'Saare Jahan Se Achha': When an Indian Fighter Pilot Became the Nation's Ambassador to the Stars

India.com

2 days ago

"Saare Jahan Se Achha": When an Indian Fighter Pilot Became the Nation's Ambassador to the Stars
On April 3, 1984, as the Soyuz T-11 rocket pierced through Earth's atmosphere carrying Squadron Leader Rakesh Sharma toward the Salyut 7 space station, it wasn't just launching one man into orbit—it was catapulting an entire nation's dreams into the cosmic arena. What followed over the next seven days, 21 hours, and 40 minutes would become one of the most extraordinary chapters in India's quest to establish itself as a space-faring civilization.
Born in Patiala, Punjab, on January 13, 1949, Sharma's journey to the stars began not in laboratories or observatories, but in the cockpit of MiG-21 fighter jets during the 1971 Bangladesh Liberation War. Flying 21 combat missions before his 23rd birthday, he embodied the fearless spirit that would later make him the perfect candidate for humanity's ultimate frontier. When the opportunity arose in 1982 to participate in a joint Indo-Soviet space mission, Sharma volunteered without hesitation—a decision that would transform him from a decorated Air Force pilot into India's first cosmic ambassador.
The selection process was grueling. From 150 highly qualified IAF pilots, only two were chosen as cosmonaut candidates. Sharma's selection led him to the prestigious Yuri Gagarin Cosmonaut Training Center near Moscow, where he spent two years mastering Russian, adapting to freezing temperatures, following a rigorous 3,200-calorie diet, and undergoing Olympic-level physical training. Perhaps most tellingly, he endured a 72-hour claustrophobia test—locked alone in a room to simulate the psychological pressures of space confinement.
But it was the mission itself that truly showcased India's ingenuity and cultural pride. As the 128th human to travel to space, Sharma didn't just carry scientific instruments aboard Salyut 7—he carried the essence of India. The Defence Food Research Lab in Mysore had prepared a special space menu: aloo chhole, suji halwa, and vegetable pulao, which he generously shared with his Soviet crewmates Yury Malyshev and Gennady Strekalov. In an era before globalization, this simple act of culinary diplomacy introduced authentic Indian flavors to the cosmos.
The scientific agenda was ambitious and diverse. Over 43 experimental sessions, Sharma conducted groundbreaking research in biomedicine and remote sensing. One particularly intriguing experiment involved testing yoga's effects on the human body in microgravity—a perfect fusion of ancient Indian wisdom with cutting-edge space science. His photography of India from space saved the nation approximately two years' worth of aerial mapping work, demonstrating how space exploration could yield immediate practical benefits.
Yet it was a spontaneous moment of patriotic eloquence that would define Sharma's legacy forever. During a joint television conference linking space with Earth, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi posed a simple question: 'How does India look from space?' Without missing a beat, Sharma replied with three words that would echo through generations: 'Saare Jahan Se Achha'—better than the entire world. This phrase, borrowed from Allama Iqbal's immortal patriotic poem, encapsulated not just national pride but the profound emotional impact of seeing one's homeland from the cosmic perspective.
The space station itself represented the cutting edge of 1980s space technology. Salyut 7 was a modest facility by today's standards—measuring 14.4 meters in length with a maximum diameter of 4.15 meters and offering just 100 cubic meters of habitable space. Weighing 18,900 kilograms (about 19 tons), it orbited Earth at altitudes between 279-284 kilometers with an orbital inclination of 51.6 degrees. To put this in perspective, today's International Space Station dwarfs Salyut 7—stretching 109 meters end-to-end (nearly 2.5 times the length of an American football field) with 13,696 cubic feet of habitable volume and weighing 419,725 kilograms (over 20 times heavier than Salyut 7). The ISS orbits at a higher altitude of 370-460 kilometers, making it far more stable and visible from Earth.
Yet what Salyut 7 lacked in size, it compensated for in pioneering spirit. The station featured two docking ports, three solar panels, electric stoves, a refrigerator, constant hot water, and even specialized portholes designed to allow ultraviolet light in to help kill infections. During its operational life from 1982 to 1991, it hosted 22 cosmonauts from 10 different crews, conducting everything from metallurgy experiments to astronomical observations. Remarkably, the station survived even being 'dead' for months—in 1985, it completely lost power and tumbled out of control until a daring rescue mission by cosmonauts Vladimir Dzhanibekov and Viktor Savinykh brought it back to life.
Salyut 7 is no longer there. After serving far beyond its intended lifespan, the station met a dramatic end on February 7, 1991, when it made an uncontrolled reentry over Argentina. Despite Soviet attempts to guide its descent into the Atlantic Ocean, the 88,000-pound station broke apart in the atmosphere, showering metal fragments over the town of Capitán Bermúdez near Buenos Aires. Residents watched in awe as glowing trails streaked across their sky—a spectacular finale for a station that had pushed the boundaries of human space exploration. Sharma's mission was part of this remarkable legacy of international cooperation that would eventually evolve into today's multinational ISS program.
The mission's success elevated India to become the 14th nation to send a human into space, but more importantly, it planted the seeds of a space-age national consciousness. When Sharma and his crew landed in Kazakhstan on April 11, 1984, they returned not just as successful astronauts but as harbingers of India's cosmic ambitions. The Soviet Union honored Sharma with the Hero of the Soviet Union award—making him the only Indian to receive this distinction—while India conferred its highest peacetime gallantry award, the Ashoka Chakra, on all three crew members.
The ripple effects of those eight days continue to resonate today. Sharma's mission proved that space exploration wasn't the exclusive domain of superpowers; it demonstrated that developing nations with vision, determination, and international cooperation could reach for the stars. His journey paved the way for India's indigenous space program, which today launches satellites for dozens of countries and prepares for its own Gaganyaan human spaceflight mission.
After retiring as Wing Commander, Sharma continued serving India's aerospace ambitions as Chief Test Pilot at Hindustan Aeronautics Limited until 2001. Today, at 76, he lives peacefully in Coonoor, Tamil Nadu, spending his days gardening, reading, and practicing the same yoga he once tested in zero gravity. Yet he remains connected to India's space future as a member of the National Space Advisory Council for the Gaganyaan mission.
As India prepares to send Shubhanshu Shukla as its second citizen to space on 8th June 2025, Rakesh Sharma's pioneering journey serves as both inspiration and roadmap. His mission proved that space exploration is ultimately about human curiosity, international cooperation, and the audacious belief that geographical boundaries—even Earth itself—need not limit human potential.
In an age where private companies routinely launch tourists into space and Mars missions capture global imagination, it's worth remembering that India's space story began with one man's eight-day journey, a handful of carefully packed Indian meals, and three words that reminded the world that patriotism, when combined with scientific achievement, can indeed make any nation appear 'Saare Jahan Se Achha'—better than the entire world?