For those graduating from the Pakistan Military Academy (PMA), the country’s primary military institution is “hallowed ground”. I entered its steel gates on May 14, 1964 as one of the 110 Gentlemen Cadets (GCs) selected for the 34th PMA Long Course. As an army aviation helicopter pilot I flew to the PMA several times in 1969 and 1970 and then I physically re-entered the PMA’s gates to celebrate our golden jubilee reunion for the first time in 50 years after our passing-out parade on October 30, 1965. The concrete parade ground brings back different memories in a rush, the shouted commands of our drill staff still ringing in our ears and the band playing Mard-e-mujahid jaag zarra, waqt-i-shahadat aaya hai (wake up brave soldier, your honourable death is nigh) or words to that effect. We had only four companies in the First Pakistan Battalion (the Quaid-e-Azam’s own), Khalid, Qasim, Tariq and Salahuddin. Two more battalions have come up and plans for a fourth are in the offing. Most modern PMA buildings were strange to us; we looked for our spartan wooden barracks in vain. The one ‘hut’ kept as display brought a flood of nostalgia, sweeping through us. We had not met some of our course mates in decades; our lost youth came rushing back with all its pristine intensity, if only for a short time. We reminisced together as young men pursuing common goals fuelled by ideals that now seem extinct. All the emotions could wash away one hard fact: the character of a man almost never changes even after five decades. Appearances may change, one may become more suave, more knowledgeable and able, certainly more professional, and one’s personality can be camouflaged but it cannot change the basic traits of any person. Our beloved term commander, Major (later colonel) Aziz (who came to my book launch in a wheelchair) and platoon commanders, Captain (later lieutenant general) Imtiazullah Warriach, Captain (later lieutenant general) Afzaal Khan, Major (later colonel) Mohammad Afzal and Captain (later colonel) Asghar Khan mostly judged us right. Destiny had other designs; the first few cadets were easily ‘general material’, Khizar Hayat, Ahsanul Haq, Shah Alam, the late Farhatullah and Masood Anwar should have become general officers but did not, as should have Brigadiers Sher Afghan and Ahmad Salim. A couple of underserving triple personalities rose to general rank; not surprisingly they retain even today their original mean and corrupt selves five decades afterwards. One can never forget Ingall Hall, named after the PMA’s first commandant brigadier, Ingall, and the words therein, “It is not what happens to you that matters but how you behave while it is happening”, which remain inscribed in our hearts and etched on our souls, captured for us in the 34th PMA 50th reunion shield designed for us by Colonel Khalid, Major Ahsan, Colonel Saghir Bokhari and Brigadier Ahmad Salim. As many as 24 of our teammates have since died. Among them were two major generals, Salim Khan and Khalid Bashir. Major Mohammad Yusuf expired less than a week ago. To his credit, Colonel Iftikhar looked after him till the very end. Mostly because of ill health, 33 of our course mates could not join us in Kakul. Despite being very sick, Brigadiers Gul Alam (from Peshawar) and Humayun Rasheed (from Lahore) did make it. Major General Khurshid Alam, who deservedly beat me to get the Sword of Honour (one is grateful for being the runner-up for the sword and the Norman’s Gold Medal after winning the Tactics Plaque), went through an angiography only the week before but did make it to the course dinner on October 31. My first term roommate, Brigadier General (retired) T D Rajapaksa, formerly of the Sri Lankan army, came all the way from New Zealand even though his daughter was going through a difficult pregnancy. Of the six Sri Lankan cadets, Major General ‘Lucky’ Vijayratne died in combat, Major General Siri Pieris only a couple of months ago, Lieutenant Colonel Ratnayaka is very sick and Major General Ananda Weerasekeera became a Buddhist monk after his wife died, and he retired. Hamid immigrated to Canada a long time ago. Of the dozen or so naval cadets with us in the first term, Commodore Gondal, Captains Mohsin and Kaifee (who along with Colonel A J Babar is even today my close colleague) participated in the Kakul visit enthusiastically. Colonel (retired) Zillul Bari from Bangladesh was too sick to travel. Despite being quite sick, Shah Alam travelled all the way from Canada, barely surviving the four-hour PIA delay in Lahore. Salam ul Haq Ansari, who was selected over me (standby) for RMA Sand Hurst from our course, must be commended for journeying from the UK where he now lives. Mrs Ahsan ul Haq and Mrs Jamshed Feroze must be “mentioned in dispatches” for braving the road trip to PMA. With the academy having a term break, the commandant of the PMA was not in station but we were superbly hosted. The PMA’s arrangements were impeccable and tremendous. Patiently answering all our questions, the conducting field officers from the third Pak battalion and from the academics’ staff (along with a lady NUST professor) and very thoughtfully given our age, a doctor, were nothing short of magnificent. The changes were quite astounding as emphasis is now on brains being equal to brawn; in our time, brawn was given preference. What were really impressive were the modern electronic techniques being employed to augment the military potential of the future officer corps. From being an all-male bastion, the PMA now has female GCs trained to standards as tough as their male counterparts. No concession is given to them (or I believe asked for) because of their gender. Our course was shortened from five terms to four. April 1965 to October 1965 went by in a blur. We had to cover the entire curricula of the third and fourth terms on a war footing, completing not only our academics but also all our military exercises. Cheering 32nd and 33rd PMA long course on their way to become ‘cannon fodder’ on September 11, 1965, our romantic notions of the glory of war depressed us at being left behind and not seeing the action. The bloody reality of ‘war is hell’ did not hit us until we read the casualty lists of officers killed and wounded. As many as 81 of us (not counting the six Sri Lankan GCs) graduated from Kakul on October 30, 1965. We left the academy physically but 50 years later the aura of the PMA’s hallowed ground still remains firmly imbedded in us. Professional soldiers never really leave the academy spiritually. The writer is a defence analyst and security expert