On the last day of my service, as I hung up my spurs, my mind travelled back to the man who most profoundly shaped my years in olive green — Sam Hormusji Framji Jamshedji Manekshaw, our irrepressible “Sam Bahadur”.My admiration for him began long before I ever saw him. On 20 December 1986, as I took the Antim Pag at the Indian Military Academy, standing in the hallowed precincts of Chetwode Hall, I silently wished that one day I might meet the soldier who had come to embody courage, candour and character for generations of officers.Posted to the Defence Services Staff College at Wellington as Staff Officer to the Commandant, I learnt within days that the Field Marshal lived nearby in Upper Coonoor. Soon, I found myself driving up the winding Nilgiri roads to his bungalow, evocatively named “Stavka”.As a young Lieutenant Colonel, I had rehearsed in my head what I might say. But when he walked towards me, upright despite his years, eyes twinkling beneath that famous moustache, I felt like a Gentleman Cadet again.“So, son, how are you doing?” he asked, his warmth disarming any nervousness.What followed lasted barely ten minutes. He asked about my background, my aspirations and when I expected to command a unit. Then came the sentence that would guide me through every command and staff appointment thereafter:Story continues below this ad“Never say or do anything just to please your seniors. Do what is right for your command. Be loyal to both your superiors and your subordinates.”In that simple counsel lay the essence of leadership: moral courage over careerism, integrity over impulse.The legend, however, revealed himself equally in the ordinary.One morning at the Staff College canteen, my wife Nidhi noticed a distinguished elderly gentleman with a box of chocolates in hand. Offering him her place in the queue, she said, “Please go ahead, Sir — we ladies can wait.”He smiled. “No way, sweetheart. You have to go home and cook for your dear husbands. I have all the time in the world.”Story continues below this adWhen she asked about the chocolates, he replied, “They’re for my Gurkha buddy’s little ones.”Only when the entire counter staff sprang to attention did she realise she had been chatting with the victor of the 1971 war, the architect of India’s triumph that led to the birth of Bangladesh.That evening, he addressed officers and families at the College on leadership. Blending wit with wisdom, he said, “If your men trust you, they will follow you into hell.” Not a soul in the packed hall shifted in their seat. He did not command attention; he earned it.Another vignette completed the portrait. At a parent-teacher meeting in Wellington, a Gurkha soldier arrived to collect his officer’s daughter’s report card, explaining that his “Sahab” was unwell. When asked the officer’s name, he replied simply, “Sam Bahadur.” Later that day, a handwritten note of thanks arrived from the Field Marshal himself.Story continues below this adThat was the measure of the man: supreme commander, yet attentive father; national hero, yet loyal to the last rifleman.For me, his advice became a compass. In difficult moments, I often asked myself: What would Sam Bahadur have done? The answer invariably lay not in expediency, but in what was right.Leadership, he showed us, is not about rank or ribbons. It is about responsibility: to your men, your mission and your conscience.In uniform, ten minutes can shape a lifetime.