ALL the Iranis of Dahanu are not chikoo and lychee farmers or bakers. Some, like Dr. Behramshah Mazda, MBBS, are also aviators! Yes, medicine is his profession, but flying is his passion. Sunday mornings when the coastal township is still fast asleep, Dr. Mazda gets out his ultralight aircraft and takes off from Dahanu beach. He flies as far as Gholvad, but not Udvada, for that would be trespassing Coast Guard air space and facing the risk of being shot down. It is not a hobby for the faint-hearted. But then which Irani is faint-hearted!

I went up with him for the sheer thrill of the experience. When Dr. Mazda told me about his �aircraft� over an Irani meal laced by intoxicating toddy the previous night, I had readily agreed to join him in the adventure. At the time, I had imagined the �ultralight� to be a �microlight� aircraft of the kind that aviation expert Vijaypat Singhania had flown from UK to India. A sleek, flying machine. But what I saw waiting for me on Dahanu beach at 7 o�clock next morning gave me a shock!

A tiny tricycle fitted with a hang-glider�s wings and an outboard motor with propeller. The contraption had two small seats. Dr. Mazda helped me onto the latter one and took the seat in front. He strapped us both onto this tricycle with wings, then gave me a helmet and wore one himself. Through a small walkie-talkie system fitted into the helmets, he communicated with me.

�Hold onto my shoulders,� he advised. And I did, for there was nothing else to hold onto. �Are you ready for take-off,� he asked. And I commended my soul to God and replied, shakily, �Yes.� Well, the propeller roared into life and the ultralight jerked up. Dr. Mazda put his foot down on the accelerator and we taxied down the beach at great speed. With a sudden roar of energy, like a vulture taking to wings, the ultralight took off and I shut my eyes. When I opened them again, it was to feel the rush of breeze against my face. We had cleared the coconut trees on the beach and were climbing at a slow, but alarming pace. Dahanu beach was falling away beneath my spread out feet. I could hardly believe my eyes. Dr. Mazda now had us as high as a chopper, and I was beginning to regret the impetuousness with which I had agreed to go up with him.

But Dahanu, when I ventured to look down, with its green forest of chikoo wadis and old Parsi-Irani mansions, was looking magnificent. Dr. Mazda kept the ultralight at a constant height and pointed out the township to me. �That is old Dahanu,� he said, indicating with a jerk of his head a cluster of residences that had seen better days. �This is new Dahanu,� he continued, and I could see highrises, modern bungalows with swimming pools and big cars parked in the driveways. �And that is the thermal plant we are fighting against. It is polluting our township.�

I looked. An ugly-looking industrial plant was coming up with gigantic chimneys spewing black smoke into the sky and dome-shaped buildings looking ominously sinister in the early morning sunlight. It is a Brihanmumbai Suburban Electric Supply (BSES) plant and the Dahanu Environment Protection Authority, an autonomous body of the Supreme Court headed by Justice Chandrashekhar Dharmadhikari, has been fighting against it. The Irani farmers blame the drastic drop in orchard produce in recent years to the thermal pollution caused by the plant. Ash, laden with sulphur, which is toxic to agro-produce, has ruined the yield on the chikoo, coconut and even select variety of mango crop.