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.

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.

The First Day

11th-12th August 1993

I enter Jipmer, straight into a crowd of people rushing in different directions. I know my class is supposed to be at the end of a long corridor towards the left where all the Lecture Theatres are located. The academic section of the College is all along this corridor to the left and the Wards lie straight ahead, also on 4 floors, the "L" thus formed enclosing empty space and some trees and shrubs.
In a College that has 70-75 people per batch, it is obvious that I am new to anyone watching, but although I am very self-conscious, the walk is mercifully short and uninterrupted. I arrive in front of a set of wooden doors, with an old wooden sign confirming that I have arrived at "Hunter Theatre", the Lecture Theatre on this floor. The other floors are similar in layout but Sonu and Vikrant, in their brief briefing, have told me the first 2 years will be largely confined to the first two floors.

I enter Hunter. I am already a late joiner-all the All India candidates are. Classes started on the 26th of July and I feel even more lonely now. It's 755 AM, 5 minutes to go before the first class-Anatomy. I am greeted by 60 unfamilar faces, all eyes on me. The theatre slopes up and there are long wooden benches divided by 2 aisles. A brief moment of terror arrives when a tall, bespectaled person leaps up from his seat and with an expression of complete seriousness, says
"Bastard, who the fu** are you"? followed quickly by "What the fu** are you doing here"?
And at this point, I'm ready to cry.
Deepak, however, is my classmate and I am in the right class. He has been here since the start and by now, has been ragged enough to be a senior among the juniors. He does this to everyone new who joins.

A fair, shortish man arrives. Someone whispers he is an "EP" though I have no idea what an EP is. Attendance is taken and everyone finds out who I am. "Brachial Plexus" is scrawled on the blackboard and I spend the next 45 minutes in a daze. Nothing makes sense. Every word is new. And everyone else seems to know what he's talking about. If this is trial by fire, the fire is pretty hot.
The heat gets a bit better in the next class, one floor up in Bernard Theatre. Physiology makes a little more sense because it atleast has terms I've heard before but I can't control a sudden apprehension that's come over me now. A feeling that I don't belong here, that I'm completely out of my depth and perhaps this wasn't the reward for the last 2 years I had been looking for.
Biochemistry, the third subject this semester is next and just serves to compound my growing anxiety.

At 11, the class breaks. Some come up to me and we introduce ourselves. Deepak apologizes with a grin and we shake hands. No harm done. Ashley has also joined today and he is as clueless as me.
This is now the moment made famous in all the Doctor based novels I've read so far. The rite of passage for greenhorns-Dissection Hall. The Hall is just down the corridor, where a small opening leads into a pretty looking grassy area and I am told that is called "Vesalius Square". The Histology Lab is on one side and above it lie the other Labs. A statue of someone I presume is Vesalius watches us from one side.

This is is the first time I have smelt formalin this close and this strongly. The smell is overpowering. The Hall has some steel tables on which lie 8 pristine, naked, shrivelled corpses. We have been divided into groups and I find my table on which lies my "body". There is no vomiting or retching or fainting. Maybe we're all just putting up a brave face.
Cunningham's-the manual for dissection is opened. Disscetion kits-scalpels, forceps, scissors-appear. Some demonstrators walk about, explaining what is to be done. I try not to imagine a real person lying down on a steel table.
I soon discover that Dissection Hall is part dissection and part deception. Not everyone is gung-ho about cutting and reading Cunningham's but when a demonstrator walks by, everyone huddles around, more to find out what's happening from the 2 people actually doing the dissection. The rest of the time is spent fruitfully discussing ragging-the only topic that is of any interest to me.

Lunch: 
I walk into Lister Mess. This is the first time anyone apart from class has seen me and as I walk in, the initial curious silence erupts into pandemonium within seconds.

"Bas****" , "Hey Fu****", "Who the fu** are you man"?, and variations on the theme. Long tables are arranged along the walls of the Mess and the shouts come from both directions. I walk, head low, feet shuffling, knowing that this is my first moment of terror. At the end of the Mess, someone is loading plates with rice and a meagre ration of some unknown vege.

"Get your plate and come here bast***", a voice behind me, with some stress on the last word. I turn and find the only vacant space, a space that has no doubt been created for me-the lunch time entertainment. The shouts continue, questions about me surface and although it is a done-to-death cliche, I do feel like a lamb in the lion's den, with many lions all competing for the grand prize. The food is just about edible but my hunger has vanished. In between the interrogation, I am continually told to keep eating and everyone watches while I force some food down my throat.
My room is a 30 second walk away but I have no time. I have hardly eaten and it's already 2 PM-time to get back to College.

The afternoon session is a blur of some Lab work and lectures. I sit, numbed and homesick, dreading the time the day will be over and I will get back to the room. Lunch was one thing-now I will be faced with 2 entire hostels filled with people just waiting to get their hands on me.
I get back to the room I had last seen the day before when it was still being set up and Dad was still in Pondy. I see the books arranged, still untouched-everything as we had left it. I know that at this very moment, Dad is on a plane back to Delhi and suddenly it's all too much.
A traumatic day, a sense of utter loneliness, an academic mountain in the distance, seniors baying at the door, my family 2000 km away.
I've never thought of myself as a sissy but I sit down, lock the door and cry.

And then the shouting begins. And there is still no sign of Ashley. Its 5 PM.

The banging is incessant and accompanied by wild, excited shouts.
"Open the fuc**** door, bas****", ben**** open up" and similar threats in a mix of Hindi and English. Rahul has shifted in next door, in 230 and a few doors down, past the staircase and the dingy bathrooms is 225, Vikrant's room. I haven't seen them today and any fleeting thoughts of a rescue attempt have long since vanished. Rahul, a newcomer to the hostel but now in the 2nd year, is probably deeply busy in his own ragging agenda. Of course. 

There is no time for a change of clothes, a change of shoes or a quick dash to the balcony behind. I have to go or else the door will be broken down. 

I open the door.
There are atleast 15 people waiting outside. 

Aug 12 1993

5 AM 

I stagger into the room. It is pristine and undisturbed, exactly as it had been when I had finished unpacking just the day before. The same cannot be said about me. I am wearing the same clothes and shoes I had worn to my first day to College. My bones are aching, I am sleep depived and I am too tired to be homesick. I am also very relieved. I am also officially a "Baby Junior". I am not, however, hungry.
The trauma of the last few hours has been punctuated by trips to the "shacks" outside. And, in between squats on the roadside while being interrogated at leisure, my tormentors have managed to make sure I have been well fed. This, I will discover repeatedly over the next few nights, is a Jipmer ragging tradition.
In Jipmer the seniors screw you over, over and over. Then they feed you. 

Between 5 PM and 5 AM

The cardinal rule of ragging is silence. I stand mute, head down, while abuses are hurled from all directions. In a few minutes, the crowd scatters as some of my classmates are elsewhere in the hostel and are equally sought after prey. What follows then is a complete blur. 

I am "escorted" from one room to the other, with each senior wanting a piece of me in their own fiefdoms. Each room has about 4-5 seniors and often, a fellow raggee. The whole atmosphere is that of a national security risk caught by an angry mob. Everyone is a stranger. To make matters worse, some of the raggees are my classmates who had joined a few days back, like Deepak, and they are now on less violent terms with everyone. This leaves me as the juniormost in the room by far and when the "fun" starts, I am the only victim, people like Deepak just being a Supporting act.

Over the course of this night, a number of lessons are learnt. Inspite of being mortally scared shitless, I realize that there is little or no physical ragging here. An unwritten code for ragging exists and is self administered. When it is deemed to get excessive, someone intervenes. Silence is also golden here, under almost any circumstances. Taking names of seniors one might know, like Vikrant or Rahul can be interpreted as arrogance and will not meet with pleasant consequences. I found that out the hard way.

The pre-dinner session lasts till 730 when the Mess opens for dinner and we troop down. The dinner is much like lunch-plenty of shouting and excitement, some squats on a bench, some barely edible food. Random people walk by, shout an abuse or two and walk away with a contented smile. I look up from my plate and I am told "Eat up , bugger", a word that I will hear many, many times and will become a standard part of my vocabulary.
As I finish and walk to the rows of washbasins, Vikrant appears. He asks if I am alright and then tells me he won't stop what is happening but if things get out of hand, I should tell him. I am grateful for that.

I run into another senior who is being addressed as "Bong", from which I presume he is from Bengal. Bong takes me to his room, a few doors down from Vikrant's and as we pass Vikrant's room, he looks up from his studying and says "Bong, zyaada mat karna".(Bong, don't do too much). While this is reassuring, I don't know who Bong is or what he normally does.
Bong and I get to the room. I sit on a bed facing him while he takes out a novel and starts reading. Nothing else happens for the next few minutes and then Bong looks up and says " Zyaada kya mat karna"? (What should I not do too much of). My first reaction is to say "ragging" but survival instincts take over and I stay silent. To say the R word would have invited immediate repercussions, because ragging, after all, does not happen here. Bong is not satisfied and the question is repeated many times and I give in. And then Bong goes out, gets a few more people and proceeds to shout in my face "Bas****, am I ragging you"? And this time, I am silent throughout, staring at my shoes. A new set of fun and games begin. I am asked:
"Where am I from"?. "Give me 5 reasons". Silence is not an option here and I mutter some random guesses. Hair colour, skin colour, oil on hair, anything I can think of is a "reason" and obviously, the guesses are all wrong and the reasons are all offensive. Bong, despite being Bong, refuses to acknowledge he is from Bengal and this goes on for an hour. When we finish, I have heard more abuses than I have in my entire life thus far.
Eventually, Bong and the gang give up-he has to study for a test. I am called a disgusting bas**** and I exit the room and re-enter the arena.

Opposite Lister House, across the road naturally labelled as the Inter-Hostel Road, lies it's counterpart-Osler House. That is my next destination.
There is no refuge here. Osler is the real deal. Each of the staircase landings on the 4 floors of Osler House is occupied by a gang of seniors with a few juniors hidden somewhere in the crowd. One of the guys escorting me wants to take me to his room on the top floor. I never end up getting there, getting caught at each landing for so long that he just gave up and went to catch fresh fish.
One guy stares at my eyeballs and tells me to call someone else a "mot****fuc***" or equivalent. 3 guys join him in support. 4 other guys dare to me to "just say it as*****",  "and you'll get killed." I'll also get killed if I don't say it and so I continue to just look completely witless, my head turning in whatever direction the next set of instructions are coming from. This, I soon realize is a game played by virtually everyone but played with a lot of seriousness. Eventually, someone whom I assume is senior to this bunch comes along and we are made to stand in a line.
The Jipmer Anthem and Song are introduced, which have a few normal words but mostly more abuses. Someone wants to know how "exactly" I know Vikrant and I just tell the bare truth-I barely do and he is not a protector, which satisfies them. The parade around Osler continues till well into the night. No one is very interested in sleeping or studying when Baby Juniors roll around.

At the core of all this ragging lies all the "wishing". Every senior is a "Sir" and everyone must be wished, with head bowed. The safe thing is to simply wish everyone I see and I have ended up wishing the Mess Boys, a Safaiwala and a random stranger, much to everyone's amusement.
I almost lick a shoe (before I am stopped), almost start undressing (again, I am stopped) but I do end up partly cleaning a cement corridor with a toothbrush. The idea of ragging, I gather, is to check arrogance and hesitation. The actual execution of the ordered task is besides the point. By this point, the ugly, irregular moustache that had refused to grow properly has also been taken care of. In Jipmer terms, the "fungus" has been gotten rid of.

Intermittent trips to the shacks happen because everyone wants tea and I have to as well. The main shack is called "Casino" and is run by a portly man everyone calls "Johny".  I am fed some buns, biscuits, an omlette (or mutta parota) and a cold, much needed drink. Some people drop by in white coats and stethoscopes and express a mild, passing interest in me. They seem quite senior and perhaps have other things on their minds. 

Still in a gang, but not hungry anymore, we troop back. Some scatter to study, some to catch fresh meat. New roving gangs turn up. 

I relearn the "Jipmer anthem" and the "Song". Heads tucked into our asses, a bunch of us sing till the pitch is perfect. It takes a long time. It's now 4 AM.

4 AM Aug 12 1993
A tall, fair, muscular man turns up. He takes one look at me, all in formals and black shoes. 

First question: "What are you doing with black shoes at 4 in the morning"?

My stupid, reflex answer?  "I'm wearing them".

The reaction is swift and no fun. I attribute this lapse to profound fatigue.

I am released from the mobile labour camp. I stumble back to my room where I find my roomate, Ashley, fast asleep. I wonder how his day went.

It's been less than 24 hours since I joined. It sure doesn't feel that way. I stagger into my bed and collapse. 

The Beginning

Early June, 1993

It's 6 AM, the Sun is already up and so am I. I have been waiting for this day for the last 2 months, which have passed by in a blur of furious studying punctuated by multiple, irregularly spaced out Medical Entrance Exams. I have spent the last 2 years studying for these exams, success in which will grant me entrance to the Medical Colleges these exams represent. My life has come to a virtual standstill. My brain is full of irrelevant facts from Physics, Chemistry and Biology-subjects with little or no relevance in a Medical course should I succeed. 

Today is the day when the results of the biggest Exam in the country will be announced in the morning newspapers. The exam is called "The All India CBSE." I have already been selected for colleges in Chandigarh-my hometown, Punjab, St Johns and AFMC. This exam will open up many more possibilities as 15 % of all seats in Govt Colleges are reserved for candidates from this exam. It's the biggie. 

As the clock ticks, I find myself having second thoughts. With doctors on the maternal side of the family, I am aware, at least partially, of the trials and tribulations of a life in medicine. The decision to take Medical exams as opposed to the more popular option of a life in the Civil Services or the coveted IIT/MBA combination has been mine, and mine alone. My parents have been nothing but supportive. This is the day my dreams may come true. 

But inside, I know my life will change. My carefree days will be over. A tiny voice in my head hopes that I won't succeed. Doubts creep in. 

And then the phone rings. It can only be Sodhi, my classmate who we all know will crack the exam. He must have been at the bus stop, waiting for the morning editions fresh off the presses. My father picks it up and calls for me. 

It is Sodhi and I can picture him on the other end poring over the list of ranks and roll numbers, running his fingers till he finds his. And mine. 

His All India Rank is 3. Mine is 141. There were over 10000 candidates for the exam so I should feel elated. But I am a bit numb. There is no going back now. 

This is the day I took my first step towards becoming a doctor

Over the course of the day, with congratulations pouring in, I find that out of the 10 students in my study group, 5 are ranked in the All India top 10, including the All India No 1, Rohtashav Dhir. Rohtash, as we call him, has also made into AIIMS but Sodhi, inexplicably, has not. AIIMS only releases the top 50 ranks and my name is not in the list. I'm not keen to join the Armed Forces in any capacity and St Johns wants me to travel to Bangalore for an interview. The 2 year old Chandigarh Medical College is too new, completely untested and is not an option. Punjab colleges have sad stories attached to them. I have to thus rely on the All India exam and it's counselling is announced for July.

This counselling is a new thing. Even when I had filled up the exam application form 4 months ago, a separate form wanted a list of 10 colleges in my order of preference I would be allotted depending on rank and availability. I had filled up MAMC and UCMS-the top colleges in Delhi, followed by a fairly random selection of colleges based mainly on distance from Chandigarh. Jipmer, a college of national repute came in 3rd. I had filled up Jipmer only because Vikrant Gupta, the son of the Head of Radiotherapy at PGI was studying there. My father and Dr BD Gupta, Vikrant's father, had become close in the course of treatment for my grandfather and he had nothing bu high praise for Jipmer. The college, however, was almost in the back of beyond, 2000 kms away, and though I filled it as a 3rd choice, I didn't think too much of it.
Now, however, the choice was mine to make.

The Counselling: 
Most of June is spent in deciding what college I'll plump for. Delhi seemed unlikely since the results were heavily skewed towards North India and Delhi was a favoured choice. This left some random state colleges and Jipmer. My parents obviously wanted the best I could manage and Jipmer, with endorsements from Vikrant (whom I had never met) and it's status as a Central Govt Institute became the default choice.

My father and I reach the Counselling Centre at 9 sharp. There are 100 ranks per counselling session and we sit in a large room, looking a big screen on which real time updates of the Colleges and their available seats are displayed. We are called in turn and the Delhi colleges are already over in the top 100 ranks. Jipmer has 11 seats in the All India quota and there don't seem to be many takers. By now, I'm quite excited at the prospect of a College far, far away and when my rank is called, I walk up, pick up a mike and announce carefully and slowly-Jipmer. The counsellers confirm my decision and I sign a paper making my answer official. It's that simple.

I have taken the first step towards becoming a Doctor. From a College 2000 kms and a 36 hour train ride away.

July-August 1993

There is still some time to go before I leave home for Pondicherry and now the reality of leaving my parents, my sister, my home and my 4 year old dog sets in. I've grown up here in this town, the last 7 years have been spent in this house and despite still being at home, I'm already homesick.
On a map of India on my wall, I look for Pondicherry. It's south of Chennai, the furthest South I've ever been, on a vacation 4 years ago. At that time, Chennai had seemed almost foreign, and this is even further. And I won't be going on vacation. The scale of the map just magnifies the distance.

We travel to Patna in the intervening lull to visit my grandmother. On the return flight to Delhi, which happens to be via Ranchi, my Aunt travelling with me finds a familiar face, the son of a family friend they know well in Patna. I am introduced to Shomeshwar, who is also in Jipmer and will be 3 years senior to me-Vikrant's classmate. Shomeshwar is on his way back, I presume and I promise to look him up when I get there. He seems slightly preoccupied however, but it's reassuring to have another familiar face in a place as far away as Pondy.

I also hear that I have a Local Guradian in Pondy. Mr BK Prasad, the Deputy Director (Admin) of Jipmer had worked with my late grandfather years ago and he had taken his advice to move to Pondicherry where he was now.

As often happens, the days pass by too quickly, just when you don't really want them to. I leave for Pondy in 2 days. Bags are packed and I've already bought books suggested by Vikrant through his father. Gray's Anatomy, Guyton's Physiology and Harper's Biochem. I also have a 3 volume set of a red Anatomy book called Chaurasia and a thinner 3 volume dissection set called Cunningham. They are a far cry from the school books I had read so far and even though they were big, these are from a different planet. And these are just the books for the first 12 months or so. The sight is exhilarating and depressing at the same time.

8th to 11th August, 1993
In my own life history, this is a landmark day. Suitcases are loaded, a goodbye ritual of a short prayer and a Bihar/UP ritual of putting a coin in some water is done. My father will accompany me to Pondicherry and it's time.
Even though I have been quite prepared for this moment, as the car leaves with my mother, sister, house and dog receding in the rear view mirror, the tears start to fall. I can't help it. My father, sitting beside me, glances but leaves me to my thoughts. It's a reflex reaction and he knows it and I'm fine after a while.

The flight to Chennai lands in pouring rain. It's late at night and we spend it at the Raj Bhawan guest house. The next day, a taxi arrives and we are on the highway to Pondicherry.
Dad has spent many years in the IAS and as it happens, his batchmate is the Chief Secretary of Pondicherry and we will meet him for lunch. His son, Rahul is also a student in Jipmer, a year senior and I look forward to meeting him.
The taxi turns East towards Pondy at a small town called Tindivanam and the highway narrows to a single lane-well tarred and lined by trees throughout. Scattered villages lie among green fields, patches of standing water lie among thatched huts and green fields and the odd villager passes by on his cycle. The Sun filters through the trees lining the gently winding road and this part of the journey is very idyllic-rural and peaceful.
The miles pass and buildings start appearing-still small and still scattered with the Jipmer campus and the promise of Pondicherry lurking further on. Soon enough, the border with a "Welcome to Pondicherry" appears and the taxi driver points out the start of the Jipmer Campus on the left, which is disappointingly hidden behind a large water tank and huge trees. I glimpse a red building but not much else.

We settle in the Guest House and head over for lunch to Rahul's house, a short walk away.
Rahul is not to be seen. It seems he is studying for a test. And then he appears.
Rahul is HUGE. Lunch is excellent and Rahul, who is studying for a Physiology test, tells me not to drink too much water because "it will dilute the gastric juices". Rahul also assures me there is not much ragging and he won't rag me in any case, and I detect a slight disappointment in his voice, though I must have imagined it. He is currently a Day Scholar but will be shifting to the Hostel very soon. I look at him and his vast expanse and am grateful he is not a potential ragger.

Back in the Guest House, I get a crash course in washing clothes and the next day, we cross the road into Jipmer Campus. I barely get a glimpse and I'm disoriented in any case. Admission formailities take up the morning-paperwork and a Medical test which involves running around an incredibly crowded OPD block.
This is where I first met Vikrant and he spent the morning taking me all over the place getting tests done-introducing me to everyone as the "New Junior". Even though he obviously meant well, I can't shake the feeling that I have suddenly become a very interesting object for everyone.

I am allotted 229, Lister House-a double room I will share with someone called Ashley. Ashley is from Chennai but he isn't anywhere to be seen. Dad and I climb the one floor to my room, passing a very dingy bathroom and I stare at my home-to-be for the forseeable future.

Iron cots, 2 tables, a wooden stool, an electricity board, a fan and 2 cupboards. A window overlooking trees. The cross ventilation is the only saving grace. On a later trip to Pondy town, mattresses and pillows are bought. My mother has already packed cases, bedsheets and bedcovers and in typical mother style, has initialed my clothes on the collars. A cardboard box full of the stuff I like to eat is unpacked, the table gets a blue table cloth and the books are arranged in what now looks like a mountain of a pile. Clothes are unpacked neatly.
My room is ready for me to move in.

I meet Mr Prasad, a lovely, homely, undeniably Bihari man and his wonderful family who will be my Local Guardians here. I promise to drop in regularly for meals or whenever. His daughter, Sonu is also in Jipmer and will be 2 years senior to me.

And then, just like that, it's time. Everything is in place, except my emotions. Sharp at 750 AM the next day, well in time for the 1st class of the day, Dad and I walk through the small white main gate, up the road towards the Main Door of the Hospital/College. The Sun is bright, it's very hot and it's even hotter in my brand new white coat.

"Well, here we are", my father says, as we reach the Main Gate. "All the best", he adds.
I can't say much. This moment is as emotional for him as it is for me, but we both pretend to be men for the moment and as I look back, perhaps this is the moment, I did become one. Or started to anyway.

Dad turns and starts a long walk back. I enter through the wooden doors.

I am a Jipmerite.