The last lecture in uniform

Col DS Cheema (retd)

I believe what George Bernard Shaw said — ‘Those who can, do, those who can’t, teach — is a cliché, because teaching is too serious a business to be talked about lightly. I have a fair acquaintance with teaching as my father was the principal of a school, and I have myself been a teacher for nine years while in uniform, and 25 years after hanging my boots. So, when a friend forwarded a review of the book The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch, I was motivated to share the experience of my last lecture on the last day in uniform.

In the Army, when one does a good job of the allotted task, the reward is always more work of the same kind. I had already been a member of the Faculty of Industrial Engineering and Tactics (FIET) in the Military College of Electronics and Mechanical Engineering, Secunderabad, as a Major and Lt Colonel, yet I was posted again there as a Colonel at the fag-end of my service.

As course director for the officers’ programme, I had the responsibility of preparing time-tables, and often took the liberty of allotting two-three periods to myself. I had done the same even on the day I was to retire. I had three sessions. The last was to end at 1.30 pm. At 12.30 pm, a peon handed over a slip asking me to go to the dean’s office and speak to the Commandant. When I called him up, he was as nice as a Lt General could be with a Colonel who was to hang his boots the same day. He was shocked to know that I was in the class and requested me to meet him after it was over. My wife and the dean of the faculty, a Brigadier, had tried to explain to me a day before that there were many urgent issues that needed to be attended to, but I stuck to my plan.

Later, during my dining-out, the Commandant had a special word of praise for my dedication to duty. In my farewell speech, I made it a point to mention what Einstein had said, ‘In this materialistic age of ours, the serious workers are the only profoundly religious people.’ On the fateful day, I got eloquent, narrating anecdotes of my three tenures at the FIET, during which I had seen six Commandants.

Going to the Defence Services Staff College, Wellington, to conduct a training programme in equipment management was the highlight of my career. I shared how I had organised a sort of academic coup by inviting giants like Dr Abdul Kalam, among others.

Many students of the earlier courses took a dig at me and wrote ‘Little Peter Drucker’ under my name because I quoted the great man often. After the last lecture, I was presented with a scrapbook having a huge photograph of mine with a small photograph of Peter Drucker with a number of naughty messages written underneath. I felt humbled but loved the idea of seeing my picture with the great management author.