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

Memories- Year 1

My first memory of the college is sparrow shit, no, seriously, as my centre for the Pre-Med entrance exam; I had the pleasure of sitting in the very same exam hall where I would later give dozens of exams. As I sipped the first of several juices in the now demolished juice stand, appreciating the love in the air (romancing seniors), a bird decided to, well you know… A few weeks later I entered the college as a student. Boy did I feel proud. All that sense of accomplishment vanished the moment I stared at my first teachers- the cadavers in the anatomy hall.

The Red Fort of MMC housed among other things, two cruel PGs. Had I seen the original Wizard of Oz before I met them, I would have named Theodora and Evanora.  Those were the days when PGs scared the hell out of the innocent kids (us). Their horrible operation of metaphors and idioms meant they made us believe that passing exams was the only thing worth living for. Then they went on fail everyone in the next test, except a couple of girls, if you know what I mean (actually, nothing). Then we had a scary lady who used to call us by our roll numbers and there was another person who made it safe to say that the most gorgeous female in MMC was not an undergrad student.

In an eye opening moment, a tutor scored what was possibly the best test I gave in the Med-school 20 points less than a paper that described an artery as ‘beautiful’ and an anastomosis as ‘wonderful’. The ‘wonderful’ writer has been a good friend since then and I went on to get a small acknowledgement for my hard work on that Neurology paper 3 years later. Point being, nothing learned goes waste, unless of course you got it from an OGcian, it probably was wrong in the first place.

The first year exams were the worst of them all, thanks to the break system. If having four score and seven dozen high achievers for company is not scary enough, I don’t know what is… The pressure got on to our young nerves. We had an incident where a friend gave everything from lips to rectum (in the same order) as the diagnosis for a histology slide only to find that it was actually a salivary gland and another examiner was shocked when he was told that uric acid was indeed ‘urine mixed with water’. After pricking myself and diagnosing anemia (not the life threatening kind as seen in movies), I had the sympathy of the examiner. That more than knowledge was what got us past the line…