This had to be done... There aren't enough cynics around

The Last Bench

During the third month of internship there was a nasty revelation waiting. More than an assistant who had a reputation of taking his favourite intern to buy fish, it was the fact that the paediatric patients reminded us that we belonged to an older generation which brought a distinct sense of discomfort. Although being called ‘doctor uncle’ didn’t quite hurt us guys as much as it did the girls, when the truth sunk in, boy it did suck. A few months later, in a trip that was meant to cool me, a school kid called me ‘doc uncle’… Although it was just in jest and because of reluctance to set the dance floor on fire (I dance as well as an obstetrician diagnoses (let alone manages) common cold), thinking back at that, it does show I am no longer the Gen Z, heck I am not even Gen Y.

Coming to think of it, I finished schooling in the late noughties, and back then it was not yet skewl and most definitely, it was not kewl to smoke weed. While most of my schooling years were spent in anonymity, it was not without fun. Be it roaming around under the pretext of ‘working’ to bring out the class magazine, or taking time off for ‘drama practice’, or the ‘hunt for superman’ where I accompanied a good friend in his quest…the memories are still fresh.

Being a part of 10-I- a class that was regularly in the books for its horrible discipline, but still managed to produce toppers in every subject-was a different world, one so awesome that I would give anything to be a part of it again. The last memory was our show of unity which made us famous as the class that broke the bus window. The eleven years were not all rosy, like once there was a really bad chemistry teacher with a twisted sense of discipline in class seven. Still, standing up to her and not flinching when the headmistress questioned remain my gutsiest moments.

When a bunch of us moved to the State Board syllabus for class eleven, I was lucky to have been sorted into a class with my best friend. Despite the stereotypical ‘gal that cries for having got 99 on 100’ and the ‘guy that cries for getting 98’, the years remain as amazing memories. There was this one time a female from my class (for reasons still unknown) decided that I should be ‘warned’/’threatened’ by a senior. And he came to threaten me, what the girl didn’t anticipate was that the senior was a buddy from my old school. He bought me lunch that day.
Our physics teacher once took five of us to the Doordarshan Office for a live demo on how stuff worked. After fooling around there and learning more about chemistry than physics, we left. Having never been on an excursion, that remains one of the best outings despite tanking a botany test subsequently . The Final results were not quite a 'happily-ever-after' type ending thanks to an abysmal score in Chemistry (Karma?). Thankfully, with help from my teacher (who seemed to have despised me till then) I ended up with 13 additional marks in revaluation and an idea to sue those guys who could have ruined my dream and had probably ruined several others’ already. With the grace of the entrance test, i said bye to school and entered Medical College where i would realize that i had aged and my metabolism had hence slowed down.

School is the place of many firsts, the first success, the first failure, the first crush, first friendship and on the rarest of occasions, the first love. Every man carries the memories of his childhood to look at and have a smile or a couple of tears especially when times are testing. While we may not be able to carry everything along, the ones that we manage to, are for us to cherish forever.