My Tap Root – Air Cmde R V Phadke (retd)

Grief is a strange and alien experience for me. It is not that I have not lost loved ones before. I have, but losing my father on the 14th of October 2025 to a sudden cardiac arrest feels brutal. Grief seems too tame a word to describe what I feel. There is no guilt or regret for the many arguments and differences of opinion we have had over the years. They were par for the course in my relationship with my father. Mind you, most of those very passionate discussions were on philosophy, history and politics, subjects he was passionate about. And he always encouraged independent thought in me. He told me to argue my point of view but be open to changing my mind when an alternate view that makes sense comes along.

There are a lot of ‘I wish I had…’ moments, though. One of which is that I wish I had written about Papa and Ma, their life and love story, while Papa was still alive. I would have been able to add nuance, which sadly will be missing now. I did write about their love story on 13th March 2026, which would have been their 56th wedding anniversary. You can read that story here.
Today, 3rd August 2026, would have been my father’s 80th birthday, and I wanted to share some of what made him so special to all those who knew him.
As they say, better late than never. So here goes…

This picture is of my father with his parents after having been commissioned into the fighter stream of the Indian Air Force.

My father, Air Commodore Ramesh V. Phadke (Retd.), was born on August 3, 1946, in Indore, Madhya Pradesh. He studied at a Marathi-medium government school and performed well in high school, after which he decided to pursue a career in engineering. But by his own admission, he didn’t study as he was still riding high on the laurels of his high school results. He failed in the first year. That was a shock to his system and a hard-hitting lesson in life. He needed to get his act together. At that time, he saw an advertisement in the newspaper and applied to the IAF, where he was selected.  He was his parents’ eldest son and grew up in a middle-class family in Indore. He was devoted to his parents and a loving sibling to his two sisters and a brother. He loved the arts and is very much the reason that I can call myself an artist today. He was always deeply interested in music, and I feel his greatest regret with regard to me was that I did not pursue music more rigorously. I grew up listening to a wide range of music at home. From Ghazals to Paul Anka and Abba. According to my parents, I was humming Begam Akhtar at 2 years old.

My father was young and very handsome. It is amazing how much my brother and my son look like him…

He was commissioned in the fighter stream of the Indian Air Force in June 1967. He commanded a fighter squadron and three operational air bases. He held a Master’s Degree in Defence Studies from Madras University, was a qualified A2 Flying Instructor, and was a graduate of the Defence Services Staff College in Wellington, where he also served as an Instructor. He was a Senior Fellow and Member, Air Force, at the Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses (IDSA), New Delhi, from 1999 to 2002, and Advisor (Research) in 2009-2010. He held the Air Marshal Subroto Mukherjee Chair in 2002-03 at the United Service Institution of India (USI), New Delhi, and was a Visiting Fellow at the Centre for International Security and Cooperation (CISAC), Stanford University in 2001. His first book, China’s Power Projection, was published by Manas Publications, New Delhi, in 2005, under the aegis of the USI.  His second book, Air Power and National Security, was published by Pentagon Press, New Delhi, in 2015, under the aegis of the IDSA.
My father fought the war from Srinagar and flew Gnats in Dec 71, while my mother saw active duty as a doctor in the Ambala Air Force Station. Both are air veterans. They met, served and got married in 18 Sqn IAF. You can read their love story here.

These pictures were taken in Iraq in 1982-83 of my father with his cadets.

Having studied in a Marathi medium school meant he knew next to no English when he joined the Air Force. He taught himself English. Along the way, he learned Sanskrit and Urdu. My father was so proficient in English that you could open the dictionary and ask him the meaning of a random word, and nine out of ten times, he would be able to provide the correct answer. I remember many times in the midst of an argument, my masi (Kusumjit Sidhu) and he would interrupt me with the correct usage or pronunciation of a word!! It would not be incorrect to say he studied the dictionary. While going through his books, I found a Wren and Martin in Marathi, and I found countless books for translations from Hindi to Urdu to Marathi, even phrase translations in Marathi from Russian. He was a voracious reader and did not limit himself to one genre or category. There are copious notes on China and world politics, and as many on music, shayari and Gazals.

The first picture is of my father in Iraq, where this music system was bought. We still have it.
The second image was taken at Air Force Station Sulur.

My father knew a lot about a lot of things. He was interested, and life led him in directions that made him want to learn. He was going out to buy vegetables alone by the time he was ten. The same was the case when he helped my grandfather with odd jobs while my grandfather was building their house in Rambagh, Indore, in 1956. He had much to say when discussing construction and building techniques when talking to my architect husband. My father had a handbook on construction because he was interested in knowledge. My father loved all things about nature, and gardening gave him immense joy. He was not afraid to get his hands dirty.

I idolised my father. And he doted on me. That only changed when the grandchildren came along. Then I took second place to the kids. He was very pleased to see his three grandchildren study and do well. I sometimes think he showered so much love on the grandchildren to relive his time with my brother and me, since he missed a bunch of our growing-up years while he was on duty and travelling a lot those days.

My last serious conversation with my father was on the evening of 13th October, the day before he passed away. I was complaining about how people cheat and lie and still seem to get ahead. He got emotional and told me, ‘Beta, always tell the truth and always do the right thing. No matter the consequences. Do the right thing.’ That is something my parents have always told my brother and me. It is so ingrained in us that we would sometimes fight with Papa and Ma, and that you have made us misfits in this world. And he would say it does not matter. It is a testament to his teachings that my kids say the same thing to my husband, Supreet, and me today! He truly believed that the world is intrinsically made up of good people. Most are just having a bad day, and we have happened to interact with them on their bad day, which is not to say that they did not see the bad people. He did. He just chose to overlook that aspect.

My father loved gatherings of family and of friends that felt like family.
The ten days after he passed, the house was full of people, and the one thought that Mummy and I had was – ‘Wish Papa was here. He would have enjoyed this…’
I would like to believe that he was there with us in spirit.

To my masis, Kusumjit Sidhu and Kamaljeet Deol, he was the brother they never had, and to nanaji and naniji, Gurdiyal Singh Sidhu and Pritam Kaur Sidhu, the son they didn’t have. You can read about my maternal and paternal grandparents and their history here and here.
He truly was a great person.

The next three videos are of Papa and my brother Akshay during the many music and singing sessions that they had over the years. My brother sings and plays the guitar really well, so between the ever-present metronome and Akshay, many such moments of pure bliss happened.
These were recorded in his later years, when COPD had diminished his lung capacity, which made it difficult for him to hold a note for too long. In the last two years, he hardly sang, and that was heartbreaking. But he never stopped listening to his music…

Door Hai Manzil Rahen Mushkil by Begham Akhtar

Madhushala by Harivansh Rai Bachchan.
I first heard the Manna Dey version of this beautiful poem and then heard it in the great Harivansh Rai Bachchan‘s voice. Growing up, this song was on almost all the time, or Papa was humming it. Maybe that is why our values are what they are. If you have not heard it, please do.

Baat Niklegi To Phir Door Talak by Jagjit Singh 

I hope Papa is happy singing and humming away wherever he is.
I miss Papa so much …