were not allowed to speak even among themselves. Naturally they were not sure whether they could do that in my class. In my next period, when I told them that they could, there were clear signs of relief on their faces. Then onwards they even started looking forward to my period and enjoyed the verses, which I had to quote at times.
Whereas the Urdu class was enjoyable, both for the cadets and me, a time came when I had to teach more serious subjects. These included War Studies. In order to make the lesson interesting, I would put in an odd joke, of course well rehearsed but made to appear spontaneous. This trick I picked up from a senior colleague. Let me name him. He was Flight Lieutenant Sulayman Kiyani, who rose to be a Gp. Capt. and retired as director of education. Alas! He is no longer among us.
While teaching the GD cadets, all teenagers, was not much of a problem, it was the non-GD class which gave me the creeps. The first day I entered that class, I was trembling all over. I am sure anyone would when he goes to teach Urdu and finds such a dangerously literary person as Muzaffar Ali Syed sitting in front as a student! All the same, I soon managed to control that lot as well. How? Elementary my dear Watson; I started treating them as friends.
After a month or two at Risalpur, I started to feel somewhat frustrated. What fun being in the Air Force when one has to wear civvies? I launched a whispering campaign to get myself into uniform at the earliest. The matter reached the Commandant, Gp. Capt. M. Khyber Khan, and he ordered that I and my other colleague in civvies, Flag. Off. Qasim Rizvi, be put through the next Non-GD Course. And so, after being Instructors at the College for six months, we became cadets for the next six. We were initially made to wear the same grey trousers and blue jersey like our coarse-mates, and went through all the horrors of drill.
When I asked to be put in uniform I didn't know what I was asking for. Once in uniform, I was also in for several extra duties, including the nightly vigil at the Station called Orderly Officer duty. But since a transport was at your disposal and visits to the mess allowed, I liked that duty the most. Moreover, it was useful in another way as well. Whenever you wanted to stay the night out, playing bridge, the wife could safely be made to believe that you were on Orderly Officer duty.
As it always happens at the Risalpur academy, a day before the actual graduation parade, a full dress rehearsal is held. It is as good as the actual parade, with everyone in his best uniform and a reasonable number of spectators watching the whole thing. And it was at one of these rehearsals that the commandant asked me to act the Reviewing Officer. That was probably the greatest day in my life at Risalpur.
I was taken to the airfield from where, with the tick of the clock, the proceeding started. The Reviewing Officer's aircraft was supposed to have landed and taxied down to the point where he was to alight. The door opens and he steps out. From then on it was I, and only I, all the way. The Assistant Commandant gave me a smart salute and escorted me to the waiting limousine. I got in with all grace. The smartly attired driver put the car in gear and I was driven towards the parade ground escorted by several outriders. As the huge car came to a full stop at the appointed place at the edge of the parade ground, the commandant leapt forward and opened the door. I came out with all the dignity I could muster, but when my eyes fell upon the Commandant standing so close in front, I had to summon all my reserve resources of energy to hold my hand from going up in salute first. Anyway, I did manage and waited for him to salute me. At that moment, I heard the Parade Commander roar, "Parade… Attention." I gracefully walked towards the saluting dais with the Commandant and other senior officers trying to stay in step with me. The spectators rose in their seats. As I got to the dais, and stood facing the parade, I was given the General Salute. Then the Parade Commander marched up smartly, came to a halt in front of me, gave me the most glorious salute that I have ever received, and requested me to inspect the Parade. I graciously obliged him by stepping down from the dais and walking towards the parade. He respectfully stayed to my right, with the Commandant marching two paces behind. My, my, I wanted the time to freeze.
Anyway, I passed along the front rank, came back to the dais, watched the remaining procedures, and again stepped down to pin wings on the uniform of the graduating cadets. After that I returned to the dais and stood motionless and mute for quite some time. That was regarded as the time which the Commandant and the Reviewing Officer would take to deliver their speeches. That over, the parade marched past and I kept taking the salute from the different flights. As the band came up the rear, the fly-past aircraft dipped overhead in salute. I could only wink at them. The proceedings over, the first thing I did was to make myself scarce. I just did not want to look the Commandant in the eye so soon after the episode.
After a few years at Risalpur, I again started to feel frustrated. It was such routine life taking classes, preparing the Training Programme, looking after the library, drafting Operation Orders for Educational Visits, playing games in the evening, attending debates at night, staging plays and so on. All this started to appear boring. Any other Branch in the PAF would be better than the Education Branch, I thought. But then one small incident and all my doubts were dispelled.
I was attached to PAF Drigh Road for a few months to undergo a course at Karachi. One fine morning I learnt that a Bristol Freighter was going to Peshawar and would return after a day's stay. Flt-Lt Nizam (late) was the captain of the aircraft and Flg Off Isa, the navigator, both good bridge-playing friends. Since my family was at Risalpur I thought I might as well avail the trip. I got the requisite permission, and hopped in. There were some other passengers as well.
After we had been airborne for quite some time, we were told that the weather ahead was bad and besides Peshawar, even Risalpur and Chaklala airfields were red. We had no option but to land at Sargodha and spend the night there. Now in that bunch of uninvited guests, I happened to be the junior most and hence was genuinely worried about finding some place to sleep for the night. The seniors would be looked after, I thought, but what about me?
We were still in the lounge when the Dining-in-Night at Officers Mess was over and all the officers were coming back. I found several of my ex-students, smart Flying Officers themselves, rushing towards me. "Sir, you come to my room," said one. "Sir, you stay with me," said another. I did not know whom to refuse. In minutes, I was whisked away, ending up in Flg Off Salim Gauhar's room. He made me comfortable in his bed, gave me his silken quilt, and himself lay on the floor in two blankets. That night I realised what an advantage it was to be in the Education Branch. And much later in service when I went to Air Headquarters and was attached to the Public Relations cell, I had to do a lot of moving around. But never once did I rely on that routine signal for Mess accommodation. I knew I had my old students at every Base and they would go all out to look after their old Instructor. If I were to live all over again, I would join the Education Branch of the PAF, but on one condition -- that I would be permanently posted at Risalpur. n
The writer is a well-known literary critic, columnist and an analyst. He remained associated with the PAF for several years and later joined The Pakistan Times as its Joint Editor
Ashfaque Naqvi relates his story of joining the PAF College Risalpur, days and nights of nine long years he spent at the academy and his long-lasting memories about his friends and colleagues there
Just as one cannot forget his honeymoon, so can I never forget Risalpur, for it was there that I spent my honeymoon with the Pakistan Air Force (PAF). And mind you, it was not a short honeymoon; it lasted a full nine years. During that period, I saw a lot of water flow down the Kabul River.
It was in the late 50s when in response to an innocent looking 'ad' in the newspapers, I applied for editorship of the PAF journal, Shaheen. In those days, the Air Headquarters was at Mauripur. I was provided an airlift in the good old Bristol freighter that took only four-and-a-half hours to cover the distance from Lahore to Karachi. Quick, wasn't it? After an overnight stay in the Officers' Mess at Mauripur, I faced the interview board the next day. It consisted of three members headed by the Director of Education, Group Captain Fayyaz Mahmud.
During the conversation, the topic somehow came round to Allama Iqbal's poetry and I managed to utter a few sensible words (or so I think) on the subject. (It was only later that I learnt that the Gp. Capt. was an ardent lover of Iqbal). So, the end result of that interview was that instead of editing the Shaheen at Air Headquarters, I was granted a Special Purposes Short Service Commission (SPSSC) and landed at the PAF College Risalpur, as an Instructor in Urdu. They needed one anyhow.
At the outset, I would request the reader to bear in mind that during the days I am talking about the present PAF Academy was known as PAF College, and the language spoken in the PAF was English and nothing else.
For me personally, entering to teach the first class of my lifetime was a horrifying experience. I took hours to prepare for the lesson and went loaded with all possible answers to all possible nasty questions. However, when the period ended, I came out thoroughly disappointed. The 30 odd students in the class remained quiet and attentive throughout the 45 minutes and did not even ask a sober question. After a little thought, I discovered the reason. I was teaching them Urdu, a language they were not allowed to speak even among themselves. Naturally they were not sure whether they could do that in my class. In my next period, when I told them that they could, there were clear signs of relief on their faces. Then onwards they even started looking forward to my period and enjoyed the verses, which I had to quote at times.
Whereas the Urdu class was enjoyable, both for the cadets and me, a time came when I had to teach more serious subjects. These included War Studies. In order to make the lesson interesting, I would put in an odd joke, of course well rehearsed but made to appear spontaneous. This trick I picked up from a senior colleague. Let me name him. He was Flight Lieutenant Sulayman Kiyani, who rose to be a Gp. Capt. and retired as director of education. Alas! He is no longer among us.
While teaching the GD cadets, all teenagers, was not much of a problem, it was the non-GD class which gave me the creeps. The first day I entered that class, I was trembling all over. I am sure anyone would when he goes to teach Urdu and finds such a dangerously literary person as Muzaffar Ali Syed sitting in front as a student! All the same, I soon managed to control that lot as well. How? Elementary my dear Watson; I started treating them as friends.
After a month or two at Risalpur, I started to feel somewhat frustrated. What fun being in the Air Force when one has to wear civvies? I launched a whispering campaign to get myself into uniform at the earliest. The matter reached the Commandant, Gp. Capt. M. Khyber Khan, and he ordered that I and my other colleague in civvies, Flag. Off. Qasim Rizvi, be put through the next Non-GD Course. And so, after being Instructors at the College for six months, we became cadets for the next six. We were initially made to wear the same grey trousers and blue jersey like our coarse-mates, and went through all the horrors of drill.
When I asked to be put in uniform I didn't know what I was asking for. Once in uniform, I was also in for several extra duties, including the nightly vigil at the Station called Orderly Officer duty. But since a transport was at your disposal and visits to the mess allowed, I liked that duty the most. Moreover, it was useful in another way as well. Whenever you wanted to stay the night out, playing bridge, the wife could safely be made to believe that you were on Orderly Officer duty.
As it always happens at the Risalpur academy, a day before the actual graduation parade, a full dress rehearsal is held. It is as good as the actual parade, with everyone in his best uniform and a reasonable number of spectators watching the whole thing. And it was at one of these rehearsals that the commandant asked me to act the Reviewing Officer. That was probably the greatest day in my life at Risalpur.
I was taken to the airfield from where, with the tick of the clock, the proceeding started. The Reviewing Officer's aircraft was supposed to have landed and taxied down to the point where he was to alight. The door opens and he steps out. From then on it was I, and only I, all the way. The Assistant Commandant gave me a smart salute and escorted me to the waiting limousine. I got in with all grace. The smartly attired driver put the car in gear and I was driven towards the parade ground escorted by several outriders. As the huge car came to a full stop at the appointed place at the edge of the parade ground, the commandant leapt forward and opened the door. I came out with all the dignity I could muster, but when my eyes fell upon the Commandant standing so close in front, I had to summon all my reserve resources of energy to hold my hand from going up in salute first. Anyway, I did manage and waited for him to salute me. At that moment, I heard the Parade Commander roar, "Parade… Attention." I gracefully walked towards the saluting dais with the Commandant and other senior officers trying to stay in step with me. The spectators rose in their seats. As I got to the dais, and stood facing the parade, I was given the General Salute. Then the Parade Commander marched up smartly, came to a halt in front of me, gave me the most glorious salute that I have ever received, and requested me to inspect the Parade. I graciously obliged him by stepping down from the dais and walking towards the parade. He respectfully stayed to my right, with the Commandant marching two paces behind. My, my, I wanted the time to freeze.
Anyway, I passed along the front rank, came back to the dais, watched the remaining procedures, and again stepped down to pin wings on the uniform of the graduating cadets. After that I returned to the dais and stood motionless and mute for quite some time. That was regarded as the time which the Commandant and the Reviewing Officer would take to deliver their speeches. That over, the parade marched past and I kept taking the salute from the different flights. As the band came up the rear, the fly-past aircraft dipped overhead in salute. I could only wink at them. The proceedings over, the first thing I did was to make myself scarce. I just did not want to look the Commandant in the eye so soon after the episode.
After a few years at Risalpur, I again started to feel frustrated. It was such routine life taking classes, preparing the Training Programme, looking after the library, drafting Operation Orders for Educational Visits, playing games in the evening, attending debates at night, staging plays and so on. All this started to appear boring. Any other Branch in the PAF would be better than the Education Branch, I thought. But then one small incident and all my doubts were dispelled.
I was attached to PAF Drigh Road for a few months to undergo a course at Karachi. One fine morning I learnt that a Bristol Freighter was going to Peshawar and would return after a day's stay. Flt-Lt Nizam (late) was the captain of the aircraft and Flg Off Isa, the navigator, both good bridge-playing friends. Since my family was at Risalpur I thought I might as well avail the trip. I got the requisite permission, and hopped in. There were some other passengers as well.
After we had been airborne for quite some time, we were told that the weather ahead was bad and besides Peshawar, even Risalpur and Chaklala airfields were red. We had no option but to land at Sargodha and spend the night there. Now in that bunch of uninvited guests, I happened to be the junior most and hence was genuinely worried about finding some place to sleep for the night. The seniors would be looked after, I thought, but what about me?
We were still in the lounge when the Dining-in-Night at Officers Mess was over and all the officers were coming back. I found several of my ex-students, smart Flying Officers themselves, rushing towards me. "Sir, you come to my room," said one. "Sir, you stay with me," said another. I did not know whom to refuse. In minutes, I was whisked away, ending up in Flg Off Salim Gauhar's room. He made me comfortable in his bed, gave me his silken quilt, and himself lay on the floor in two blankets. That night I realised what an advantage it was to be in the Education Branch. And much later in service when I went to Air Headquarters and was attached to the Public Relations cell, I had to do a lot of moving around. But never once did I rely on that routine signal for Mess accommodation. I knew I had my old students at every Base and they would go all out to look after their old Instructor. If I were to live all over again, I would join the Education Branch of the PAF, but on one condition -- that I would be permanently posted at Risalpur. n
The writer is a well-known literary critic, columnist and an analyst. He remained associated with the PAF for several years and later joined The Pakistan Times as its Joint Editor