The End of the Beginning

Jan 1994
New Delhi Railway Station

Our post-Terminal vacations are over. Even though I am leaving home again and will soon face my first set of University exams, I am neither homesick nor apprehensive nor scared.
I am just looking forward to going back.

I am booked on the Tamil Nadu Express from Delhi to Chennai. It's a long 34 hour journey, with the train cutting across practically all of India, or so it seems.
There are about 16 of us on the train, mainly seniors from Rahul's batch. As we mingle on the platform, one of them, Jayati sees me up close for the first time and says "Woh kaun hai, mooh chota sa, pet mota sa"? (Who is that with a fat paunch and a small face). I have lost 10 kilos when she says this so while it's still true, it's not too funny.

Dad has gifted me a Philips sound system that has a double tape deck and a radio. It is pretty bulky, needing atleast two people to lift the cardboard box it is wrapped in. My prized possession is black in colour and has sliding controls on the top for volume, bass, balance and treble. When the slider is moved, there is a gap in the panel.
When I started from home armed with a suitcase of clothes and the cardboard box, Dad asked me "If two thieves steal your stuff and are running away with your suitcase and the player, which thief will you run after?". It is of course, a hypothetical scenario, but, already in love with my very first sound system, I of course select that thief. It turns out that the correct answer should be the other one because while the music system can be easily replaced,  my clothes and stuff in the other suitcase will be much more painful to buy all over again.
So, trapped between sentiment and common sense, I guard both on the 34 hour train journey to Chennai.
Also catching the attention of my 16 co-travellers from college is a lot of food packed by Mom. This time, anyone is welcome to eat. I won't be homesick.

Jan 1994
Madras Central 7 AM (34 hours later)
We arrive. It's Pongal, a massive and hugely important festival in the South and we can't seem to find enough coolies to lift our stuff. There is a lot of luggage between the 16 of us and we find a big "thela" (wooden plank with a handle and wheels) on which we dump our luggage, music system and all. The coolie wants Rs. 200 for the short trip to the auto stand. We want Rs. 150. There is some minor bargaining and in the middle of some fluent Tamil, he suddenly switches to English and says "Saaaaaar, Happy Pongal", which has us in stitches and saves the day for him.

A quick trip to Parry's, the chaotic bus stand down the road from Chennai Central and we are on a bus (Non A/C). Nothing much happens till we reach Tindivanam but here the bus takes a  left turn where a sign says "Pondicherry" and the pulse quickens a bit. We are on the road at the end of which lies Pondicherry and Jipmer. It's just 45 minutes away.

The road is quiet and after the highway, it seems like a well tarred rural road with not much traffic. Trees line the sides, vast green fields and huts make up the scenery and an odd villager on his cycle trundles along. The bus makes it's way past the milestones and as we approach Pondicherry, there are many small landmarks one can see, indicating the journey is about to end. An empty field, the same coconut trees in the same sun-seeking position, the milestones with decreasing numbers and finally, a large patch of red ground with some factories in the distance.
Everyone entering Pondicherry this way will be greeted by the white arch at the border and the TB Sanatorium on the right.

This one:

This arch (just an arch in 1994 with no lamp posts) is the sign for us to organize our stuff and shove our way to the front of the bus.
We pass Le Cafe and the Guest House on the right, and 30 seconds later are deposited just opposite the shacks at the main gate.
I have arrived.
The whole campus is greener and has more trees than I remember from when I left last month. This is probably an illusion.

Bong is back with the promised Rasogollas. Authentic ones from BongLand. He has promised to open his two cans in the evening, heat them on the small coiled wire stove in his room and have a RasoGolla party. The problem is that they are immensely popular and I arrive 2 minutes too late.

Sunsequently, Jan-Feb 1994
There is some fabulous news. Snappy is coming to campus.
In Spandan, between transporting and sleeping, I had sampled some great food at the stalls. One of these was of a popular Fast Food joint called Snappy. Run by a busy, perpetually looking hassled Mr Akram, it had great rolls, burgers and other stuff. I had loved it in Spandan.
Apart from a slightly dysfunctional mess, the only other in-campus food option at the time was Little Chef. This left the shacks as the only place left to satisfy after 8 PM hunger pangs.  Snappy was coming to fill this gap.
 The arrival has been negotiated by Mishra and Vikrant (batch of 1990) who have also just finished organizing Spandan and are still in the "Executive Batch" mode, trying to mentally delay the already-upon-them headache of Final Year. They headed the Hostel Committee called the LOHA Committee and Snappy will become their contribution to Jipmer, at least for a while.
Whatever, Snappy is setting up shop on the ground floor of Lister House and will be open till late. Bliss is upon me.

In the following days, Vinay and I also continue our discovery of Rendezvous. This is what we eat on our first successful trip there:
1) A basket of garlic bread
2) Soup (big)
3)  A big basket of Chicken Hawaiian salad
4) A Mix Grilled Sizzler Platter with sausages, bacon, ham, chicken and ...beef
5) A massive Ice Cream Pancake.

Each.
If there is a heaven on Earth, it is here, it is here, it is here.

We also discover Urvasi, a favourite haunt of Jipmerites that is a bar-cum-restaurant with two distinct areas. One is a seedy room with bare lights hanging from the roof, almost till the table. Wisps of smoke fill the air and the conversation is loud. The other is a Family Section with better lights and less noise, so obviously we are always found in the seedy section.
The place has fabulous Chicken Cecilia with lumps of cheese which combines spectacularly with Ghee Rice. Alcohol is cheap and flowing. We go there so often that the waiters know us and once ask "Why not come yesterday Sir"? That's when we decide to give it a break.

 JN Street is the continuation of the Tindivanam road that cuts through town. At this point, a right turn takes you on a very important road for Jipmerites. "Ratna" theatre is located here and is the only one consistently showing English movies.
Vinay, Rahul, sometimes Bong, sometimes others and I come here often. The 10 PM show is what we see since that allows us to eat and drink in peace before the movie. Rahul has a bike, a Red Yamaha RX 100 and we get by on autos and cockroaches. "Tavern" is a joint somewhat opposite the theatre and it has an awesome American Chopsuey. That is our evening routine some days. Other days are spent in Snappy.

Snappy days:
Snappy opens at about 4 PM. It's routine now to walk back from class and park ourselves on the yellow plastic chairs scattered about. There are iron tables, some mobile and some fixed. Two are located right under trees and are shady, so they become our preferred tables. Vinay and I reach together, order tea and an Egg Chicken Roll each and sit chatting for the others to arrive. We repeat this till the others eventually do arrive.
Slowly, the place fills up. Rahul joins us. So does Bong. Mishra arrives, waves casually, takes his plastic cup of tea and saunters off. Shom joins us briefly, looking important because he is in Final Year. Vikrant gets a cup, says "Oye Saale, kuch padh le". (Oye A****le, go read something), stops briefly to chat and walks off.  He walks in a very typical, staccato fashion and Rahul names him "Clip Clop".  Others join us, have tea, eat some stuff and walk away.
Some other groups mingle about, chat about the day and carry on. We stay put, as permanent a fixture as the tables and the chairs, gulping endless cups of increasingly worse tea and the inevitable smokes.

Vinay and I, and sometimes Rahul, are permanent observers of the above scene being played out daily. We just shift places when bored but continue sitting. Time passes fast in Snappy. We break for dinner by 730 (For some reason, even after eating Egg Chicken Rolls non stop, we still go to the mess. It brings a sense of normal to us.) and head back to Snappy where we continue gossip sessions and watch the rest of the college come and go.
I see a tallish, slightly stocky, more than slightly balding guy riding a 2 wheeler I have not seen yet. He walks with quick strides and is always full of energy. He is in Final Year and therefore a classmate of Vikrant and Shom. He always stops by, sits for a while, and has lots of opinions on more things than you can think about. Conversations with him are always fun and he never seems to get upset. The weird thing he is riding is a Peugeot (!). A cross between a baby motorcycle and a cycle with a motor, his vehicle should make him look incongruous but somehow he seems perfect for it. This is Dr Chetan, aka Sattu.

I begin to be identified with Snappy. I don't mind at all. I am in love with my Egg Chicken Roll.

4th Feb 1994

Deepak Sagaram, a classmate, tells us it's his birthday. It is celebrated by dragging him to the basketball court and covering him in rotten eggs and shoe polish with the spokes of a broom poking out like antennas. By the end, he is unrecognizable. And of course, as is always the custom, the birthday party ends with tea in the shacks. 

Other days in Feb 94
 In every subject, the best 3 scores in the Internal Tests are counted towards the Final Internal Assessment which is taken out of 30. 10 marks of records are added to make it a round 40. In Anatomy, so far, I am way below 15-the pass mark and so is the rest of the class, bar some evolutionary misfits and the day scholars. Not failing to notice this abysmal but not unexpected result,  Prof Lakshmanan, the Head, announces that the next test will be an MCQ on the Abdomen and Pelvis. The idea is that one should be able to score better and make up much needed ground.

The test is excellent. I score 80+ and some hope returns.
This one test rescues the Internal Assessment of the Entire Class. Prof L has a great reputation for being generous but very fair.
In one test, in the Practical part, one of us was standing clueless next to an arm with lots of blood vessels, muscles and nerves displayed for us to identify. He couldn't quite identify a few so he proceeded to cut and pocket them. Prof L spotted this from about 30 feet away and in his loud, clear voice boomed "What is that thing you have put in your pocket"? The viva then proceeded on the structure lying in the pocket, probably a cut nerve section or such.

March 1994
It's high tension time in the hostel. My first set of Univs. are here and I feel so incompetent. I know nothing. Why did I spend all my time in Snappy? Why wasn't I like Misra (in 321 Lister, not the Snappy Mishra) reading consistently through the year? Why am I letting everyone down? What is wrong with me? Oh please God, pass me. I swear I'll read next semester.
Usual thoughts these days.
I'm walking to shacks reading Langman's Embryology, pacing up and down in the corridors mugging up all the vitamins, banging my head against the table trying to make sense of GI hormones. I'm going mad.
It's one in the morning and there are 10 people in my room. Some are reading Osteology, some Physiology, some Gross Anatomy. Some are staring blankly at the ceiling. Some sleep with strict instructions to be woken up after an hour. Everyone's a** is on fire. The party is well and truly over.
These are perhaps the most desperate times for all of us ever.
Snappy is now limited to grabbing a cup of tea and running back to the room to read. There is no time. Every second is precious.


Late March 94-Holi
Exams are here. My Send-Ups are tomorrow. Holi is also here. By this time, exam fever is high and we are mugging hard. Night-outs are common. Bricks are being excreted and major psyching out is in progress. Only two batches have exams now so Holi is a great time for everyone but us.
Our Anatomy Send-Up is the next day, but this is Holi. It's not like we have a choice.
Reading and mugging till the last possible moment, I open the door to a loud banging. A horde of people, all in technicoloured soaking wet clothes, are standing outside. Ash and I are dragged out, buckets of water are thrown, mud is slung, booze is drunk and there is a major party. Mud and stone stuffing into undies is a tradition reserved for baby juniors.
The party moves on to Curie House where something similar is in progress. People are thrown into a small pond, backs are slapped, faces (etc). are rubbed and there is general chaos. Some Harvey guys join in.
Some want no part in all of this and try to escape with varying results.
Our Director, Dr D, is kind enough to allow of  us into his house where lots of sweet milk supposedly laced with bhang is served. I can't taste the bhang and am disappointed.
My first Holi ends. Send-Ups start tomorrow.

The Send-Ups:(Late March 1994)
 I fail Anatomy. Again.
 This time, the failing is not that big a deal because the paper does seem familiar and many of the questions I could not answer were on my to-be-read-after-Send-Ups list.
So I was on the right track and that made me feel very good.

After Anatomy comes Physiology. This is a subject which is easier for me since it is logical (or as logical as a medicine subject can get) and the book is not that big. This however, does not translate to anything since I still have mountains to mug at night. So Ashley, I and everyone in my class start off doing just that.
The fun ends at about 11 PM when the power goes off. This is a rare occurrence and so we kill time by going to Snappy, drinking tea in the dark. This continues till about 1 AM when Snappy shuts for the day and we transfer the tea-ing to the shacks outside. It eventually occurs to me that the light problem is more significant than previously thought and I decide to lie down with my alarm set to 5:30 (break of dawn time). Of course, instructions are left to do wakey-wakey if the lights do manage to come back.
While on my way to the room, I notice some psychos studying under street lamps. However ignorant and desperate I am, I can't bring myself to do that.....yet.

So, dawn breaks. I'm woken up at 7 AM because Ashley forgot and I slept through the alarm. I get the book but I'm distracted by some noise coming from downstairs.
India is playing New Zealand in New Zealand. It's the 27th of March, the 2nd One-day between the sides. I saunter down.
Tendulkar makes 82 off 49 balls. I am mesmerized. Everyone is. His innings ends just in time for me to go to the exam.
I have just witnessed THE turning point in Tendulkar's one-day career, but of course I had no idea at the time.

Biochemistry is unremarkable except for 2 things:
1. Ashley and I do a night-out. We somehow manage to biochemically connect all the vitamins together, a feat I have not managed since. Maybe it was just lack of sleep.
2. I am woken up in the middle of the exam by Sunil, a pudgy and sarcastic demonstrator who wants to know if I would perhaps like a glass of water.
The break between Send-Ups and Univs is just like the description above but higher in intensity. There is more at stake. These are my first University Exams, my first step towards a doctor.

In this break, we hear rumours of which examiner might be coming for our exam. Some Internals are tough, some are "cool" and some are neutral. Everyone is praying for cool. When it's confirmed from sources that Prof L and Dr M are coming, we know that this might be the best chance we have to pass. Visits to the campus temple happen to say thanks.

Univs:
1 week of pure hell. In Anatomy, I leave 18 marks unattempted due to lack of time. The total is 80. But I did well in the other 62. So....I just have to get 40/62.
Physio and Biochem papers are tough, especially Biochem, which is nearly unanswerable.

The vivas go reasonably well. In Biochem, I am given a jar of urine and am supposed to do a Benedict's to check for sugar. This I know but it's made much easier when I see an army of ants marching towards the jar in that fixed march that ants specialize in.

Although the exams eventually go off OK, it's the few months of hell that precede it that make it the toughest exam I have ever faced. Most seniors I talk too agree that it is perhaps the toughest set of exams in the entire course. Luck is a big part of passing. Failure is not a stigma.

In my vacations, I come to know that I have passed. The feeling is one of relief, not joy, since I now do not have to study all this again.

I have arrived into 1st MBBS Sr. I will get to rag soon. Life is good.

Settled

Till Mid Sep 1993

As I have mentioned, Spandan signals the end of ragging. For me and my fellow baby juniors, this is a good thing and a time we were looking forward to. However, not everyone shares our sentiments. In so many ways, the end of Spandan is a loud punctuation mark between fun and no fun.

It is necessary to mention that Spandan is merely the climax of a series of smaller College based events going on for the last 3 months-a slow but steady build up that reaches a crescendo in Spandan. The peak of the crescendo is only matched by the deathly silence that falls over the campus immediately after. This silence is known as "Post Spandan Sickness Syndrome". 

It all started in July with InterClass, a small scale Intra-College version of Spandan and a practice ground for it , followed by the hostel days: LOHA and Curie Days. Then Spandan fever, so far running in the background with meetings and sponsorship drives takes over and gallops along at a continuously increasing pace for the next 3-4 weeks. Everyone stops studying. (except Final Year, who are facing the exam of their lives). Then, Spandan is over and for the entire campus, University exams are less than 2 months away. 

With this background in mind, and the sudden cessation of all activity, I can't help but notice that everyone has gone all serious. Tones are muted, expressions dull and vacant. Books are open but no one is in any mood to read them. Evenings are spent in the post-mortem of Spandan: why the food was bad, why the Fashion Show rocked, how good "Millenium" were, the sometimes boring and sometimes fabulous Cul and L&D and of course, Sports. Players, especially the Basketball ones, drop by and remind us of how good they all were and look at the ceiling with wistful smiles. The entire campus is quiet. There are some tables, chairs, tents and makeshift sports stands still standing, reminders of another festival gone by with nothing to follow for the next 6-7 months. People shuffle to shacks and hang about outside the mess or each other's rooms, knowing that a return to one's own room means an often futile attempt at reading.
Reality occasionally returns when some one drops by to borrow a book or notes or to spread rumours about upcoming exam dates.

The sickness is briefly alleviated by all the Committes going out for post Spandan parties. The bigger Committees have bigger budgets but also more people to feed. Finance-the one pulling all the strings (and tightening the purse in the process) has the most expensive one. They seem to have budgeted well and have their priorites right. Some head off to a beach resort, some to a seedy bar. It's the last hurrah before exams.

Mid Sep-Oct 1993
The other bright spot in all of this is the arrival of a fresh batch of classmates. A few have transferred from another college they were originally in and some are from abroad. These guys are subject to the rules of ragging, but it is definitely toned down a bit and for the most part, finishes early and is much milder. These guys are the entertainment during reading and mugging breaks so the ragging is intermittent and the raggers are thoroughly distracted by very real fears of failing exams.

Anupam and Harpreet-two fresh classmates are from Delhi, so there is something in common there. Harpreet is a Sikh, one of now only 3 in the college. Sandeep Kapoor (Sandy after a US trip) in 1st Clinical Year and Pammi in Internship make up this grand total of 3. Anupam and Harpreet move to Osler House, and their initial days are spent fighting over what time the lights should be switched off.

Vinay who has spent his childhood in various parts of the world and most recently in Bulgaria, is, I think, a misfit. He thinks he is a "rapper dude" who has somehow entered into a Medical school. He speaks with a very mixed American-Indian-Bulgarian-Weird accent, wears his Chicago Bulls cap backwards and his T-shirt hangs loose. This obviously translates to prime ragging material and while I escape the mess unharmed, Vinay entertains alternating groups of seniors with some weird rap dances.
Vinay's father is in the Foreign Service, so that at least partially explains the accent. Even he doesn't quite know what he's doing in Jipmer and he spends many lectures muttering exactly this.
We don't really speak that much. He's in his own world and I wish he would shut up.

Anupam drops in to my room sometimes, sometimes out of boredom and sometimes to crib about his early-to-bed roommate. On one of these visits, during a discussion on condoms, it falls on him to teach it's proper use to a mutual classmate. A piece of wood holding up the room curtains is brought down and a condom is purchased and a crash course in condom usage is organized.
Henceforth, Anupam is now known as Condom.

Apart from these minor interruptions, classes are in full swing and exams are near. Every Department is scheduling tests, so that sometimes one can have 2 tests on the same day. These count towards Internal Assessment and are taken seriously. Anatomy, Physiology and Biochem all schedule tests one after the other. Physio goes well and I get through Biochem but Anatomy remains a pain. This time, Ashley fails better than me, which is worrying.
One afternoon, having breached the 75 % mark as per our cupboard table and therefore not in class when I should be, I wake up to find Rahul and some of his classmates in a major gossip session. This time of the day coincides exactly with a NeuroAnatomy test they are supposed to be taking, so they have obviously bunked it. Apparently, the test is difficult and they have not studied, which in itself is not a new thing. The fact that one can actually bunk a test registers in my mind.

October 93
My birthday falls on the 13th. It's my first away from home and I get letters and cards from home and relatives. I spend the day feeling a bit bluesy but some classmates, some of whom I barely know, gather around and we head off to Penguin for a party. I'm happy that I'm doing something other than reading letters and moping around. A big container of salt falls in my soup and the rest of my birthday is spent removing the salt and then drinking still very salty soup.
Rahul's birthday falls on 1st September. Spandan is always scheduled to happen around this time so he is guaranteed a grand party every year.
Otherwise, every day is the same routine. Our batch has mid-semester exams coming up (called Terminals) and so we start reading a bit too. It's just classes followed by alternating reading and gossip sessions. Some manage time well, most are struggling.

Food remains an issue. The Hostel Mess is run exclusively by students and every month someone volunteers to be the "Mess Secretary". The function of the Mess Sec is to ensure that decent food is given daily and that budgets are not exceeded. It's solely his responsibility. The money comes from the Mess Fees which is Rs 500 per month. The Mess Secs are usually people with some seniority so that they have some standing when fending off aggressive people unhappy with food.
One evening, while we are lounging around, Vikrant comes over and tells me that he will be the Mess Sec for November. However, he has nearly a month of Study Leave before his exams and he has just decided that he will go home to Chandigarh for a few days and he wants me- a Baby barely three months into Jipmer-to take care of the Mess Sec's duties.

"Relax. I've taken care of everything", he says with an assurance I do not share.

I am handed a massive bunch of massive keys I must guard at all costs. They are the keys to the store where the rice, dal etc are stored. I have to get up at 6 AM daily and open the store. A mess boy, called "tambi" comes and takes the daily quota of rice (I say 16 lites as Vikrant has instructed, he says 20 litres, I'm too sleepy and I agree. 20 Litres.) Since this happens every day, including Sunday, the rice is getting over fast. I am clueless about where the money is going and the food is getting worse. Things come to a head month-end when I am confronted by Raghav, a Final Year senior who is very upset and is very serious about violence in my immediate future.
The end of the month has a "Grand Special" dinner which every starving students waits for and this month, there is hardly any rice and the food is abysmal.

Vikrant can have his Mess Sec back. One time is enough for me.

Apart from the mess, which closes about 9 PM, the only other on-campus food place is a small shop called "Little Chef". This is down the road from the hostels and has some nice noodles and Coke floats.

One of our weekly highlights is walking down to Little Chef on a Saturday and while away time chatting, eating and Coke-floating.
I also find that there is a rather nice looking girl I think I like but have not found the courage to say that to her. On one of our Saturday walks, I disclose this to my fellow Coke-floater only to find that he has equally strong feelings and he has actually initiated the issue with the lady in question. 

And that, over a Coke-Float where the Ice Cream melted into the Coke and my noodles remained uneaten, was that. 

One Tuesday Morning in Nov 1993
Anatomy dissection is phenomenally boring. I am standing there in front of my cadaver who is minus arms and legs. Formalin is everywhere. On my table, Mohanty is poring over his book and dissecting like he's doing a PhD. The rest of us are shooting the breeze but there is only so much breeze to shoot.
Vinay, I find, is in the same predicament. Plus, he'd rather be somewhere else.

There is a rumour that a new French restaurant called "Rendezvous" has opened somewhere near the beach area. I have been hearing this for a while and so has Vinay, and when he approaches me with the radical idea of slinking away from Dissection and rendezvousing with Rendezvous, I offer no resistance. There are stories of ambience, steak, garlic bread, great chicken in great sauces and beer to wash it down. We don't really know exactly how to get there but the lure of proper food combined with the surreptitious pleasure of bunking class is too much. So we slink away, in the middle of Dissection with no regard for Attendance or consequences.

It is blazingly hot outside. Just outside the campus main gate, some auto-rickshaws usually park themselves. Today, we see none, but we spot a Cockroach which takes us about 2 km down to the start of JN Street where it dumps us. There are no autos here either. In fact, there are no autos anywhere to be seen.
It turns out that we have decided to go on a food adventure in the middle of an auto strike, we are unfamiliar with the city, still nowhere near Rendezvous, and standing in the middle of traffic slowly getting roasted. We decide to walk in the general direction of where Vikrant had told us it would be and where we would find our salvation.
It's a really long walk. The heat makes it longer. and eventually we find Rendezvous after about 45 minutes.

It's Tuesday. Rendezvous is closed on Tuesdays. There is a big sign on the door.

We do NOT give up. Heading to another joint, open but seedier, we reward ourselves with a cold one. We now know when not to go to Rendezvous. A lesson has been learnt the hard way, but learnt nevertheless.
If it's Tuesday, don't go to Rendezvous.
Victims of the same tragedy, Vinay and I become good friends.

When we get back, Vikrant and Rahul spend many hours and many days rolling on the floor at our expense, never wasting an opportunity to remind us of the "banana-chocolate pancakes" and the superb continental breakfast we had missed but the next day, we made it there.

Diwali, 13th Nov 1993
Diwali has arrived. Rahul has flown home for a couple of days and has promised to bring sweets from Delhi. In the meantime, I am introduced to some Jipmer Diwali traditions.

Anyone who has seen even one Diwali knows that prayers, new clothes and lights aside, there is lot of rocket launching and bombing. The fireworks here start early in the morning all over town and I personally think that this is because Lord Ram arrived here in the morning from Lanka taking the rest of the day to reach Ayodhya. So, morning it is.
Some interesting things happen over the day:

1) The Rocket Wars
Rockets can go pretty far and can also go pretty haywire. In Jipmer, rockets are fired horizontally from the roof of one hostel to the other (Lister to Osler and vice versa). The aim is to just avoid hitting the opposing rocketeer while causing mayhem. It's a distance of about 75 meters and a successful launch is accompanied by "Lister ki bistar par Osler ki sister"  (On the bed of Lister lies the sister of Osler) if one is in Lister and vice versa if in Osler. (The effect is somewhat lost in translation). This carries on till one either gets bored,  is losing badly and gives up or till someone gets hit. Downstairs, meanwhile, other things are happening

2) The Loo Bombings
It should be noted that each loo door has a very small gap between the door and the floor. This gap is ideal to light a bomb and casually chuck it in. First, it's not a good idea to be in the loo at such times but when the call of nature is strong, it's up to the loo occupier to somehow notice the bomb and react fast enough to put some water over it. Some do, some don't. The success rate is not great because most of the bombs are local made grey sticks called "country bombs", many of which don't go boom at all.
Some normal, harmless rocket launching and bombing also happen sometimes.

Unfortunately, the fun ends eventually, and we get back to reading.
The mugging phase is approaching. Exams are near and everyone is getting psyched out and shitting bricks.

December 1993

Two days before the Terminals are due to start, there is some commotion in the hostel and everyone is headed to Curie House where we find that my ex-crush (called Lady Gaga for this purpose) has decided that she has had enough and wants to go home for good. Her bags are packed, her parents have been informed and she is waiting downstairs surrounded by us who are trying their best to convince her to stay.
It takes a while but she relents.

And then the Terminals arrive. As expected-a complete disaster. One question in Anatomy goes like this:
"Describe the relations of the axillary Artery"
My answer only consists of skin, superficial fascia and fatty tissue. That's it.

The Anatomy practical consists of five separate stations-Osteology, Surface Anatomy, Gross Anatomy, Histology and Embryology, and is held in the Dissection Hall and the Histology Lab next door.
It's all going reasonably well till I reach Embryology and am handed three coloured plates.
The first plate has a round circle. The second has the circle surrounded by wriggly shapes. The third has a different looking circle but the wriggly shapes have disappeared.
I have no idea what this is so I make an educated guess about the process of fertilization. I am then given a sad shake of the head and told to go.

No one else seems to know what the hell that was.

Physiology and Biochemistry are tacked reasonably well.

We break for vacation.
I am going home.
I have lost ten kilos in four months but I have gained so much more.

I have settled in. I can't wait to get back.

Settling In

September to December 1993

Unofficially, but true to tradition, the onset of Spandan signals the end of ragging and other fun and games and the start of serious reading and mugging. All batches have exams in December-even us, the Baby Juniors who have an Internal Exam called "Terminals".
Once, an attempt is made to rag me but it is aborted when someone says "Forget it man, Spandan's over". However, my class is still not up to full strength so that means that some new guinea pigs will soon arrive.

One type of ragging that is still happening, however, is the "Record". This consists either of drawings (Anatomy) or experiment write-ups (Physiology and Biochem). The lazy seniors, already pressed for time due to upcoming exams get a Junior to sit tight and finish their Records and often this is achieved only during a Night-Out. Numerous serious sounding threats ensure that Records are completed by deadlines. The problem with this is that many times, the junior's writing is so different or so awful that it has to re-written, often by another junior.
Seniors are divided on this aspect of ragging. For many, it crosses the boundaries of ragging while others couldn't care less. One just has to be lucky. And I am. I dodge the Record Ragging.

I note that the course I have stumbled into is going to make me a doctor in about 5 years, that is, provided I keep up. I see a few "chronics" here and there, some in the 3rd year, some stuck in Final Year and one down the wing in the last room (231 Lister) whom I haven't seen at all yet and therefore don't quite know where he has applied the brakes. Failure in exams is not a good thing or something to be proud of but is also not entirely unexpected and can happen to anyone. This is particularly true, I learn, in Final Year and having experienced Anatomy, I am not surprised when First Year makes the list too. The rest are tough but apparently manageable.

I was less than a month old in College and already I was beginning to get overwhelmed. Homesickness, ragging, the rigours and joys of Spandan and the sudden departure from home food were weighing on me. I was fortunate, however, that I had a great roomie and classmate, Ashley, with whom I could share the trials and tribulations of daily life. It also helped that he wasn't passing any tests either. 

After Muthu (the guy who's love letter we destroyed) left our wing pretty much right after Spandan, Chandan and Phani, my classmates, moved in next door and they were a very interesting combination. Chandan, whose last name is Shaw is sometimes from Bihar and sometimes from Bengal, depending on where his ragger is from. Phani, (and my attempts at punning his name repeatedly fall flat) is from Andhra, and therefore a Gult. 

Every morning, I see Phani doing something to his hair, styling it very carefully with a unique round comb. He spends about half an hour doing just this and whistles some Gult movie tune all the time. The performance ends with a few stylish kicks and moves that I am told are the trademark moves of some famous Gult actor, but much to Phani's dismay, I have never heard of him.

 Rahul lives on the other side of my room and things are looking up with him. We are in each other's room most times-he searches for food and I search for company. His roommate is a Day Scholar and since the typical Day Scholar would rather be at home than here, Rahul often has the room to himself. 

Rahul knows some fantastic sounding curse words in Hindi and we spend some time practicing these on each other and my 3 classmates. In one of our chat sessions, he reveals that when we had met in his house before I had officially joined, he thought I was prime ragging material. I tell him that I thought his "Water diluting gastric juices theory" was bullshit. The fact that I can say this to a senior without getting bashed up is a sign of progress.

In the meantime, Ashley and I set up a strategy to keep tabs on the minimum 75% attendance limit required for each subject. This is a tough number to achieve for me because I am perpetually waking up late. Ashley and I take a black permanent marker and draw up a table on the inside of the cupboard door. The table has names, subjects, dates and if we were marked present or absent. "Marked" is a necessary modification because it is possible for one to be present for a class but not be marked on the register. In Biochemistry, this happens in Dr S's class so we just bunk if we might be getting late. We keep tabs and bunk if above 75. It's a simple enough strategy.

My side of our small room is also getting dirtier. Ash's side is cleaner. This doesn't overtly bother me and as long as my dirt doesn't cross the invisible dividing line, he is fine too. The floor seems to be lined with a fine grain-like dust which we call "grit"-a term devised by Ashley. This is regularly cleaned but the cleaning is limited to the grit. For the rest, a combination of entropy and apathy ensues. We each have a bed, and our own mattresses with a chair and a table each. There is a small stool too, whose purpose baffles me. A wall cupboard each and a board with light and fan switches completes our little abode.
Ashley and I spend hours trying various interior decoration arrangements. The beds are sometimes in an "L" shape and sometimes form a "V" such that the space between them is entirely useless.

I pop into Vikrant's room, four doors and a bathroom down now and then and he is often on the guitar. He listens to a lot of Neil Diamond, studies Harrison's non-stop and always has an encouraging thing to say in his usual frank way. We speak about Chandigarh, our families, how his father treated my grandfather for cancer and how I should read and mug. Often, Shom or some of his other classmates drop by too and they head out for a drink.
Vikrant has a red Yamaha RX 100 on which we often head out to shacks, for some tea, his cigarettes and some peace.
Shom, in the meantime has shifted to the wing in 215 and we start talking a bit more. He still refuses to recognize me from the Patna flight but that's OK now. Bong is in 216 next to Shom. A Gult called Chinta  is in 214, and 213 is occupied by a slightly reclusive senior called Nitin. All of us meet at least once in a day, sometimes in each other's rooms but usually in the bathrooms.

Now that I have a bit more freedom and the terror of being accosted by seniors everywhere has passed, I notice my surroundings a little more. There are the shacks of course. Where the shacks end, there is another tea/biscuit place mysteriously called "Stop Snacks". It's just a few steel chairs and tables with someone making tea on a gas stove but it has 2 tallish trees and we call it "California".
Towards the Tamil Nadu border side of the shacks, there is the Govt. Guest House where Dad and I had stayed before I joined and where I had received my Emergency lessons in washing and folding clothes. Next to this is the cafe, called, in typical Pseudo-French style, "Le Cafe". It's not much of a cafe and it's definitely not French but it becomes a haunt for eating noodles and fried rice with large doses of tomato sauce to disguise the taste.

The days pass by with classes in the day and gossip sessions in the evenings. Tests loom on the horizon and we open books in earnest for the first time. My birthday is approaching. I am settling in.

An Introduction to Spandan Part 4

Sep 3, 1993

Spandan

The Last Day

4 days of my first Spandan are over. Four days of noise, crowds, music, food. Four days of celebrating the best talents I could have seen but for the curse of the Transport Commitee. Four days of sleeping in a strange room-all building up to a crescendo. 

The last day of Spandan is here. The day still revolves around lifting, carrying and transporting but I can feel things building up and rushing to a climax. A Rock Show has been promised. Jipmer has reached the finals of Basketball and is playing CMC Vellore-arch rivals on the court and booze buddies off it. And at that point, at the last Sporting event in Spandan, time will stop. Even for Naren and the Transport Commitee. 

The day has most of the Finals of the Sporting Events. Football and hockey take up the daylight hours while Basketball and Volleyball will be played under lights. The captain of the Football team-Pandian, is from Malaysia and all the great looking jerseys and sundry equipment I see the team in have been largely because of Pandian's sponsorship collecting drives back in Malaysia. 

The Spandan Quiz is the culmination of the L&D section of Spandan. Some delegates are here only for this and it's a big part of the Quiz Circuit these people seem to be move around in. The Quizmaster is someone from outside and it takes place in Banting Hall which, I soon realize is a very acoustically challenged auditorium which also doubles up as an exam venue. The questions are tough and because I can't answer anything, the teams are naturally quite brilliant.  Just to get on stage for the finals of the Quiz is an achievement, I am told and though Jipmer does not win, it's reassuring to see that serious medical students have other interests too. 

The day progresses and in the evening and a short Transport mission later, I return to the room in front of which a Volleyball final has just started. The corridor in front of the rooms is packed with people on all floors and there is lots of noise, shouting, abuses, clapping, cheering, booing and of course, boozing. I learn the rules of volleyball in these minutes from a collective crowd of seniors, classmates and unknown delegates from other colleges.

Across the Inter-Hostel Road, on the Basketball court, the Jipmer and CMC Vellore teams are arriving for the finals. The Sun has set and the court is floodlit. This is the last event in all of Spandan and masses of people are moving across to see the Final. Ashley has been spared the scoreboard changing duty and his Spandan gets even better. 

There are crowds everywhere. People hanging from the Osler House corridors, standing on all four sides of the court, peering out from the Osler House mess that looks out onto the court, standing on the Inter-Hostel Road trying to get a glimpse through the corowds and the barricades. 

The two rival teams take the court and cheers and jeers ring out. CMC has a small but noisy contingent all but drowned out by The Rest Of Jipmer. There is a few minutes of practice/warm-up, with lay-ups and passes, missed baskets and high fives. Chests are bumped, the faithful crowd is acknowledgd with a loud primal shouts and the two teams go into their respective huddles. 

And a collective, passionate scream fills the slowly quietening atmosphere, heavy with the weight of expectation.

"Can I play with madness"...The anthem of the Jipmer Basketball Team. 

CMC has an understandably smaller support group but at first, as the match starts, they start to get more vocal, but slowly, with rising amplitudes and varying pitches-totally oblivious of the faculty members sitting on the sidelines, the Jipmer crowd comes to life.

"We are dynamite, CMC is catamite".

"Go home CMC".

"F**k off CMC"

"Cheating"

Sexy basket yaar".....

The match is close, down to the last few seconds and lives up to the emormous hype that has preceded it. Jipmer wins and the place goes berserk. 

The sweaty guys with a new swagger are our heroes. There is much backslapping and pounds on the back. Elated versions of "Bastard" and "F***er" do the rounds.

The court is also the venue for the Prize distribution for the Best Cultural team and the Best L&D team, points for each event across the 5 days having been tallied and tabled and while this is going on, I hear massive drumbeats and a very professional sounding voice saying "Check", "1,2,3", "Check", "Check". The voice is coming from Lister Square from a 10,000 Watt speaker array and it's the sound of the The Rock Show, starting in a few minutes.

 I don't think I attended The Rock Show. I filed out of the BasketBall court, awed by the spectacle of 5 days of Spandan-the end result of many months of meticulous planning and intermittent chaos. I walked alone, in a crowd of people but isolated and cocooned in my thoughts, towards Lister House and it's rooftop. I wanted to be alone. I wanted some peace.

"Millennium" played that year, typical rock and metal sounds coming from far below, penetrating the air and the dark night. It was very heavy stuff- lots of metal, lots of rock and lots of wild partying. I was not a part of it. 

The Lister Rooftop was dark and cool and I was alone. Really alone, for the first time since joining Jipmer. 

My first Spandan was getting over and my emotions were mixed. I know the real deal was about to start but it could wait a few days. I was finally happy to be here.

An Introduction to Spandan Part 3

Aug 30-Sep 3, 1993

Spandan

The "In-Your-Face" Committees

1. Cultural (Les Beaux Arts or Lesbo Arts)

The Cultural Commitee, known locally simply as "Cul", along with the Literary and Debating (aka L*ND Committee) is the most visible part of Jipmer and it's backbone. 

Cul does all the evening competitions and there are a lot of them. Every evening, when staggering back from a Transport day, the sounds I hear well into the night emanate from the various competitions Cul has organized. A very tight schedule is posted up every day starting from about 5 PM and going on well into the night, and on one day, when I get up for yet another weightlifting session Naren has planned, I hear the sounds of Cul still going on from the previous evening's competition  By this time, with the Sun well over the horizon and the heat of Pondy well on it's way, the only people in Lister Square are the competition entrants-singing away, the judges-tired, cranky and trying to look interested, the Tech Team desperately trying to keep things under control and 20 baby juniors known as the Transport Commitee, getting ready for another battle.

There is Music-Indian and Western, group and solo, acoustic and instrumental, there is Choreography (or dance, in simple terms)-again Indian and Western, group and solo, skits, Ad-Zaps  and mimicry. The list goes on and on. 

The whole event takes place on an expanded stage in  Lister Square. The judges, usually serious looking wannabe rockers sit tight in the Technical Hut getting fawned over by the Cul and Tech Commitee members. The Tech and Cul ego's get a massive misplaced boost as they think they're close to these wannabe rockers and I hear accents suddenly change, looks suddenly becoming cool and otherwise normal people developing major attitudes as they approach the Tech Hut. 

The sound system-many huge speakers, and all manner of equipment is supplied by Reynolds, and it's supposedly cool to be seen chatting to Mike Reynolds. 

2. L&D (Les Litteraires) 

L&D (Literary and Debating) is similar to Cul in it's importance but it does all of it's eventing in the confines of the AirCon lecture Halls, a 10 minute walk away from Lister Square. They occupy the morning-5 PM slots. Some of what they do includes debates, creative writing, JAM (Just A Minute) etc. L&D is serious, cerebral stuff and is headed by serious cerebral people. 

I see people and teams doing mock debates, checking up writing topics etc or trying to put up funny but smart stuff on the "Wall Mag"-a poster sized sheet stuck on the wall outside the Mess and updated every day with the previous day's events and results, some funny stuff, cartoons and spoofs of Cul events and fun quizzes. I always stop to read it to and from the van or the dog van, which is all that I seem to be doing.

Teams practice for hours to win and it should be fun to see but the only problem is that the walk from the Hostel to the Lecture Halls is just a bit longer than comfortable and there is no time. 

But while L&D and Cul take care of the Entertainment, there is a set of people who are either too busy drinking, recovering from hangovers, just lazing around or waiting for Cul to start. They are too lazy to go see L&D or just not interested. There are aimless guys at the food stalls and some jobless ones ogling at the Reception girls in AC comfort. These guys need to be entertained too. 

And the Informals Committee-also populated by hungover,lazy bums, is designed for just that.

3. Informals

This Committee is everywhere and nowhere. There is no Centre from which things happen. There is no fixed venue but things are focussed in the area in front of Reception and anything can happen at any time. The Committee members are made up of people who want to "freak out" but not in a structured Committee. They are not answerable to anyone.  They are the "Cool guys".

4. Catering 

When one attends Spandan, care is taken that one does not go hungry. The mess in Lister House has been handed over to this fancy sounding Committee and they manage to convert a functional but drab area into a regular non-stop food- cum- party zone. Catering takes its job very seriously and is generally populated by some rather nice looking people. The sex ratio in this Committee is overwhelmingly in the girls favour making the mess a very popular place to hang out.

For those fed up with informals and formals, the mess therefore becomes an alternative source of entertainment.

The transformation that the mess has undergone is nothing short of radical. It is no longer a mess. 

The mess gets a new name which is stuck with thermocol on the outside and has a big "Welcome" sign. Apparently, a lot of thought goes into what that year's mess will be called and how it should be designed before putting it up on the wall.  There are table cloths and curtains, nice plates and proper cups. I make my way daily for Breakfast, lunch and dinner, reading the menu posted on the door and wondering why this can't be the usual state of affairs. A plate is put before me by a very nice looking senior who actually smiles at me and spoils the moment briefly by asking which Committee I am in. I am served by members of the Committee, many of whom are seniors who wouldn't take a minute to rag me under normal circumstances.

But the Catering Committee only does the Catering. The food that they serve is decided by the Food Commitee. 

5. Food Commitee

This is complementary to Catering. While Catering caters, the Food Committee has the important task of deciding what should be catered. A lot of planning goes into the menu for the day, it being vitally important that the Breakfasts, Lunches and Dinners vary just enough but not so much as to be impossible to actually make. 

There is Dosa/Idli, Bread and Jam and Omelettes for Breakfast and Rice, Sambhar/Dal, Veges, Chicken for lunch and dinner. This is food that I crave for when I go there daily-a change from the prison rations of the rest of the 51 weeks of the year. 

The Committee also puts all of this up as a "menu" outside the mess so people can decide if they REALLY want to eat there. Owing mainly to size, I am told that I was considered for Food but was turned down because of fear the food might get over.

My first impression was that the Organizing batch had some rather good looking Curie House inhabitants. I meet Mishra there quite often.

6. Entertainment and JAM

In the meantime, the mess in Osler House has not been ignored. Every night by 8 PM, it becomes a dance floor, a place to Jam. (NOT Just a Minute). A semi-professional or professional DJ has been  hired (this depends on the Spandan budget), strobe lights are placed  and the music is so good. Rock and metal dominate. It's my kind of music and it's a place to get smashed and dance away, if I could of course.

 The "dancing" is more often a kind of random, high speed super jerky series of movements synchronized to the music. Lots of headbanging, lots of beer bottles and lots of people crashing into each other. "Sweet Child  of Mine" is a perennial favourite, the opening riffs being perfect for heavy duty headbanging complete with air guitaring and flying hair. I do go there sometimes, after dinner and just stand outside trying to feel the atmosphere but feeling a bit out of place among all the seniors and all the delegates they seem to be on first name basis with.

People "dance" for a bit, come out for air and booze refills and are back in again. Some have unique styles. I see Shom dancing in one place, eyes shut and jerkily swaying from side to side. Joy is doing hand loops while swaying from side to side. 

Sometimes I'm called in with drunk shouts of "Oye Junior, get your a** in here", or "Abe (a-bay) saale, what the f**k are you doing outside" but I'm more comfortable just soaking it all in. 

The Jam is conducted daily except for the last day and continues till either the last "dancer" or the DJ have passed out in an alcohol induced coma. Apart from Sports, L&D and Cul, the Jam goes a long way in the success of a Spandan and a lot of work goes into planning a good Jam

It's a popular Committee to be in.

7. Decoration

They decorate. Everything. Full stop. 

8.  Sports / Tournament

The defining feature of this Committee is the EGO. Sports are a huge part of Spandan and for many, it's the only reason they are here. I am told that before the full blown festival I am witnessing, Spandan was just an Inter-Medical Sports meet. Sports is where it all started.

The responsibilities here are tremendous. Scheduling events, juggling schedules, massaging egos, ensuring impartiality in judging (Home bias is a frequent accusation), getting outside judges and praying for the rain to go away. There is hockey, football and basketball-the heavy duty events. There is badminton and table tennis-lighter in weight but taken as seriously by the players.

One unique feature of this Committee is the Sports Council. Comprised of select senior members and a member of the faculty, the Council is a no-go zone for anyone else. They have a dedicated table in Reception and they take all the major decisions regarding everything connected to Sports. Their decisions are final and uniformly respected. The faculty member's main role is Ego Massage.

The football team goalkeeper is a tall, smooth talking tallish guy 2 years my senior. He is also a major part of the Basketball team. This is interesting because when he's not practicing or playing or boozing, he's doing heavy duty reading. He's got the style, the accent, the talent and the girls. And he's near the top of his class also. I'm envious. Manish-from Shimla during ragging (and hence protected by the HSA) but from Bombay ever since is my role model for a while.

This might sound like intense fun but for a Baby junior it's a living nightmare. I hear stories from fellow babies and am slightly grateful I'm not in this one.

Life in Tournament Commitee as a baby junior:

This Commitee is responsible for the smooth running of the sports part of Spandan. It is also responsible for the smoothness of the grounds on which the Sports are played. And, as an added extra, some babies are deputed to wake up the Jipmer players from wherever they have crashed and remind them to get ready for matches.

So, at 6 AM, this happens: 

After a previously sleepless night, the baby knocks on the door where a senior is currently crashing. After 10 minutes of hesitant knocking, the door opens.

Baby: "Sorry sir, its 6 AM. You have a match"

Senior:"I know bast***, get out"

A few minutes pass. The scene is repeated.

At 630 AM, a senior comes.

Senior 2 to Baby: "Bast***, why is he not up yet?

Baby splutters.

Senior 2 bangs the door. Senior 1 comes out and shouts to Baby "Bast*** why didn't you wake me up earlier? I'll see you after the match."

And the two seniors strut off looking important while the Baby cowers in fear. 

Baby does this many times in the day.

Being a coastal town, Pondicherry gets rain on occassion. So do the Basketball court, the Volleyball court and the huge red mud covered Field. After every rain shower, the babies rake up the leaves and roll the rollers all over the ground. Manual picking of leaves is also part of the job description. So is mopping of water, sometimes with buckets. When I hear all this, Transport starts to sounds quite good.

Babies also change scores in matches. In Basketball, this is frequent  and a "responsibility". 

Ashley has this job throughout Spandan. The job comes with perks like ringside views and free ogles at the girls. Occasionally, he gets distracted and forgets the score but apart from this minor hitch, Ashley is having a great Spandan.

....to be continued

An Introduction to Spandan Part 2

Spandan 

Aug 30-Sep 3, 1993

Committees are everything in Spandan. The whole festival is organized by the student body and from the crowd on the first day and the atmosphere, I can see it will be quite a success. While some Committees are the backbone and the face of Spandan, many others are equally, if not more important, but remain behind the scenes. Naren never fails to remind us what an important job we are doing, but it's difficult to focus when one is carrying chairs, the "Technical Snake", fridges and chillers and then barely managing to make it back to the room to face yet another hard day. 

The other Committees are not exactly twiddling their thumbs though and some of the "behind-the-scenes" Committees are, again, in no particular order: 

1. Technical
"Tech" is a very exclusive domain. People here have, or think they have, some knowledge of wires, equipment, sound systems and the like. Tech is a support behind the scenes Committee but perhaps the common thread connecting all the others. Without it, Spandan would be a lightless, soundless affair.
Tech has a permanent room allotted to it in Lister House Annexe (104) and since it is needed for events throughout the year, it is indispensable. People not in Tech think that Tech members are some kind of electrical engineers with an interest in Medicine. The people who are in Tech don't think so. They are convinced and make sure everyone else think so too.
When involved in outdoor events like Spandan, Tech works from a makeshift shed called the "Tech Hut". The mixer and every other piece of equipment is located in this shed. I see that Tech Hut is strategically located right in the middle of Lister Square facing the stage, with "The Snake" snaking its way from here to the stage, the bundled up wires neatly dividing the neatly arranged chairs on either side. (Chairs neatly arranged by Transport, The Snake carried all over the campus by Transport. Of course).
By now, a few days into College, I know most of the equipment that Tech has-from speakers to the "mixer" to the "snake". That's mainly because I have carried them, across Lister Square, across the football field, to the dog van, out of the dog van, to the lecture halls, to Banting Hall, out of Banting Hall, down various stairs and back to the Tech Room again.
The "Snake" is a contraption with lots of wires wrapped in brown plastic and wound around a wooden circular thing. The damn thing is very heavy and no one wants to volunteer to lift and carry it. Of course, in the Transport Commitee, the word "volunteer" does not exist.

I was in Tech Commitee for about 2 days before making the leap to Transport. This was too short a time to actually learn any ropes but it did provide Nandu, the Head,  the opportunity to do some Technical ragging. With 2 wires in his hand, he says "I want to fry your bal**". He stands there with a grin he thinks is menacing and I stand there pretending to be terrified but the whole thing was boring and irritating. Since I could not afford to show that I was bored and irritated, the whole episode was total torture. Maybe that was the whole point.

2. Prize
Spandan, for all it's fun and games, and when all is said and done, is after all a competitive festival. This means that for everything, there are winners and there are losers. For many people, it's all about taking part and having a ball but there are plenty of serious egos here, many of whom have been preparing to win something for a long time. It is a prestigious thing.
The certificates and prizes fall under this Committee. It sounds simple enough but there is a serious lack of people with good writing to write on the certificates and also a serious perceived lack of people deemed good looking enough to go out and give the prizes. The major part of the Prize Committee is looking for these people and when found, making sure they don't run away. There are many hundreds of certificates to  write.

3. Finance
This is as drab as it sounds. It is also very unpopular. It consists of the usual-budgeting, accounting, allocating funds, fighting with Committee heads over funds.
The Finance Committee is stingy and that's a good thing since Spandan seems to be perpetually running short of money.
Finance Committee reputedly has the best party after Spandan. Expensive.

4. Co-ordination
This is the Mother of all Committees. It oversees everything. Co-ordination is headed by Hafiz, a serious guy and President of the JSA. All problems in everything are ultimately decided here. This is the Supreme Court of Committees. The Co-ordination Committee is where everyone goes crying with all their problems and where the massive egos of all the Committee Heads receive massages.
This is probably the most thankless Commitee to be in.

Next post...The Main Frontline Committees.

An Introduction to Spandan Part 1

August-September 1993

Spandan is finally here. The festival starts in the next two days and since I've joined, most of the non-ragging conversation has been dominated by Spandan talk. My room in Lister House is right on top of the Volleyball Court and many evenings have been spent watching Volleyball practice. When being ragged in Osler House, I've caught a bit of BasketBall practice as well. Banners have been going up everywhere and I've been told that Lister Square, which currently resembles a dumping ground, will be transformed into the main Spandan area with multiple food stalls, wooden barricades and lots of chairs.

The festival always happens in the first week of September and the merriment lasts for a week from Monday to Friday inclusive. All classes except for Final Year morning clinics are off, but while the rest of the College parties all day and night, the Baby Juniors (like me) are, in Jipmer lingo, going to "slog their bal** off". I learn that in Spandan, the Cultural and Literary events are open to all colleges but the Sports events are restricted to Medical Colleges probably because we would get buggered if it was opened to all, but actually because Sports started life as the Dr Chaddha Memorial Inter-Medical Hockey Tournament and has remained an Inter-Medical event.
Not that I expect to see any of this of course. 

There is a residual French influence in Pondicherry and Spandan has not been spared that particular hangover. Cultural, L&D and Sports-the Core events of Spandan- are called "Les Beaux Arts", "Les Litteraires" and "Les Jeux" respectively. 
I have already been educated that "Les Beaux Arts" is best pronounced without the silent "S" in "Les" and "Beaux" pronounced as the French do. This is best done in front of the girls. 

As a tradition, the following Monday is declared a holiday, mainly to allow people to clean up the mess left behind. This group of the mess cleaning people consists mainly of the Transport Commitee, of which I am an enlisted member. The holiday apparently has a doom and gloom atmosphere since Spandan will be over and the entire campus will go into a silent study mode.
As far as I am concerned, my doom and gloom has already started.

In yet another tradition, something that Jipmer seems to possess in abundance, all baby juniors have to vacate their rooms for the duration of Spandan. Our rooms will be used to accomodate delegates from elsewhere. Ashley and I stuff what we have lying around inside our respective cupboards, put big locks and hope for the best. Our room locks are changed and for 5 days, we shift next door to Muthu's room. Muthu is 2 years senior and he doesn't have a choice in the matter either.
Spandan is about teamwork, if nothing else.

The First Transport Meeting: 

The meeting takes place in Lister Square. It's 8 AM and it's already hot and sultry but it's a welcome break from ragging and classes.
The Head of the Committee is Naren, a well built, serious looking guy who reminds me of Leander Paes but without his squeaky voice.
And the first sermon goes like this:

"Come on boys! I want all of you to be on time, every time, at whatever place we decide. Being late or not turning up is akin to a full blooded revolt, with dire consequences".

Over the course of a hot 25 minutes of a shouted lecture, I find that the Transport Committee is responsible for the Transport of EVERYTHING used in Spandan. This includes chairs, tables, chillers (the real heavy kind), tents and poles and all and sundry. Anything that needs to move from Place A to Place B is dumped on Transport Committee and then Transport dumps them where needed.

 He continues:
"A bunch of you (All Babies) will gather where I tell you and we will be informed of our next mission. So, if it's chairs for an event, I will get in the front and you will get in the back of the van. We will go where about 200 chairs will be  waiting to be picked up." I note the use of "we" with a sad smirk.

"On arrival, I will arrange the chairs to get and then you guys load it. OK? Any questions"? Naturally, there are none. "Spandan needs us! Come on boys". Naren sounds like a General marshaling his troops into oblivion.
In practice I discover that while loading, the chairs are passed from Baby to Baby and eventually onto the back of the van. The chairs are stacked pretty high and there isn't much space for us to sit on the way back. Back in campus, we unload, arrange them and collapse in a heap. (We collapse, not the chairs.)

Another Transport Meeting: 
The next day, just before Spandan is due to start, we are all summoned by Naren to Lister Square. This is an unscheduled meeting. One of the guys, Sheikh, has apparently not turned up when called or was late and he is singled out and called out.  Sheikh seems to be the only guy in class with more body tissue than me. N is standing on the Lister Square stage and is 2 feet above the ground and therefore 2 feet above Sheikh.  After a short speech on the terrible consequences of messing with him or Transport Committee (which, for Naren, are the same thing), he holds Sheikh's collar with one hand and pulls him up till eye meets eye and then continues to chew him off. This little drama is supposed to scare us shitless and it does.

Life in Transport Commitee:
Sometimes, instead of a big pick-up type of van, we use a "dog van". The name mystifies me. I'm not sure if the dog van is called so because it was/is used  to transport dogs or if we were the dogs doing the transporting. This type of van has grilled sides, presumably to prevent us from escaping. The senior member of the Commitee accompanying us sits in regal splendor next to the driver.
It is also very hot and humid but tradition dictates that we are all taken to the shacks and given drinks and in Spandan, we will be given drinks coupons to use in the stalls.

We put up tents and dig poles, arrange chairs in Lister Square and Banting Hall and develop muscles lifting chillers and coolers.  It is very hard, physical stuff, sometimes depressing and sometimes fun.
It is a "deep end" introduction to Spandan.
Every day of Spandan, with strains of music and laughter carried into the room by a cool breeze, I lie down by 11 PM, too tired to think about what I might be missing. The next day starts at 6 AM and sleep and rest are essential. Everyone else seems to be having a blast but I feel left out. When I am not sleeping, I am usually homesick.

One evening, after a particularly hard day, I give up and call home. I tell my father, probably listening with increasing worry, I want to get back home, quit the course and perhaps do a BA in Chandigarh, maybe get into the Civil Services like him. To me,  I sound very rational and normal but my father knows where this is coming from. He is calm and tells me to hang on for a few days and see if I still feel the same and If I do, he will fly out and get me back.
We never have this conversation again.

29 Aug to 3 Sep-Spandan 1993

Welcome to Spandan '93.
The whole campus has gone crazy. People from everywhere are everywhere. My room has been invaded and is occupied by strange people. I am a zombie on auto-pilot regaining temporary moments of sanity especially at night when I'm alone in a strange room with sounds of the odd gossip session (drunk mostly) and loud music floating in.
The Volleyball court in front of my room is floodlit. Something is happening there but I'm too tired to care. I am told Basketball will be "Awesome man. You must be there for the finals". Not because they think I love basketball but because they need people to make some noise. Ditto for hockey and  football. I can't go see L&D because I might get late walking back for our next Transport Commitee Mission. I can't stay awake long enough to see any of the late evening Cultural events.
At least the food in Spandan is something to look forward to. The mess has been turned into a "Spandan Mess" which is a whole lot better than in non-Spandan times. With thoughts along these lines, my first Spandan progresses.
I get a lot of insight into the various Committees' happenings and shenanigans in mutual crib sessions with my fellow Babies. Some of those, not in particular order, are:

1. Reception-The most sought after. Populated by good looking girls and friends of the Head. Located in the Common room which has been turned into an AirConditioned fancy area with an aquarium, tables for Commitee representatives, carpets, and people not in Reception but looking for ways to beat the heat. 

The heat in Pondicherry can be intense so part of the job is constantly chasing people out of the door of this Sacred Space. Reception is protected jealously. Members of this Committee often think no end of themselves and for good reason. They are the only ones with an Airconditioner.  

Apparently this is also the first year where Reception is Airconditioned-a fact that is proudly mentioned over and over again. Before this, it apparently consisted of just a few tables and chairs. One made sure fans were working and that was that.

I'm quite impressed by the way it looks-Carpets, themed decoration, separate makeshift cubicles for representatives of various Committees, flowers, a PA system. 

An important aspect of Reception is the Announcement system. This is where one goes to announce something over the PA system whose loudspeakers have been hooked onto the roofs of Lister and Osler Houses. Typical announcements include : "Some delegates from St Johns have been found drunk on the beach, please go pick them up IMMEDIATELY or  "If anyone has lost his key, his shoes or his undies, please come to Reception IMMEDIATELY" etc. The PA system is guarded like a State secret. ONLY Reception members can make announcements and although anyone can ask for something to be announced, only they have the power to it. According to the Reception PA announcements, everything has to happen IMMEDIATELY. 

Reception is a Command Centre which I think must be admirably managed by a wandering Commander because all I ever hear is "Calling Shom, please come to Reception Committee IMMEDIATELY". Shom is Head of this prestigious Commitee, but I've never actually seen him inside it. We have progressed. My "Good Morning Sir" is now answered with a short "Hi". "Hi" with a cool accent. 

Reception is manned round the clock. The babies have the most important role of all-they are human alarm clocks entrusted with waking people up at all hours of day and night.
Reception is the nerve centre of Spandan and the first port of call for all delegates.

Once a delegate has registered themselves at Reception, Accomodation takes over.

2. Accomodation Commitee
A LOT of people have turned up for Spandan, lured by the promise of a great festival and cheap booze. Colleges from all over India have been invited and most make or try to make the journey. Motivations vary -some colleges like CMC Vellore have a great BasketBall team, St Johns is famous for hockey. A couple of Delhi Colleges register and immediately go off sightseeing and boozing for the nest 5 days.
Not many people miss them.

All of these guys have to be put up somewhere. Accomodation is our responsibility.

Ashley and I shift to the room next door which belongs to Muthu, 2 years senior.  Muthu has no room mate so for the duration of Spandan, I crash on the bed while Ash sleeps on the floor in the space under the bed.
One day, wearing dirty soled black shoes, both Ashley and I step on an Inland Letter addressed to Muthu that has been pushed through the door and leave shoe marks all over it. Having done that by accident, we like what we see and proceed to put even more shoe marks over it with some vigorous stamping. Our little bit of revenge.
The next day when Muthu discovers that we had stamped all over what turned out to be some sort of Love Letter, Muthu gets his revenge too.

Acco, as it is called, put their own locks to be handed back to us after all is said and done. There is a room in Lister Annexe Ground Floor which is used to store and index all the keys, match names with rooms and keep tabs on occupants. All hostels are used. There is constant confusion because keys are lost, then found, then lost again. A new hostel-Blackwell House, meant for Postgraduate ladies has just been completed and is therefore empty. So as a member of Transport, we carry mattresses and pillows and dump them there. More Acco.

And the festivities drag on.

.....To be continued.................

A Temporary Escape

One Day in August, 1993

Under normal circumstances, juniors heading off to Madras may have resulted in repercussions. Unescorted trips to anywhere, including town, were more than frowned upon but our day trip to Madras is at the request of Devender, the Banner Commitee Head. This makes the trip an "official" one and no noises are made from the suddenly deprived raggers.
The task is to deliver a CD to the WWF office in Madras and catch the evening bus back. We will take the early morning bus from outside the campus. But there is an unsolved problem.
Interns, having truly "been there and done that" have usually left Juniors alone. They are too busy working, partying or doing whatever they do. They live in Aschoff House, a hostel a bit far away from all the action and no one in their right mind will volunteer to land up there on their own.
Pammi is one such Intern. He is a tall strapping Sardar, the only one on campus so far and earlier in the day, he had come across Ashley and me on the Inter-Hostel Road. He was on his Yamaha and had come to drop off some clothes to the IronMan, a tall thin grumpy man who has his Ironing Cart right between Osler and Lister. We talked for a bit, the usual ragging questions about where he was from etc and then he wanted to know who our favourite VJ's (On Channel V) were and we happily invented something.
Ashley likes Nonie and I can't recall anyone else so I say Nonie too. Pammi then tells us to write a one page essay on "Why I Love Nonie".
And this letter has to be delivered to him in person in Aschoff. It's one thing for Interns to leave you alone, but another to walk right into the den. A bit like "Here I am, Take me".
This "Introduction" took place in the afternoon but now it's the middle of the night and we need to get this letter to Pammi, ideally without Pammi and the rest of the Interns) seeing us and eating us for dinner and breakfast. And we need to get on that bus to Madras.
At 2 AM, Ashley and I walk upto Aschoff  unmolested and then very carefully and as silently as possible, walk up the stairs, find his room and slip the letter under his door.
And then we run as silently as we can.

As we wait outside the shacks, buses arrive at intervals and pick up passengers by the roadside. Ashley is from Madras but although he can obviously speak Tamil fluently, he can't read it all, and bus destinations being written sometimes only in Tamil, it takes a bit of time for us to figure out which bus is going where.
But I am still euphoric. I am wearing sneakers and jeans, a reason why we were so keen to get out of Aschoff.  It feels liberating to be out of campus and into the world. Quite literally, it's an escape, if just for that day. As we enter Madras after a 3 hour bumpy journey, I quite literally feel like a village bum entering a big city.

Ashley lives in T Nagar, a place I have heard of because that's where all the "Brilliant Tutorials" study packages used to arrive from. We land up at his empty flat and Ashley goes off to return the CD while I collapse on his sofa. With time to kill, Ashley gets back and decides that watching porn is the next best step. It's a good idea but 1 minute into the "movie", we're both fast asleep again.
In the evening, we get on a bus and find that there is no sitting room at all. The driver gives us 2 options-sit on the gearbox next to the him or sit on the doorsteps of the open bus door for the entirety of the 3 hour journey. We select doorsteps, 2 of us perched precariously holding the iron rails on either side. Predictably, most of the journey is spent discussing ragging and Anatomy test results.

Part of what makes Anatomy tough at first is that it's full of terms one has never heard before and there is very little logic to it, or that's what it feels like in these early days. There are specific terms used to describe the position of structures relative to one another and it all needs to be visualized in 3D. These terms are sometimes combined to give a better description and an even better headache, for which the only cure is reading.
An hour or so into the journey, the bus suddenly takes a Left turn near Chengelpet and goes off onto some small back roads. I have little idea of what route we are taking but Ashley assures me we will get to Pondy eventually. These roads are fairly empty with scattered trees, fields and bushes-a typical countryside scene.
And then I get a glimpse of the genius of Ashley. He devises a game where we start to relate one tree/bush to another in Anatomical terms. A midline reference is chosen and a cow becomes lateral to a tree. Clumps of bushes lie posterolateral to a telephone pole. Telephone lines change course from posterior to anterior to lateral and eventually, things begin to make some sense.
We spend the rest of the journey stuck on the steps discussing trees and bushes in anatomical terms and of course, it all seems a perfectly normal way to pass the time. The bus eventually reaches Pondy 3 hours later.

Back in the campus, it's almost Spandan time and we're also just in time for the "Grand Dinner"-an end of month feast where the meagre rations turn into something resembling a proper meal.
The "Grand Dinner" is this:
Batura (1)
Chole (some)
Salad (a bit)
Raita (some)
1 piece of Tandoori Chicken /Paneer. (The non veges also eat the paneer by cajoling the "Mess Tambis", which leaves the Veges fuming at times).
Lemon Juice.
Ice Cream (Vanilla, small cup).

A 5 star meal. Accompanied by small doses of ragging.

There is also a big crowd outside the Mess. The Committee List for Spandan has been put up. I scan the list and there it is.

Nishikanta Verma (1st MBBS Jr)-Transport Commitee.
Below the list is a notice:
"All members of the Transport Commitee are requested to come for a meeting in Lister Square at 8 AM sharp".
Signed

Narendran (Head of Transport).

And my first Spandan begins.