In early 1938, Wing Commander Bussell of the RAF and Mr Tooke shut the door of a small boardroom at Air Headquarters and faced a problem that couldn’t wait. The Indian Air Force had a squadron, a mandate, and a future to build—but nowhere near enough officers to man it.
Across the world, storm clouds were gathering over Europe. Britain was hardening home defence, pushing radar from trial to tool, and rushing the Hawker Hurricane into service. Cranwell, never generous with Indian intakes, could now spare only a handful of graduates each year. The arithmetic didn’t work.
If the IAF were to grow, it would have to look within India. The obvious reservoir was the vast British Indian Army—officers already schooled in discipline, leadership, and fieldcraft. Put them in cockpits, the logic ran, and they would not only fill the roster but also seed a habit of jointness: soldiers who understood air, airmen who spoke Army.
The instrument chosen was secondment—a deliberate, time-bound loan of officers to another arm. In military practice, secondment is a temporary posting to a different unit or branch (even, at times, a different country’s service) for defined duties. On paper, a personnel device. In practice, a bet.
Three Men, Three Trajectories
On September 20, 1938, three lieutenants stepped into a new world: Mohammad Khan Janjua (1/7 Rajput), Diwan Atma Ram Nanda (2/1 Punjab), and Burhan-ud-Din (5/1 Baluch). They retained their Army seniority, but their futures lay in the air. With no Indian flying school ready, the RAF whisked them to No. 4 Flying Training School in Egypt’s Canal Zone. Under endless azure skies, they traded drill squares for dispersals, rifles for parachutes, and learned the alchemy of flight.
Back in India, they joined an IAF inventing itself, adapting RAF traditions to the subcontinent’s heat, dust, and ambition. Their paths diverged, each carving a unique arc through a service finding its wings.
Mohammad Khan Janjua was a force of nature. He flew with No. 1 IAF Squadron, patrolling coasts at dawn and drilling cadets by noon. In No. 2 Squadron’s B Flight, he faced Waziristan’s unforgiving frontier in 1942—dusty airstrips, Pathan snipers, and long-barreled rifles taking potshots at his plane. His heroics earned a Mention-in-Despatches and command of No. 4 Squadron, where he designed its crest: the “Oorials,” a hill ram symbolising grit in rugged terrain, a badge the squadron still wears proudly. But the Partition in 1947 reshaped his destiny. Opting for Pakistan, he became a Group Captain on day one, Air Commodore by January 1948, and briefly acting Commander-in-Chief of the Pakistan Air Force (PAF). His push for rapid expansion clashed with a new nation’s priorities, and the 1951 Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case led to a seven-year sentence. Released in 1955, he co-founded the National Awami Party and later steered Pakistan International Airlines (PIA) before retiring to the UK, where he died in 1982. Janjua was a restless pioneer—cockpit ace, political firebrand, and aviation visionary.
Diwan Atma Ram Nanda took a steadier path. Where Janjua burned bright, Nanda built quietly. Seconded from the 1st Punjab Regiment, he flew with No. 1 Squadron, helped raise No. 3 Squadron, and led it on the North-West Frontier and in anti-Hur operations. He taught young pilots that courage without discipline was reckless, that checklists were written in blood. At Quetta’s Staff College, he honed his instincts into institutional rigour. During Partition’s chaos, he took charge in Kanpur, standing up No. 1 Aircraft Repair Depot—the seed of the IAF’s maintenance system. His career climbed steadily: Director of Organisation, Air Officer Commanding Operational Command, and Deputy Chief of Air Staff by 1958 (then responsible for overseeing Operations & not procurements). Retiring in 1963, he passed away in 2000. If Janjua was the headline, Nanda was the foundation—a quiet architect of a service that endures.
Burhan-ud-Din, from the 5/1 Baluch, and a prince from Chitral, walked a different road. For reasons lost to history, he reverted to the Army in 1941, and later answered Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose’s call to join the Indian National Army (INA). Captured as a prisoner of war, his story mirrors the fault lines of a fracturing subcontinent—a soldier caught in the tides of loyalty and rebellion.
The trickle becomes a stream
The world changed in 1939. In Europe, the Battle of Britain unfolded in the skies over the Island nation, while in India, the Chatfield Committee advocated for coastal defence. With the formation of the IAF’s Volunteer Reserve in 1939, the strength of the IAF’s pilots began showing an upward trend. In May 1939, Lieutenant Mohinder Singh Virdi of the 4/19 Hyderabad Regiment, commissioned in 1936, was the next to be seconded. Sent to the UK for training, he returned to the IAF; however, he opted to revert to his parent Service soon. At one point that year, the entire IAF had just sixteen serving officers. Four of them—a quarter of the force—had been seconded from the Army. Between 1938 and 1947, 20 Army officers would make this leap, some settling into cockpits for good, others returning to their regiments, and a few lost to the brutal realities of war.
By late 1939, the IAF’s training pipeline began to take shape. Pilot courses, once reliant on foreign schools, now took root in India—first at Risalpur, then at Ambala. The first two courses lacked Army secondees, but the IAF’s 1st Pilot Course included two Cavalry reserve officers who left the Army to join the air force. Squadron Leader P.C. Manchanda served six years before transitioning to Air India, while Flight Lieutenant B.S. Dugal became a navigator, serving until 1948.
The small 3rd Pilot Course—just three officers—brought in two Army secondees on 1 June 1940. These were Lieutenants Niranjan Prasad and Kanwar Jaswant Singh. Both were from the Frontier Force Regiment, and both would go on to make history.
Niranjan Prasad served in the IAF for almost four years, much of which was spent during the Burma Campaign. He flew with No. 1 Squadron, served as flight commander in No. 2 and No. 3 Squadrons, and raised and commanded No. 8 Squadron as its first CO. He reverted to the Army in March 1944 and later became a controversial figure while serving as officiating GOC IV Division during the 1962 War and GOC 15 Infantry Division during the 1965 War, retiring as a Major General. Throughout his Army career, he chose to don his IAF Pilot’s Wings, a small reminder of a joint past.
Kanwar Jaswant “Tiger” Singh (1915–1963) chose to remain in the IAF, later passing away I harness. A flamboyant sportsman and a self-driven professional, he flew with and later commanded No. 2 Squadron in Burma, where he put the squadron through its paces. Following independence, he became the first Station Commander of Air Force Station New Delhi, then Director of Organisation, and then AOC Training Command. In 1959, he was seconded to Ghana as its first Chief of Air Staff—the only Indian officer to head a foreign air force. He returned in March 1962 as AOC-in-C Eastern Air Command and personally led demanding airlifts during the Sino-Indian War. A celebrated sportsman known as the IAF’s “father of sports,” he died of heart failure on January 1, 1963, while still in command, and was posthumously awarded the PVSM.
The 4th Pilot Course, the largest yet, produced many of the IAF’s future leaders. Among them was Lieutenant Muhammad Abdel Ali of the 3rd Cavalry, a promising officer whose life ended tragically at 30 in a polo accident just six months into training.
By January 6, 1941, the 6th Pilot Course introduced a new training model, blending ground and service training at the Initial Training School in Walton (Lahore), followed by flight training on Tiger Moths at the Elementary Flying Training School in Secunderabad and Hawker Audax at Ambala’s Service Flying Training School. Just before this course began, on December 22, 1940, two officers entered the pipeline: Pathil Kuriyan Kuriyan of the 7th Cavalry and Mohammad Asghar Khan. Little is known of Kuriyan beyond a photograph of his wings and his eventual return to the Army, but Asghar Khan’s trajectory was extraordinary.
Asghar Khan followed the 6th Course’s rigorous path, training at Walton, Begumpet (Tiger Moth), and Ambala (Audax). Posted to No. 3 Squadron RIAF in 1942 under Squadron Leader N.A.N. Bray, he flew Audax and Wapiti aircraft from Peshawar, Kohat, and Miranshah, supporting Army operations on the North-West Frontier. In 1944, he joined No. 9 Squadron in Arakan, Burma, leading the Indian Flight alongside a Canadian contingent, flying bombing and ground-attack missions. He later commanded the squadron as it transitioned to Spitfires and relocated to Ranchi and Gurgaon. As Chief Flying Instructor at Ambala’s Air Force Training School and a member of the Armed Forces Reconstitution Committee in Delhi, he shaped the IAF’s future. Choosing Pakistan at Partition, he rose to become the Pakistan Air Force’s Commander-in-Chief in 1957 at age 36. After eight years—accepting one extension but declining a third—he handed over to Nur Khan and joined PIA, leaving a legacy of professionalism that strengthened the PAF for decades.
The brutal arithmetic of flying
Not all stories were as fortunate. Military aviation in those years was unforgiving. The next three Army-seconded officers were unfortunately to meet tragic ends.
Flying Officer H.R. Dadabhoy (9th Pilot Course) died in a Hurricane accident while flying with No. 2 Squadron, barely two years into service. D.K. Bose (10th Pilot Course, commissioned in December 1941) rose to the rank of Squadron Leader by January 1947. Serving as Station Administration Officer at Kohat and having already opted to remain with the IAF after Partition, he was killed in a Harvard crash in May 1947. Mahavir Singh Rathi was seconded as a Lieutenant on 20 September 1942, completed training, and moved to operational flying with No. 9 Squadron in January 1944. His Hurricane IIC stalled on approach on 4 May 1944.
Three more of the seconded cohort died in service. Pilot Officer Frank Anthony Micetich was killed on 13 May 1946, still under training. Flying Officer Madan Lal Jhingan—the last of the seconded group, delayed by Partition disruptions and commissioned on 17 May 1948—was killed on 29 December 1949 flying a Tempest with No. 8 Squadron. Wing Commander Pancha Nando Mukherji, once a Havildar in the Corps of Engineers, entered the 32nd Pilot Course in 1945, was eventually commissioned as a Navigator, and became a stalwart of the IAF’s Jammu & Kashmir air operations through the 1950s. He was awarded the Vayu Sena Medal in 1963 for sustained operational flying, only to be killed that June while travelling as a passenger in a Dakota near Agra.
Careers That Defied the Mould
In the IAF’s formative years, survival demanded adaptability. The service was a patchwork of ambition and scarcity, sustained by officers who refused to be confined by rigid career paths. These Army secondees crisscrossed services, switched roles, and embraced unconventional postings, their zigzag journeys breathing life into a fledgling air force through a decade of upheaval.
Kashinath Baburao Joshi exemplifies this pattern. An IMA 1939 graduate and already a Captain when seconded in April 1943 (21st Pilot Course), he honed his flying with No. 6 Squadron in Burma. Back in India, he joined the IAF Display Flight and earned a coveted slot at the Central Flying Establishment in the UK for the Day Fighter Leaders’ Course in 1946. Post-war, he focused on institution-building, serving as Flight Commander of No. 8 Squadron, commanding an RIAF Depot, and subsequently establishing the Ground Training School at Jalahalli. In 1954, he took command of No. 1 Wing, Srinagar, and as Group Captain became Commandant of Air Force Administrative College, Coimbatore, retiring in 1966—an institution-builder’s career in a pilot’s uniform.
Some trajectories were delightfully oblique. Flight Lieutenant Neil Ratan Kler, born in Stafford, joined the 2nd Rajputana Rifles in July 1942, was seconded to the IAF in June 1944, flew with No. 6 Squadron in 1946, and in August 1948 resigned his IAF commission to join the RAF. Harbans Lal Jaggi began as a clerical worker in 1939, rose to Havildar Clerk Grade I, entered the 36th Pilot Course in 1945, served seven years—including with Air HQ Communication Squadron—and returned to flying in 1956 as the first officer of the Auxiliary Air Force, serving until 1967. Flying Officer Gurdip Singh Dhillon, from 2/45 Waziristan Guides, served about three years before moving to Tata Airlines. There’s a bureaucratic footnote here: around 1947, all seconded officers were offered Permanent Commissions in the IAF. Most accepted, formally ending their secondment. Those who declined—like Dhillon—officially reverted to the Army first, then were released to civil aviation.
Lieutenant Colonel Gurbax Singh (1918–2010) was a study in relentless persistence. Born to a farmer-soldier in Ropalheri, he walked 10 kilometres to school, scraping by on odd jobs and earning a rupee a day while mastering typing. Joining the Indian Hospital Corps in 1934, he faced repeated rejections for officer training but earned certificates for the Indian Military Academy and transferred to the Royal Deccan Horse. After completing Junior Commissioned Officer and armament courses, he taught at the Camouflage School in Kirkee, where an IAF commander spotted his potential. Granted an Emergency Commission in 1944, he trained on Tiger Moths, Harvards, and Hurricanes, only to be medically grounded due to high-altitude restrictions. Undeterred, he reverted to the Army, becoming the oldest cadet at OTS Bangalore and earning a commission in the Assam Regiment on October 13, 1946. His career spanned both staff and field roles, and he commanded 4 Assam in NEFA from 1963 to 1967, retiring in 1968. Yet his service continued: he joined the Border Security Force, commanding the Hazaribagh Training Centre and the 53rd Battalion at Nowshera during the 1971 war, finally retiring in 1973.
The IAF’s small size meant it absorbed talent wherever it could find it. Aspandiar Kaikushroo Noble, seconded in 1942, served a brisk wartime stint before his release in 1947. Leslie Percival Darney, a Bombay resident in the 36th Pilot Course alongside Jaggi, flew with No. 7 Squadron until a Spitfire crash in early 1947 pushed him to Air Traffic Control, where he served until 1951.
Two officers rose to the pinnacle of Air Vice-Marshal, their careers launched by secondment. F.V.A. Scudder, seconded as a Lieutenant in September 1943, flew with the 22nd Anti-Aircraft Cooperation Unit and No. 8 Squadron. By 1951, he commanded No. 101 Squadron, later serving as Station Commander at Tezpur, Director of Air Force Works at Air HQ, Air Defence Commander at Eastern Air Command, AOC Jammu & Kashmir, Commandant of the Joint Air Warfare School (predecessor to the College of Air Warfare), and finally at the National Defence College. His trajectory was that of a consummate institutionalist, building the IAF’s operational and administrative spine.
Chandan Singh, MVC, VrC, AVSM from the Jodhpur State Forces, joined the IAF in 1946 with retained seniority. A transport aircraft specialist, he later co-founded the Aviation Research Centre, the air wing of R&AW. In 1962, he earned the Vir Chakra for flying An-12s in Jammu & Kashmir with No. 44 Squadron. As Group Captain commanding Air Force Station Jorhat in 1971, he masterminded the Sylhet helicopter lift and broader airborne operations that accelerated the march to Dacca. His daring included night insertions near enemy positions, personal reconnaissance flights under fire, eight missions on the night of December 7–8, and 18 more sorties leading landings at new airstrips. His helicopter was hit multiple times, yet he pressed on, his heliborne supply chain unravelling enemy defences and hastening Dacca’s fall. Awarded the Maha Vir Chakra, he later served as Senior Air Staff Officer at Central Air Command in 1980, retiring on his own terms.
Beyond Rank and Numbers
These aren’t eccentric biographies—they’re the structural beginnings of a young service. Secondment wasn’t merely a recruitment expedient; it became a foundational part of the culture. Infantry and Cavalry officers brought in a viewpoint and tactical thinking from the ground to the airfields. During its hardest decade, the Indian Army proved to be the IAF’s institutional lifeline. Many of India’s earliest air warriors were, quite literally, ground warriors first.
Before the National Defence Academy, before Dundigal, before the celebrated victories of 1965 and 1971, these names kept the dream airborne.
Epilogue: the inheritance of jointness
Every service inherits a narrative about itself. The IAF can tell the story of jets, campaigns, and technological evolution. This is also evident in this instance: when the force was small and the future felt uncertain, officers from another service stepped forward without hesitation. Soldiers learned to fly while simultaneously learning how an air force should be organised. Courage and logistics expertise grew together. The badge on the uniform mattered less than the mission on the horizon.
Today, we talk about jointness—AsDC from outside one’s arm, theatre commands, tidy doctrinal charts. In 1938, jointness wasn’t a buzzword or a policy aspiration. It was a calculated risk that the services took on each other. The Army lent its officers. The Air Force treated them not as temporary help but as their own.
When we speak of jointness now, we’re not pioneering a new concept. We’re returning to an old practice. A key aspect of these Secondments was understanding each other’s lexicons, advantages, limitations, and approaches to fighting war. When mutual understanding is institutionalised as a ground-up approach rather than the other way around, understanding becomes more permeable and, in my opinion, more permanent. This understanding, which establishes a foundation before young officers graduate to senior ranks, where they are arguably more likely to become embroiled in turf battles and seek senior billets for their own benefit, is the way forward for true jointness. In that sense, to my civilian historian mind, this example from the past could serve to show us the way for the future. Understanding, rather than Under-Command, is the need of the hour.
A Note on Sources and Scope
This account features a few officers who were not formally seconded but entered the IAF through pilot training courses or direct commissions; their Army backgrounds have influenced their contributions. For completeness, they are woven into this narrative, as their stories are inextricably linked to the IAF’s early growth. Drawn from gazette notifications, service records, and squadron histories, this chronicle reflects careful research, but gaps may remain. To those whose stories may have been overlooked, I offer my heartfelt apologies. Military history thrives on collective memory, and I welcome corrections to ensure no contribution is forgotten.
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