Infants Become Toddlers

The Rest of August

I finally meet Ashley, my roomate from Chennai. Ashley is having a ball which infuriates me no end. He has managed to be nicknamed "Sex Baby" in the same breath as I am now called "Amul Baby", though Amul Butter has not been a major contributor to my 88 kg of fat. These names have been given by Basil, a fairly senior senior. Ashley is always giggling and I am always petrified of what (or who) lies around every corner.

The daily schedule for the day and of course, the night remains the same for the next few days. The schedule consists of a couple of one hour lectures in the morning followed by dissection and when we've had our fill of bodies and formalin, we break for lunch followed by more classes. Lunch is not really a welcome break and I dread every second I have to spend in the mess. Walking in a slow shuffle, head bowed, wishing "Good Afternoon Sir" to everyone, even empty space in case that space is suddenly occupied by a Senior, eating barely edible "grub" and getting screwed for 45 minutes is no reward for the drudgery of the morning classes.
Anatomy continues at full speed and in the few minutes Ashley, who has now made an appearance, and I get together, we agree that both of us have no idea of what is happening. We haven't opened any books and assume that we are pretty far behind to do any meaningful catch up any time soon. Terms like "Anterior, Posterolateral, Saggital" etc are bandied about as frequently as words like bast*** in the hostels. The lectures would have been useful if we had managed to stay awake in the dark, A/C theatres. Dissection is fine upto a point but is mainly about sharing ragging stories while pretending to be immersed in bodies soaked in formalin. I soon learn that Anatomy is just an umbrella term and incorporates things like Histology (or MicroAnatomy as the Lab entrance says), Osteology, Embryology, Surface Anatomy etc and all of these have their own books. Ashley and I make a silent pact to not even try to study. For one, there is no time. Second, there is no hope. And though a test is announced, I am assured by all my raggers that "everyone fails bugger, no need to study".

Physiology is better. Taught in Bernard Theatre which is right above Hunter, it is seeing the current Head, Dr Thombre retire who will be replaced by someone known affectionately as "Bouncy". I find Physio a bit easier to grasp but soon enough, in the practical Lab, we are asked to take a blood sample of ourselves using a sterile lancet and then see the cells under a microscope. It's a just a little pin-prick but while some are comfortably numb about it, I manage a small "Aaah" but thankfully don't get a little sick. For the first few days, we talk about blood and blood cells and Vikrant tells me to read a book called "Samson Wright" which apparently explains it well. I promise to do so in due course.

It also turns out that we have an Optional French Class at 8 AM thrice a week, so classes start at 9. Naturally, French class remains a mystery. Every minute of sleep is precious.

While this looming academic nightmare occupies me till 5 PM, the time after that is spent in an orgy of "introductions", running around various hostel rooms. There is always a room where I'm supposed to be next with dire consequences threatened if I'm late or don't turn up at all, usually because I've been caught by someone else.

Jipmer takes 75 people per batch. About 20-30 guys from any one batch live in the hostels, the rest being girls and the Day Scholar Bastards, a term Ashley has concocted in anticipation of what he will say when they get all the marks in our upcoming Anatomy Test. 5 batches in total makes for about 150 guys and I think I've met pretty much all of them by now, courtesy of "Introductions".

The social milieu of hostel life also tends to group people into "gangs" or "groups" and because I spend some time in Vikrant's room, I get to know some of the guys in his circle of friends. Shom is one, but he is usually driving away somewhere on his Hero Puch on which he looks rather funny. Shom always seems to be in a rush, skipping or fast shuffling in shoes or sandals but not appearing to actually be going anywhere specific. He speaks with a bit of an accent I can't quite place and when I go over and remind him of our little plane meeting, he stares at me blankly and my heart sinks a bit. Vikrant tells me that his batch is organizing Spandan this year and Shom is part of the Committee, so I put his amnesia down to this preoccupation.
I also see Bong, who lives a few doors down and Rahul, in the gang because he has such a talent for dry wit and Hindi swear words. Another is Mishra, a tall, lanky Bihari who opens every sentence with a "Bete" (बेटे) and can't get past a Curie House obsession. This Mishra is not to be confused with the Misra (without the H) who is widely considered to be the best Jipmer student in the last 5 years. He has his own gang with similar attributes and apart from a brief period of intellectual, verbal ragging, he has left me alone. I am too young to be in any group per se, but our very brief history and a common city of origin bring me close to Vikrant and the people he associates with. His gang largely leaves me alone, save for mild post dinner, pre study entertainment. Most of the conversations Vikrant and I have centre around Chandigarh and studies. Despite all the ragging and Spandan excitement happening around him, Vikrant manages to stay focussed and his evening regular reading of Harrison's Principles of Internal Medicine is a source of ribbing among his own gang.
He's a great friend to have and I feel very fortunate.

Some more classmates join in the next few days. Next door is Phani from Andhra who seems to be obsessed with his hairstyle and spends at least 15 minutes in front of the bathroom mirror with a peculiar round comb, finishing off  the ritual with a bad imitation of some famous Andhra Actor. His roomate is Chandan. He is from Bihar but at critical times when Bihar is the flavour of the month for raggers, he turns out to be from Bengal, which does not amuse Bong, who is actually from Bengal. The 4 of us get a bit closer due to simple geography. The class is not entirely full however and I eagerly await some more people coming soon who will hopefully divert the ragging spotlight from me.

I slowly discover the other side of ragging. Over the next few days, while the duration of ragging remains the same, it changes in intensity and nature. I have been asked to drop the "Sir" by some people, an important sign that I am slowly blending in, even at this infantile stage in Jipmer. There is more talk than action, the teas and buns are more frequent but there is still no room for familiarity. Any attempt at making small talk, like asking a Senior where they are from is met by a sharp and immediate rebuke.
I notice a pattern and order to the chaos that Jipmer ragging is and from what I have seen so far, the rules appear to be thus:

1) No physical contact. Light pushes and shoves are fine. Tight slaps and Kung Fu kicks are not.
2) Unlimited mental and psychological torture is encouraged.
3) Conversion of an "attitude laden" stuck up fresher to a saner more down-to -earth Jipmerite is the whole point.
4) Every senior MUST be greeted. At whatever point of time, in any state of undress and anywhere on the planet till instructed otherwise.
5) Innovation and improvisation is encouraged. The previous year's ragging fiascos serve as the lessons.
6) Any complaint by a Junior to any Authority will guarantee the "Isolation treatment " till Kingdom comes. Or much worse.
7) HSA (Himachal Students Association) students can only be ragged by other HSA students. If during a session, someone is found to be an HSA member, they are sent off.
8) Foreign students are not ragged. Ragging BY them is also frowned upon. (No give, no take).
9) After a ragging session, the juniors are taken to shacks and fed. The ragging continues.
10) Jeans and sneakers cannot be worn by Baby Juniors.
11) Moustaches are referred to as "fungus" and must be removed. Ditto with beards.
12) It gets much better very quickly.

Roaming all over the hostels familiarizes me the Hostel layout, some faces become familiar to me and I to them. Vikrant takes me for tea on his red Yamaha where we manage to have a few undisturbed conversations and he keeps my spirit up in his typical no-nonsense encouraging way. Vikrant is full of energy and walks briskly, with purpose, studies a lot of the time and plays the guitar. Rahul, next door, has a nice, easy, lazy walk that goes well with his huge frame, studies just enough and has a fantastic Hindi swear word vocabulary

Over the course of overheard ragging conversations, I learn that July and August are the most active Extra-curricular months in Jipmer. The 2 hostels-Lister and Osler are under a student led committee called LOHA (Lister Osler House Association and NOT Lister Osler Harvey Aschoff as I had thought thus far) and the LOHA Day, an annual gala affair, has just finished a few days before I joined. Curie Day-the girl version of LOHA Day happens on a Saturday and I spend the evening getting questioned by a bunch of irritating, giggling girls, squealing with joy at having a Baby Junior in their backyard.
The biggest event however is the College Festival-Spandan, and a lot of the conversation centers around it. An obvious ragging question is what "Spandan" means. Spandan will take place in the 1st week of September and many a senior has taken one look at me and has assured me I will be in "Transport Committee". This announcement has usually been accompanied by evil laughs and much sympathetic clicking of tongues, but I have many other things to worry about.

The next Saturday, while Ashley and I sit in rare peace in the room, another tall senior walks in. Mom had packed a lot of stuff in a box for me to eat and that box was in the cupboard, still untouched. Even at 11 AM, I can smell alcohol on his breath and he is in shorts (only).  He then proceeds to munch his way through half my stock as a matter of right. And for some odd reason, it breaks my heart.

I get my first phone call from home the day after I join. This is a complicated process and times have to be pre-arranged. The phone lies next to the barber shop, run by Guna, and occupies the first room to the right of the stairs on the ground floor as one descends. A security guard runs from somewhere when the phone rings and then there is much shouting of the room number of the intended recipient. Otherwise silent evenings and nights are broken by shouts of "Saar, 230" or whatever room it is. And then the occupant comes running down.
My call time is arranged for about 730 so I stand waiting. The raggers leave us alone and my first phone conversation goes off normally enough.

In the few moments I get to myself, usually in the shower or in the loo, I think of how a place like this is such a great leveller. Everyone here has come through a gruelling admission process and everyone was a star student in their respective schools. Here, of course, everyone is in the same boat. I'm struggling just to keep awake in class, and thoughts of tests and books could not be further from my mind. I'm excited about Spandan but dreading the looming tests.

But I've survived the first week. And that's what counts.

I slowly discover the other side of ragging. Over the next few days, while the duration of ragging remains the same, it changes in intensity and nature. I have been asked to drop the "Sir" by some people, an important sign that I am slowly blending in, even at this infantile stage in Jipmer. There is more talk than action, the teas and buns are more frequent but there is still no room for spontaneous familiarity. Any attempt at making small talk is met by a sharp and immediate rebuke.
 I do notice that I can go to sleep a little earlier (still way past midnight though) and the shouting and cursing, although still omnipresent, are more separated in space and time. I am let off on occasion because I am deemed "too boring", which is perfectly fine by me. Some of the others who have been discovered to have singing or dancing talents continue to sing and dance at the snap of a senior's finger. Some ragging sessions turn into sessions of sage advice on "How to study" and we all pretend to pay attention. I still cower at the thought of entering the Mess and the forced greetings in the Mess continue though I am told that this communal ragging feast will not continue beyond Spandan, now just a few days away.
Sex Baby is still having a ball, though in the darkness of the room when the lights are off and the day's torment has ended, with a slight cool breeze coming in through the double windows, we often exchange ragging stories and consequently, arrive at similar conclusions about the degree of an asshole a particular senior is. These nightly exchanges bring us closer together as roomates and friends. By a curious coincidence, his birthday is 7 June 1976 and his All India Rank is also 76. In one word, Ashley is wacky, a happy contrast from the staid scared bore I am labelled to be.

There is increasing talk of Spandan which starts on the 30th, being the Monday of the 1st week of September. The entire student body, except the Final Year and Interns, will be in Organizing Committees and the whole festival will be an entirely student managed affair.I am assured I will be in Transport Comittee but Ashley's position is less clear. Although I am excited at finally being entertained myself, I have been reassured that being in Transport will leave me no time or energy to enjoy anything. Which is worrying. I am also told that I am part of the "Banner Committee" that will start work any day now, but my role there is unclear and I don't volunteer to ask.
Jipmer, I had been told before joining and now having experienced a bit myself, does not stop Academics for things like Hostel Days and InterClass activities. Spandan is the only time in the calendar when classes are suspended for it's 5 day duration but that is a few days away. Anatomy, Physiology and Biochemistry-all 3 announce tests in the next week. So, just as things were getting better, they quickly get worse.
The Physio and Biochem tests go off well. I pass, that is to say. No one cares about "marks".

The first Anatomy test is a rite of passage for every Jipmer student. I have been assured multiple times I will fail, to the extent that passing, even accidentally, feels like a betrayal and a breach of some unwritten pact. There is no danger of Ashley and me passing, however. The topic is "Upper Limb" and the Lecture on our first day had been on the Brachial Plexus, a topic that we now know was one of the first to be taken. But, a mixture of lack of time and deliberate ignorance of academics now means that although the test is the next morning, I don't have any idea at all what to do.
I take my Chaurasia, the Anatomy book read probably by all Indian medical students, and Vikrant and Bong mark off some pages to read.
Bong: "Bugger, from here only the questions will come"
Vikrant: "If you don't know the answer, just write SOMETHING."
Sane, unproductive advice.
5 topics have been marked. They have to mugged up verbatim because all the terms-the arteries, nerves, bones, relations-everything is brand new information for me. I don't even know what "The radial nerve arises from the posterior cord of the brachial plexus and courses posterior/anterior/lateral/medial/posteromedial to about 20 muscles" means. And reassuringly,neither does Ashley.

The first Test is supposed to be hell but it isn't. Hell is when one expects something which goes badly. Ashley and I just could not care less. The Test itself starts with a theory paper conducted in the Formalin and Cadaver infested Dissection Hall. One of the questions is:
Describe how blood reaches the hand when the arteries at the level of the elbow are blocked.

By a minor miracle, a variation of this had been marked by Vikrant and read by us, but we had read the part where the arteries at the Shoulder are screwed. There was no time to read anything else. So while I write what I know (which is irrelevant and wrong), Ashley simply copies the question on the answer sheet. This is repeated for 3 of the 5 questions.
The second part of the Test is a Viva. I sit opposite Prof RR and an upper limb, now separated from it's dead owner lies on the table between us. Somehow, I manage to squeak a few words in but not before Prof RR is pumping my own upper limb in encouragement, his hands soaked in formalin.
When the results are declared, I score 39. Ashley gets 30. The pass mark is 50 and I am overjoyed. I have failed, as expected and failed better than Ashley.

The Anatomy test is when boys take the first step to becoming men.

But the horrors of the tests have passed and Spandan fever is on in full swing. The Banner Committe, as promised, is the first to start work, 15 days before the start of Spandan and I, like many of my classmates are in it, regardless of whatever Commitee we will be in once Spandan starts.

Banner Committee Evenings. August 1993. 

Around 8 PM, we all gather on the ground floor of Lister House, where the Co-operative Store is (COOPS). Coops is a shop housed in the last Ground Floor room in Lister which sells general stuff like soap and academic stuff like Reading Boards and Lab Records. Long banners on white cloth are being hand-painted by groups of Curie House Girls, all supervised by Devender, the Head of the Commitee. It's meticulous work. Lines are drawn, letters are formed and they are filled in with blue or red paint. There are all kinds of banners which will soon go up everywhere on campus. Banners can be upto 20 feet long and all of the banners I will see displayed all over the campus are being created, here and now.
The role of the baby juniors is limited to providing Entertainment to the hard working Rest Of Jipmer. And it is an important role, for the work is tedious and stretches long into the night. A tape player is brought. "Chikbuk Chikbuk Raile" is the Tamil song looping endlessly and in a few sessions, it becomes the anthem of the Banner Committee. There is much merriment, ragging and light hearted fun. On occasion, someone steps on a banner or spills the paint at which point the fun ends.
It is obvious from all the bonding and the team spirit I see that the true spirit of Spandan is first seen here-in the Banner Committee and even though not of all it is fun, I am glad to share in the Jipmer spirit and the traditional start of Spandan work.

Mom has given me a flask to store coffee etc during my late night studying attempts. The flask has not been used and late night, or anytime, study attempts have not yet happened. One evening, Devender, a senior in charge of the Banner Committee gives me some money and asks me to get coffee from the shacks. I happily oblige. When I get back, the flask somehow drops and breaks.
These small incidents, such as the food eating incident,and this one, trivial and inconsequential though they are, brings out the homesickess again. It is like a piece of the cord that kept me connected back to Chandigarh slowly being broken.

One Evening at Banner Commitee:
Devender tells Ashley he has a CD he has borrowed from the WWF (World Wildlife Fund)) and he would like Ashley, being from Chennai, to travel and return it. I am also granted permission to give him company.
This is a big moment. Travelling to Chennai is a dream. I haven't travelled anywhere more than the shacks outside and that too, with raggers as escorts.
And for the first time since joining Jipmer, I'll wear jeans and sneakers. 

Ah! The small joys of being a Baby Junior.