NDA’s first women cadets ready for tomorrow

Today, the first batch of 17 women cadets (19 had joined, two dropped out) will pass out from the National Defence Academy (NDA), marking a historic milestone for the armed forces and the nation. They came from a generation accustomed to speed and instant connection — but they adapted to bugles, boots and discipline.

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These cadets stepped into the precincts of the NDA to undergo one of the toughest regimens imaginable. Their journey was not just about breaking barriers; it was about setting benchmarks. A transformation not only of individuals — but of an institution.

It all began on a rain-washed afternoon in July 2022. As the girls stepped on the platform at the Pune railway station — bags on their backs, hearts in their throats — a tall, broad-shouldered ‘drill Ustad’ greeted them. His voice cut through the railway din, firm yet proud: “From this moment, you are not civilians. You wear the honour of the Indian armed forces.” That single sentence set the tone. No fanfare. No exceptions. Only expectations and the start of something historic.

The drive to Khadakwasla was quiet, each cadet lost in thought. As the Tri-Shakti Gate loomed and they entered the NDA, the imposing architecture greeted them — aircraft on display, cadets sprinting past on cross-country routes, others executing crisp drills on the parade ground. Cadets in mid-air during volleyball spikes, squads barking out drill commands — it was a world already in motion.

Everything looked rehearsed, efficient, overwhelming. 19 newly inducted girls, surrounded by over 2,200 male cadets — what were they thinking? Some wore pride, others caution. They were excited, but unsure. Brave, but still seeking belonging.

The Academy had prepared with precision. Romeo Squadron was refurbished —rooms restructured, lights upgraded, duty officers reassigned. New security protocols were drawn. A revised code of conduct was institutionalised.

Yet, the essence of training remained untouched. The NDA wasn’t creating exceptions — it was raising the bar. Traditions were respected, but inclusivity was now part of that tradition.

Training began like a thunderclap. The first term was a whirlwind of early wake-ups, punishing PT, relentless drills, academic lectures and quiet nights of aching limbs. The ‘drill Ustads’— towering, sharp-eyed and fierce —became icons of fear and respect. They roared on the parade ground, yet shielded their cadets like elder brothers. PT instructors focused not just on physical toughness but on inner resilience, adapting routines to match cadets’ progress with silent encouragement.

Academics brought a different kind of challenge. Held in the stately Sudan and Manoj Pandey Blocks, the classes offered everything from geopolitics and military history to physics and service fundamentals.

Cadets rushed in breathless from morning PT, faces still wet from drills, uniforms slightly out of place. They tried to sit upright — but heads nodded off mid-lecture, not out of disinterest but sheer fatigue. The instructors understood. They’d been cadets too. Questions flew, notes scribbled furiously and quiet moments of clarity landed like victory.

The Divisional Officers — often the first and most enduring influence on a cadet understood that these girls were not just joining a course; they were creating a legacy.

When a woman cadet faltered in a PT test or struggled with drill, it was the Divisional Officer who stood beside her — sometimes with quiet advice, sometimes with a stern word that stung, but strengthened.

They guided them into the military way of life — adjusting to routines, accepting command structures and building mental toughness. Over time, these cadets didn’t just adapt — they flourished. They led drills, topped academics and inspired juniors. By the sixth term, they weren’t seen as women cadets — they were seen as leaders.

The rhythm of the NDA gradually became their own — etched in parade commands, squadron assemblies and the quiet rustle of fatigues at dawn. For the girls, it meant trading ponytails for close-cropped crew cuts. They picked up the drill vocabulary, learned to march with poise, and synced their energy to the beat of the Academy. In this routine, they found rhythm and resilience.

The NDA has its own scent — the sharpness of polish, the earthy smell of monsoon drills, the metallic scent of rifle oil at the range and the steamy comfort of early morning chai. For the cadets, this rhythm is not imposed —it seeps in, until it becomes their own heartbeat. The NDA stopped feeling like an institution. It became home.

When the girls were integrated into squadrons, the dynamics changed. The male cadets adjusted, watched, then welcomed. Together, they competed in games, parades and obstacle courses. They failed, they won, and they cheered each other. The squadron spirit didn’t shrink — it grew. Within squadrons, bonds evolved.

As the terms rolled on, their bond extended beyond gender. Male course-mates, earlier unsure, now stood shoulder to shoulder with them in training and triumph.

By the third term, jokes flew in the ante-rooms. By the fourth term, they were picking each other up after falls — literally and figuratively. By the sixth term, they weren’t just the first women batch — they were a united course, bound not just by shared memories but a shared spirit of excellence.

When parents came during mid-terms, they found someone different. The girl who left with a small suitcase returned taller, tanned, and sharper in tone and thought. The transformation was unmistakable — and deeply moving. Even hesitant parents now carried pride in their eyes.

The Adjutant — immaculate in dress, commanding from his white charger — represented everything the NDA stood for: precision, honour and presence. Cadets lived under his gaze with a mix of fear and pride. The institution never just taught drills or strategy. It instilled values. Cadets learned that character isn’t optional — it’s non-negotiable.

The future they step into is starkly different. Operation Sindoor made it clear that warfare has moved beyond trenches and tanks. The battlefields of tomorrow will involve AI, drones, satellites and cyber strikes. These girls must lead in tactical formations as well as tech-driven command centres.

Today, as they march across the Khetarpal Parade Ground, the chief guest will salute — not 17 girls, but 17 officers-in-the-making. There will be no special reference. No gender called out.

As they walk past the Tri-Shakti Gate one last time, the NDA will not bid them farewell. It will whisper: Go lead. You are ready.

They came as nineteen girls.

They leave as trailblazers.

And in doing so, they didn’t just enter the NDA’s history.

They rewrote it.

Maj Gen Sanjeev Dogra (Retd) is former Deputy Commandant and Chief Instructor, National Defence Academy, Khadakwasla.