Chapter 47-Of Grand Vivas and Close Shaves

November 1996

Forensic Medicine is a peculiar subject. Well, atleast it's method of evaluation is. Over the past 10 months or so, we have had 3 Class Tests in this subject and apparently, none of these have counted towards Internal Assessment. These tests were held in the Lecture Theatres as usual, but we had been told by well-informed seniors that they would be "open book tests", with the invigilators choosing to turn a blind eye to all the shenanigans being employed during the test. These ranged from frankly open books and frantic index searching for the answers to blatant copying and direct questions..
The one purpose this farce served is to get us to open the books, if only to look at the index for a possible answer.
I now know why we were allowed this unprecedented liberty. They don't count at all.

What really counts is the Grand Viva. Over the past month or so, some of my classmates have already been subjected to this and soon it will be my turn. The Viva happens in groups of 3 or 4 students, all seated in a semi-circle in Prof Sharif's (the Head) room. A few pleasantries, like reasons for attendance shortage, are exchanged and the Viva starts. It's quite systematic and covers the entire book, questions moving from one student to the other, like a quiz show with pass/fail in exams on the line. One has to be alert all the time as an unanswered question is "passed" to the next student, which might be you. This goes on for about a hour.
From all the feedback that I've got so far, it's intense, extensive and needs a lot of focus.
The book is not thin, but the subject is fun to read. It has a number of definitions that must be known word for word since they are laws and a lot of stuff related to courts, injuries, bloodstains, post mortems and various other exciting things. This is a make or break Viva for me because, as usual, my attendance is on thin ice.

Studying for this Viva takes up most of my time. The rest is taken up for PSM, which I'm starting to like. I can't get a handle on statistics, a series of classes I went to sleep in anyway, but it's a once in a lifetime experience learning about the various types of toilets that can be used in various circumstances. From shallow pits to deep trenches to types of flushes and water tanks. And we need to learn their dimensions also.
Then there are the National Programmes. There is a whole long chapter on these. Programmes for TB, Malaria, Blindness...about 10 of them. When I started reading these, it seemed impressive that there is a proper system in place but now I have my doubts on how effective they really are. They just seem tailor made for bureaucratic paperwork now. Or maybe I'm frustrated and sick of studying and have turned into a cynic. That can happen at 3 in the morning.

A few days later: 

The Viva is today and I'm feeling quietly confident. 4 of us wait outside Prof's room and soon enough, are called in and sit facing him. Prof has an attendance register open to where our theory attendances are marked.
He starts with me.
He: "Why is your attendance so low".?
Me: "It is"?
He: "It's borderline."
Me: " Sir, I had Hepatitis".

By this time, the Viva has not even started and I am in trouble already. I'm sweating and cursing my attendance issues, especially with last year's debacle and "Hepatitis" was the best I could come up with. The problem is that with Hepatitis, one is laid up for a fair stretch at a time, unable to attend class. That could have been a legitimate reason, if true.
But,
He: "I see you were Absent for 2 classes, then Present for 3, then absent for the next 3...and so on"....
"Like", and here, with a serious face, says, "APPAPPPAAAPPPAAA".....
If the situation wasn't this serious, it would have been hilarious. I notice suppressed smiles among my fellow examinees, none of whom have attendance issues.
I manage to mutter something along the lines of how I really wanted to attend class and inspite of being laid up, managed to come for a few of them. All bull of course, and he knows it.
So he says, " OK, let's see how you do here".
So this will be it. My fate will decided in the next one hour.
Nothing like a little adversity to focus one's mind.

The Viva starts with 3 questions I can't answer and then, it's like a dream. It's my best viva ever. About 30 straight questions, answered pat, and at the end, I know I might have done enough to escape from my attendance issues. A narrow escape.
Vinay also has a similar problem. But his reasons, which I shall refrain from elaborating on too much, were spectacular and managed to move Prof enough so that at the end he was offering Vinay counselling and help and sympathy.

With the tension and drama of Forensic over, I turn my attention to the 3 week holiday we have between Send-Ups and Univs. With ENT and Ophthal considered "1 day subjects" and Forensic pretty much over, I only have PSM left to read and 3 weeks is an awfully long time for this. So, all of us, except Vinay, whose parents live in Bulgaria, decide to head home.
I drive over to the travel agent's one evening, braving the usual Pondy traffic and the road hogging pedestrians and book a flight home. It's a paper ticket and I am told to come back later and collect it. That done, I head off and spend the day in town doing what one does in a Duty Free town.

Send-Ups: 
The Send-Ups arrive. These are full scale rehearsals for the Univs and the ENT and Ophthal clinics are held in the Wards. Real patients, real diseases and real Tamil. I manage, since this does not involve very elaborate history taking and manage to do OK. There are cases and Vivas on Instruments, X-Rays, Audiogram charts etc and in Ophthal, more of the same. Cataracts, immature and mature (and hypermature), corneal ulcers, ptyregiums (something I also have apparently) and such sundry stuff. The challenge in Ophthal is to mug up the book verbatim, point by point and practically vomit it out in the same order in the Viva.
This is what makes the subject so utterly drab, boring and painful.

PSM is a little different. First, there is the standard theory paper, which is OK. Then, there is a "Clinico-Social Case" which can be a patient with either TB or Leprosy or it might be a normal pregnancy or a malnourished child. Our task is to take a detailed history from a social and community point of view and counsel them and so on. Not really from a treatment point of view. It goes off well and then there are vivas on various types of mosquitoes, statistics and some related stuff. A general Viva follows, lasting for about 20 minutes and it ranges from what we saw and did in our various postings in the previous 2 years to core textbook knowledge.

To cut a long story short, I pass.

I am going home the next day and so I'm just lazing around in the evening. Around 4 I head over to the Bus Stand to buy my bus ticket to the airport for my 6 AM flight to Delhi the next day. The Bus Stand is next to Mass Hotel and that done, I roam around for a short while and come back to the room and just chill out. I'm in the middle of some serious chilling when Anup walks in, sees the suitcase that I've nearly already packed and asks
"Oye, Got your tickets"?
"Yeah man. All done".
"Bus and Flight both?"
....
Shit. I'd forgotten to collect the flight ticket. It's now 720 PM. The travel agent closes at 730. That means, shutters shut and no way to get my ticket in time. It means a missed flight.
I'm up in a flash, flinging the door wide open and run down, insert my half key in the handle, and I'm off. I've never driven like this before, not even in a race. This is a full throttle race through rush hour traffic, full focus on the road, engine gunned like never before, weaving in and out, first out of the lights. The shop is in a narrow lane near the Beach and I reach at 729. The tires are burning rubber. My bike must have aged a few months in those 9 minutes. I know I have.
The shutters are half down.
But not full. I make it, get my precious ticket. My heart takes a while to slow down.

This is not the first time I have had a close encounter with a plane ticket. Last year, I had also decided to go home for a week, probably for Diwali. Shom and I went to town to get my ticket with me riding pillion and we got the ticket, complete with the Flight Concession form (50%), and then we went over to a dentist (Mr Baker Fenn on Mission Street) for some scaling, rounding off our trip with a cup of coffee sitting on the parapet next to the sea. It was a lovely, windy day and as it got dark, we went back to the Hostel.
Soon after, I realized that I don't have the ticket on me. I had no idea where it was. Now in panic, I took Shom back to town and retraced our steps from the travel agent's to the dentist, to the place we had coffee on the beach and there was nothing. I thought for a while and concluded that the ticket, just a piece of paper, must have been left on the cement parapet next to the sea where we sat and drank our paper cup Nescafes. That being the case, the ticket could have been half way to the Andamans by now.
I was devastated. No ticket, no home trip. Flight the next day, so no hope for a replacement. I had to call up home and tell them. So I went to Snappy to delay the inevitable.
 I really didn't want to go over to the phone booth and get an earful from the other end. But I had to, so I went acoss to the the Raj and Grace STD Booths where, while I was waiting for my turn, Bong came over and said,
"Come on yaar, let's have a tea first. Call up later".
Looking for any excuse not to call up, I went back to Snappy.
And found Rahul standing there with my ticket.

It's a miracle. Someone, a random stranger, had found my ticket on the beach, saw the address on the Flight Concession Form and drove the 6 km (and 20 minutes of mad traffic) to come over, find out who it belonged to, and hand it over. He gave it to Phani, my classmate, who gave it to Rahul, who was now standing there with a mix of gloating, amusement and resigned understanding of my tendency to keep goofing up.
I never knew who that person was and Phani never took a name. (There were no cell numbers then).

My parents never found out how I almost never went home.