<p>The examiner’s thumbs-up meant the world to me; I had been cleared to fly solo. At a time when I wasn’t even fully adept at driving a car, mastering a piston-engine aircraft and enduring the stern temper of instructors hadn’t been easy. “516, (my call sign) booster on, take off” was my first-ever call as captain of the aircraft. With a silent prayer on my lips, I pushed the throttle forward; my ‘air horse’ began trotting. When it reached galloping speed, I pulled the joystick back and felt what the Wright brothers must have felt nearly a century ago; I was airborne. </p>.<p>Defying gravity and piloting all by myself, I felt empowered, as if destiny were in my hands. Weeks of perseverance had gone into taming this flying machine. Now, as it obeyed my every command, it was my confidence that had soared higher than the aeroplane. Rattling out well-rehearsed procedural checks, I kept a vigilant eye for force landing fields should an emergency arise. As I turned ‘port’ (left) while climbing, the majestic sweep of the Ganga flowing serenely beneath my wings was a blessing of sorts.</p>.<p>The winds were favourable, the sky crystal clear and the horizon more breathtaking than ever that morning. Levelling out, I glanced at the eagles, as though daring them in their instinctive mastery of flight. I felt the world lay beneath the dust of my boots. Overcome with emotion, I slipped off my oxygen mask and kissed the canopy. “516, downwind, ops normal.” The thrill in my voice was unconcealed. “Good going, HP.” My instructor was tracking every move through binoculars from the ATC.</p>.Ode to a fighter jet.<p>Descending while turning towards the airfield, I aligned myself with the runway for the toughest leg of the sortie. ‘516, flaps down, reporting finals’; I commenced the approach for landing, repeating those four words: ‘alignment’, ‘speed’, ‘perspective’, and ‘power’. Balancing these parameters had been the acid test throughout training, and today, with the instructor’s seat beside me empty, there was no margin for error. While my rate of descent along the glide path was under control, my heartbeat wasn’t. </p>.<p>Once over the ‘dumbbells’ (lines marked at the start of the runway), I gently rounded off, levelling the aircraft and easing the throttle back. The sudden drop in engine RPM filled the cockpit with an eerie silence as I surrendered myself back to gravity. All that remained now was to sink gracefully, maintaining wings level. Then came the inexpressible wow moment; both rear wheels kissed the tarmac, smooth and sure, followed moments later by the nose wheel. I shouted a resounding “Yes!” and let the plane roll on, savouring the moment, before finally applying the brakes.</p>.<p>Taxiing back to the dispersal, I felt like a warrior returning victorious from battle. Before my instructor could hug me, I offered a crisp salute, an instinctive gesture of pure gratitude. Since that day, I have flown hundreds of sorties, yet few have matched the exhilaration of my solo first flight. Each year, on World Pilots’ Day—April 26—I relive that memory; this year, I chose to ink it down.</p><p><em>Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.</em></p>
<p>The examiner’s thumbs-up meant the world to me; I had been cleared to fly solo. At a time when I wasn’t even fully adept at driving a car, mastering a piston-engine aircraft and enduring the stern temper of instructors hadn’t been easy. “516, (my call sign) booster on, take off” was my first-ever call as captain of the aircraft. With a silent prayer on my lips, I pushed the throttle forward; my ‘air horse’ began trotting. When it reached galloping speed, I pulled the joystick back and felt what the Wright brothers must have felt nearly a century ago; I was airborne. </p>.<p>Defying gravity and piloting all by myself, I felt empowered, as if destiny were in my hands. Weeks of perseverance had gone into taming this flying machine. Now, as it obeyed my every command, it was my confidence that had soared higher than the aeroplane. Rattling out well-rehearsed procedural checks, I kept a vigilant eye for force landing fields should an emergency arise. As I turned ‘port’ (left) while climbing, the majestic sweep of the Ganga flowing serenely beneath my wings was a blessing of sorts.</p>.<p>The winds were favourable, the sky crystal clear and the horizon more breathtaking than ever that morning. Levelling out, I glanced at the eagles, as though daring them in their instinctive mastery of flight. I felt the world lay beneath the dust of my boots. Overcome with emotion, I slipped off my oxygen mask and kissed the canopy. “516, downwind, ops normal.” The thrill in my voice was unconcealed. “Good going, HP.” My instructor was tracking every move through binoculars from the ATC.</p>.Ode to a fighter jet.<p>Descending while turning towards the airfield, I aligned myself with the runway for the toughest leg of the sortie. ‘516, flaps down, reporting finals’; I commenced the approach for landing, repeating those four words: ‘alignment’, ‘speed’, ‘perspective’, and ‘power’. Balancing these parameters had been the acid test throughout training, and today, with the instructor’s seat beside me empty, there was no margin for error. While my rate of descent along the glide path was under control, my heartbeat wasn’t. </p>.<p>Once over the ‘dumbbells’ (lines marked at the start of the runway), I gently rounded off, levelling the aircraft and easing the throttle back. The sudden drop in engine RPM filled the cockpit with an eerie silence as I surrendered myself back to gravity. All that remained now was to sink gracefully, maintaining wings level. Then came the inexpressible wow moment; both rear wheels kissed the tarmac, smooth and sure, followed moments later by the nose wheel. I shouted a resounding “Yes!” and let the plane roll on, savouring the moment, before finally applying the brakes.</p>.<p>Taxiing back to the dispersal, I felt like a warrior returning victorious from battle. Before my instructor could hug me, I offered a crisp salute, an instinctive gesture of pure gratitude. Since that day, I have flown hundreds of sorties, yet few have matched the exhilaration of my solo first flight. Each year, on World Pilots’ Day—April 26—I relive that memory; this year, I chose to ink it down.</p><p><em>Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.</em></p>