From Ponda to the Parade Ground: My Life in Khaki

​By John Aguiar
: A Senior Under Officer’s Retrospective

​In the quiet, early hours of a Goan Sunday, while most of the state was still tucked away in Susegad slumber, I would be standing at a bus stop in Ponda. I wasn't just another student heading to Margao; I was a cadet of the National Cadet Corps (NCC). My uniform was crisp, my brass was polished, and I’ll admit—I loved being seen in it. As the bus wound its way toward Chowgule College, I felt a quiet pride that only those who have worn the khaki can truly understand.

​The NCC is an institution that builds the youth of India, instilling a sense of discipline and responsibility that stays with you for life. But as any veteran cadet will tell you, the journey from a shivering "freshie" to a seasoned leader is paved with both grit and some rather legendary Goan chaos.

​Climbing the Ranks
​I remember the newcomers—how they would visibly tremble at the thundering "Word of Command" from the parade leader. I had been that cadet once. But slowly, the rhythm of the drill becomes your own. I worked my way up the ladder, from Lance Naik to Corporal, then Sergeant, and finally to Senior Under Officer.

​Leadership, I learned, isn't just about shouting orders; it’s about "reversing the tide" when things go sideways.

​The "Blood Bottle" Fiasco
​One memory that stands out vividly was a blood donation camp organized by our Infantry Wing. My Company Commander, Capt. J.S. Budkuley, had tasked me with motivating the students. Even though my Under Officer was  Mr. Bhat, the overall responsibility fell on my shoulders.

​The response was fantastic, but then came the "incident." One of our Infantry cadets, brave and cheerful, donated his blood while looking steadfastly away from the needle. But once the job was done, he insisted on seeing the bottle (this was back when we used glass bottles, not bags).

​The moment he saw his own blood, he fainted and collapsed. As volunteers rushed in with soda and coffee, a wag in the crowd shouted, "Put the blood back into him!" The effect was instantaneous. The cadets in the queue panicked; many simply backed out. It took every bit of leadership I had to convince them to stay and keep the camp going.

​The Great Buffalo Charge of Gogol
​Then there were the Sunday morning warm-ups. As Senior Under Officer, I would lead the cadets on a jog from the college toward Gogol. We wore the old-style ankle shoes fitted with iron horse-shoes. On the asphalt, thirty pairs of these shoes sounded like a cavalry of horses galloping through the streets.

​One morning, we passed a farmer and his herd of buffaloes. Initially, I was amused—I thought the buffaloes were inspired by our fitness and were jogging along to stay fit. I was wrong.

​The buffaloes weren't inspired; they were charging.

​The disciplined line of cadets broke instantly. It was every man for himself. My "brave" platoon scrambled:
​Some dove into the roadside nullahs.
​Others scaled compound walls with Olympic speed.
​A few even clambered up trees.
​For those who jumped over walls, it was truly a case of "out of the frying pan and into the fire," as they found themselves being chased by loose house dogs on the other side.

​A Lasting Legacy
​That was the first and only Sunday parade that ended before we even finished the warm-up. We didn't jog back to the college that day; given the "mood" of the men, we marched back in plain, sober files.

​Looking back, those years in the NCC at Chowgule College were some of the best of my life. The organization provides a range of activities that no other youth group in India can match. It taught me how to lead, how to motivate, and—most importantly—how to handle a charging buffalo with a sense of humor.