There are many life lessons, a few of them hard too, that one takes away after abiding by the discipline of the early uniform

As many as 114 of our universities have decided not only to introduce National Cadet Corps (NCC) but also allow the cadets exemption from one subject. In short, treat NCC as part of the curriculum. I believe this is a sterling step for building national character and should be extended to senior school students, too.

The experience inculcated at NCC contributes to one’s character which remains until the end of one’s life. I was in the artillery wing during my college days and the gun which was the focus of our training was the Second World War standard gun, the immediate predecessor of the Bofors. Our gun was called the 25 pounder because the shell weighed 25 pounds. It was operated by six cadets.

In artillery, the base unit was called the battery which had 60 gunners or cadets, and it was commanded by a Major. There were two officers under him and several junior commissioned officers who began as jawans and could rise to the rank of Subedar Major. These JCOs were the spine of training us NCC cadets. Once in uniform, we forgot who was what except cadets of the Second Bombay Battery and that one day we might be called upon have to fight for India. We did not think of death but as luck would have it, one occurred during our December camp of a fortnight at Deolali, which was the country’s artillery centre. One day was selected for gun firing; the range was several kilometres away. We were taken in two three-tonne trucks, usually used by the Army also for dragging the guns. Every gunner team of six cadets got to actually work a gun and every cadet got one chance to pull the trigger to send a 25 pounder shell flying away. The hope was that it would land on the target.

A Major sat on a tree ahead of us to guide us where to aim. The entire exercise took over four hours and it was then time to return. I was one of the cadets given to carry a rifle; some others were given some other lighter baggage. I was too tired to carry the rifle, yet the Cadet Sergeant insisted. I begged of him to let me carry a can of things and not the rifle which was a WWII .303 standard model. Eventually, the Sergeant took pity on a young tired boy of 15 and let me off the rifle. In the forces, one neither begs nor argues; one just obeys. Those carrying baggage were sent by the first truck while the cadets with rifles followed a few minutes later.

Halfway through a senior cadet in our truck, who happened to be standing, noticed that the second truck had fallen to the side of the road, 10 feet or so lower in the field. The cadets were in a heap; our colleague shouted about the accident and asked the driver to turn back. We reached the spot in a few minutes; everyone jumped out to help; I was asked to stand in one place in case anything was required from our vehicle. The scene was worse than a one-sided battle. My heart went out our injured colleagues; for no rhyme or reason so many were hurt. They were taken to hospital in our vehicle.

After five days, we were allowed to visit the hospital to see our injured colleagues for a total of five minutes. All except one had recovered quickly enough. The one was Dinesh Pai who was still not conscious and the nurse hinted that he may not survive. And he died in a few days, we were informed upon our return to Mumbai. We all felt sad but that is all. We took the death as a professional hazard of a soldier. This was a lesson I have remembered throughout my life. Once on a trip to Dibrugarh, my four-engine Skymaster ran into a violent cyclone. For 35 minutes, the plane did everything conceivable except break either of its wings and that is why it did not crash, I was later told. At one stage, the plane dropped in a 900-feet deep air pocket but fortunately came up again. Many of the passengers were crying, screaming, vomiting and what-not. The person next to me was praying loudly and vomiting alternately. Two passengers had fainted. I kept recalling Deolali, consoling myself that one can die accidentally also as Cadet Pai did.

When the Chinese invaded Arunachal Pradesh, I had no hesitation in volunteering. The question of death did not even occur to me. By being in the NCC, one quite unconsciously gets committed to the country above all. The spirit of discipline survives right through one’s life. Plus the lesson that the team is greater than the player, always.

As has been said, the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton (an English boarding school for boys). So also, the defeat and death of Tipu Sultan. The National Tabacco Company, the second biggest after ITC, could not have been revived but for my NCC experience: The workers’ recalcitrance by 2400 had to be overcome.

(The writer is a well-known columnist and an author. The views expressed are personal.)