Category Archives: Stories from Medical College

Memories of Agroo

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The first time and place I met Sunil Agarwal was on July 17, 1978, outside the State Bank of India Extension Counter, Carmen Block. Our respective fathers had made the requisite payments for our admission. I clearly remember Sunil wearing a black and white checked shirt, grey pants, and polished leather shoes.

We said our goodbyes to our fathers and walked down the drive to the Mansion of Gods, carrying all our worldly possessions. Along the way, we were joined by B. Venkatesh, who was in the same group as Sunil. During that walk, we exchanged a lot of information. I learned that he was from Saharanpur, Uttar Pradesh—a place I had never heard of until that moment. He had completed his schooling at the famous Doon School and his junior college at DAV College, Chandigarh. Sunil Datta, who had also studied at DAV College, joined us.

We all decided to share a room in the Slums and occupied Room 119-120 for the duration of our first year. Sunil told us that his friends from Doon School called him “Agroo.” He was also known as “Junky” due to his bloodshot eyes.

During ragging, he was given a helmet with a Nazi swastika painted on it and a toy rifle. If anyone said, “Steady, Agarwal,” he had to retort, “Bugger all! Bugger all!” Because of this, he also earned the nickname “Buggeroo.”

Agroo was generous and never let his left hand know what his right hand gave. My first experience of his generosity was on the first night of ragging. We had to sleep on the floor of the upper common room, and the mosquitoes were eating me alive. Seeing my discomfort, Agroo handed me a tube of Odomos.

In those days, owning a music system was rare. Srideo Jha had a transistor. When he returned from our September break, Agroo brought a cassette recorder along with multiple tapes recorded at home. The company that made the tapes was Tony, a knock off of Sony. This provided much-needed music for Room 119-120, though the recorder rarely stayed in our room. Instead, it made its way around the hostel. Anyone who asked for it got it—Sunil never thought twice before lending it out.

He also paid mess fees for someone who couldn’t afford it and continued to help his dhobi’s family to the very end.

Saharanpur was known for its mangoes, and Agroo’s father, who owned a cold storage facility, would send a box of mangoes during the season. He shared them with everyone. At that time, we were living on the first floor of D Block, which had a balcony overlooking the hostel warden’s garden. The mango seeds landed in his garden, but unfortunately, they never took root.


While I was doing my bond Peter Desmond landed up in Nagpur and we went to Delhi to meet Bisoo in AIIMS. Peter had asked Agroo to lend his brother’s car to use in Delhi which Agroo consented. We travelled to Saharanpur and drove back to Delhi like Kings in a Maruti 800 but we ran out of petrol just before AIIMS and had to be towed by an autorickshaw to the petrol station.


We went like kings in the Maruti to the Grand Hyatt, though we could barely afford it but it. We met Afghan refugees from USA there but that’s another story.

Because of his public school education, Agroo could play all sports. He told us that it was compulsory in his school. He enthusiastically participated in cricket, hockey, and football. He wasn’t necessarily skilled at them, but he knew the basics and often clowned around, providing much-needed comic relief.

When it came to studying, however, he could read with full concentration, no matter the distractions around him.

Checks were his favorite. When I once asked him why, he simply said, “They go with everything.”

Initially, he always wore well-polished leather shoes. However, over time, the Vellore culture of wearing slippers and flip-flops won him over for its comfort.


My next close interaction with Agroo was when I was doing my MS in Ludhiana, and he joined the faculty as a Professor. He was liked by everyone—a rarity in Ludhiana, where very few people got along. Though there was no official system of foster children, he was immensely popular among students and “adopted” many. One of them, Edwin, followed his footsteps to Vellore and later became a vascular surgeon.

By then, Agroo had become a Vellore native. The language and mannerisms of Vellore had become part of him. He spoke Hindi with a South Indian accent, frequently using words like “chumma.” I remember him taking clinics for students and using “chumma” generously. The students suppressed smiles because, in the North, “chumma” means “kiss.”
I remember his quotes “3 Ps of stopping bleeding are pack, pressure and pray!” I have followed it and re told it to my students.
The last time I met him was in 2019, in Nagpur, when I was being installed as the President of the Nagpur Association of Surgeons. He gave a talk that was highly appreciated. Afterward, Agroo, Bisoo, and I visited Pench National Park. Though we didn’t see any tigers, we had a wonderful time.

Who knew that would be our last?

Delivered on 9th February 2025 at our online class prayers.
I was corrected by Murli that the last time we met Agroo was November 2019 in Palghat Kerala.

The Resident who wouldn’t operate

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This satirical essay was written by a former resident describing his journey through surgical residency. He describes his trials and travails with sardonic humour. He prefers to remain anonymous.

Sinbad had done his MBBS from a Medical College in Dakshina Kannada. An average student but often marked out by Professors as someone with ‘great potential.’ It was in internship that he had found his inner calling- Surgery. He loved the smell of spirit and the sight of blood and pus. He was quite eager to dress the burns patients and if ever a resident offered him a lacerated scalp to suture, he would gush about it for the next many weeks. The one time he was told his suturing was better than the residents’, he relived the procedure throughout the night. He enjoyed the company of surgery residents- there was something about them which was different, cool, macho.

The Professors had their quirks but were legendary- to see Dr. Thangam Varghese operating was to see an artist paint, Dr. Sri Ram Bhat’s left hand was spoken of among interns as much as his book was appreciated, Dr.Harish Rao’s diction, Dr. Ashfaque Mohammad’s humor, Dr. BM Nayak’s jogs and intra-op high-fives, Dr.SP Rai’s conduct. He certainly wanted to be a surgeon.

It isn’t clear where he spent the next two years. But he was preparing for the post graduate entrances. His seniors had advised him not to take up any clinical jobs, for they had understood that it was difficult to work and study for NEET simultaneously. As he wrote his first set of examinations he realised a cruel fact. They do not ask you what you should know in entrance exams. It is merely an exam of elimination to aid the filling up of post graduate seats. And so he wrote-ten, twenty, thirty, forty exams and more, across India, in two years and failed in almost all of them, qualified a few but was knocked out at the interview stage in a couple of others. Two years of loneliness, failure, rejection, helplessness and the lack of an identity.

This was when the heavens woke up to his pleas and he found himself a seat in Surgery, somewhere in North India. The years of misery were over. The Promised Land, the land of milk and honey awaited him. And unlike many others, who wanted Orthopaedics or Medicine or Radiology but were settling for Surgery owing to their ranks, he had actually found himself in the field he loved the most. This was going to be tiring but rewarding, or so he thought.

This was what he learnt in Residency.

First Year:

  1. Humiliation is a way of life here. Most things you are shouted at for aren’t even your fault. Shouting at you portrays the Boss as a sinless God in front of the patient. Your senior can scream at you in public for his own fault and you shall put your head down and listen.
  2. It’s all Divide and Rule brother. All the powers that be need do is make your passing conditional to their approval.That is enough for colleagues to find every opportunity to put another down through three years.
  3. Do not trust your own brother if he is your colleague or senior. Nobody is here to learn Surgery the way you thought they would be. In an environment of insecurity, do not expect anybody to keep your secrets.
  4. They will be polite to their wives and children for they need to be. They will be polite to their patients, for they are their livelihood. They will never be polite to you. You are the scum of the earth.
  5. They will say do not eat till the job is done, but make sure you eat. Especially breakfast. They will not care whether you slept in days or not, but will disturb your sleep at midnight by taking an additional round, merely to feel senior.
  6. Hydrocele is your cutting. Unless the Boss decides he wants to teach a beautiful intern what a tunica vaginalis looks like. And this will happen often. If your eyes brighten up at the sight of a hydrocele, teach them not to. Don’t blame the intern, put her to good use. If she can chat up the Boss in OPD, that will save you from a lot of pedal lactic acidosis.
  7. Touch feet as often as possible. Even if your back hurts. You touch feet for years and then you get your feet touched for years. It means nothing. Just keep touching. Makes life easier.
  8. If a wound gapes, it’s your fault. Seroma, Haematoma, Surgical site infection. All of it your fault. Even if you were not present inside the operation theatre and did all you could to prevent it.
  9. Take time out to cry. You need to keep your system light. You might struggle from suicidal ideation, but it is documented that 30% surgery residents do too. So you are not alone. You can always jump off the hostel building like many before you have, but that won’t change the way things work around here.
  10. Don’t work hard. Give an impression that you are hard-working. Both are two different things. Work where you can be noticed, when there is maximum possibility of being noticed. Exert yourself completely to the patient who is Boss’ relative/ mechanic/ driver. Your elaborate burn dressings will never be seen, don’t even bother.
  11. Curiosity and Spirit of Enquiry is all bovine faeces(bull). Never ask questions. Be a YES man. It’s good for your health.

Second Year:

  1. Get a car. Boss has his income. But Boss likes to save. Drive him around. Feed him till he chokes. Your father’s hard earned currency notes are actually confetti meant to be showered on Boss.
  2. If he asks you to buy him a brownie, get him ice cream too. If he asks you to buy him a helicopter, buy him a space station. Why? He knows many ways by which he can ruin your life. He is Boss. The medical establishments have no way of assessing and admonishing the dinosaurs in the food chain.
  3. Your senior is exam-going. He needs a good impression. Take the blame for his mistakes in the morning. You can always whip the juniors in the evening. Or tear up their files.
  4. Hernia is your cutting. Unless the Boss decides he needs to teach an undergraduate damsel how a tension-free mesh repair is done. Or, the Lecturer would be in a mood to finish three hernioplasties under 45 minutes by himself, some silly personal record of his . You will be second assistant forever, or so it will feel. Don’t run throughout the night trying to get the patients fit for surgery. You will get peanuts at the end of it.
  5. Lecturers don’t care about you more than they care about their job. And for many reasons they need to be in Boss’ good books. Else he’ll load them with more cumbersome work and stall their promotions. So anything you tell them in good faith shall be duly reported. And if they tell you something personal, they are merely venting. Don’t read too much into it.
  6. Humour in Surgery sucks. It is almost always slapstick. Almost always centred around boobs and balls. Few get sarcasm and almost no one will understand a pun. The older they get, the more funny they try to be, the worse the humour that comes out. Laugh anyway. Else you stand out as a sore thumb.
  7. Start holding the Boss’ suitcase as he walks in and walks out. Go up to the car. It is all a colonial hangover. It makes absolutely no sense, but do it anyway.
  8. Anaesthetists are almost always women. They almost always are in a rush the moment the scalpel or needle-holder is thrust in your hands. She will insinuate your lecturer or boss about how fast things would have gone had he been operating. Your superior is hormonal. He takes her comment as instruction. Walk over to the other side buddy, again.
  9. They’ll say how their residency was far busier, far superior and far fetched things like how they did Whipple’s alone in a dark room under local anaesthesia. You’ll wonder why they don’t teach you how to drape, hold a needle-holder, place a suture. Never vocalise it.
  10. Flatter. Suck up. You’ve never done it? Well, now’s your time. Flattery always works. Remember, your goal is peace of mind. Nothing else.

Third Year:

  1. Do not ask for surgeries. Ever. Somebody in the food-chain above you will wait till you make the smallest of blunders, and then announce it to the whole wide world. This, despite you going out of the way to hide their own errors from them, and others, for 2 years now.
  2. If you are complimented for your work, deflect it to someone senior to you present nearby. Some patients will want to tell the world how much you have helped them, make sure they do not reach Boss’ ears. He sees you as competition, not as a disciple.
  3. Almost all surgeries in the operative list are supposed to be your cutting. Don’t believe it? Check your logbook. But of course, now that you do not know how to do a hernia well, how can they trust you with a mastectomy or a thyroidectomy. You should have worked harder in your residency. For now, you get nothing.
  4. Buy costly stuff for Boss and his wife. Give it to him as a Diwali present. He will refuse. But that is a token refusal. He is an abyss. Coax him till he takes it home. You need your thesis signed.
  5. Stop entering the O.T. Boss doesn’t think you need to learn surgery nor does he think you need time to study. He will remember to make you write his wife’s research article days before your university exam. Stay out of his sight, stay out of his mind.
  6. It’s a tree of monkeys. Your senior will see only monkeys below him. Your junior will see only Hilton-lined holes above him. The cycle continues.
  7. They’ll tell you observation is learning. It is, but it is not. You can observe a hundred perforation closures but still think of it as an insurmountable mountain. It is only when the scalpel and bovie are in your hand do you learn the trade, which you probably won’t till you are here.

Sinbad received a call from his Boss weeks before his University exam that he was going to be failed. Thanks to the insistence of two Senior Examiners who voted against the pre-meditated verdict, he was passed, in his first attempt. The God who saved Peter from drowning had saved him too. He has come to appreciate the few friends that stood by him in residency, the love of his life was a God-sent balm, his parents helped him stay sane with their regular visits and daily prayers. Now he works in the suburbs under a kind mentor- learning to drape, suture, operate. He insists that not all residents are selfish, lazy and lacking in passion. Some lose their passion in residency.

Dream of attached bathrooms in the Mansion of the Gods

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As we stepped into Men’s Hostel on 17th July 1978, we were told to meet the Hostel Secretary for room allotment. The Hostel Secretary had commandeered a vacant room and was seated behind a desk. He handed us a form which we had to tick our preference for room, ‘double/single/single with attached toilet/single with attached toilet and AC’. I wisely decided on single though in the hot and humid Vellore climate, AC was tempting but I somehow knew it’s highly unlikely that there were AC rooms.

Later I was grateful for my decision because during initiation those unlucky ones who opted for a single room with attached toilet and AC, had a pipe strapped on his back with a shower head suspended above his head and a bed pan tied around his waist as an attached toilet. An aerosol can was suspended around his neck as an AC.

The dream of an attached toilet was always in the minds of the residents of Men’s Hostel, the luxury of not having to walk down the corridor to the common toilets. It was like having the keys to the executive washroom.

During bacchanal parties, indulgence caused increased diuresis and delay. The urgency was so great that they barely managed to step out onto the corridor, and relieve themselves over the railing, which was at a convenient height. The car of the hostel warden parked in the driveway in ‘D’ Block was a regular beneficiary of these ‘showers of blessings’.

This idea may have been instilled in our minds during initiation, when following our morning exercise supervised by the ‘Field Marshal’ and ‘Executioner’ we were supposed to in batches of 3, lie face down in front of ‘C’ Block store and chant in unison, ‘God! God! Give us rain!’ Our prayers were answered when a bucket of water was poured on us. Then we rolled in the mud and again appealed for rain. During this ritual I felt a thin stream of water hit me which had a warmer temperature, suspiciously close to body temperature. Some seniors shouted, “Don’t piss on the poor buggers!” I went berserk and tried to look up but my head was promptly pushed back into the mud.

A story which made rounds in Men’s Hostel and was part of folklore that there an occupant of supertop who routinely used to relieve himself over the railing, fouling things up for the occupants downstream. No amount of entreaty would make him mend his ways. So the occupants downstream took matters in their own hands. They got an electric stove, the ones which had the glowing coils, placed it on an old badminton racket and tied a bamboo to the racket. The stove was plugged into an extension cord. Then they waited patiently for the nightly flow of effluent. When they heard the pitter patter of effluent hitting the ground they switched on the stove and extended so it was right under the stream. It was the perfect ‘mid-stream clean catch’, the stove sparked, the stream stopped and cry of pain was heard from above. To make a long story short they were never troubled again by the flow of effluent.

Then they were the improvised chamber pots, after all “need is the mother of invention” and the desi jugaad in keeping with “waste not want not”. There were a vast collection of empty bottles from past revelry in the hostel rooms, which were put to good use. They were refilled capped and placed in a hidden corner under the bed. Once in a while the watchman would come to sweep the room. The watchman in his attempt to reach the dust in all corners reached the cache of refilled bottles. He picked one up, shook it, looked at the it and stopped just short of sniffing it. Then gave the owner an incredulous look and asked, “Idhu enna Saar? Urineaa?”

Sexy Podimas

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Men’s Hostel had a very dull menu in those days (I don’t know what the situation is now). You go to the table you could be assured that there would be three vessels full of Sambar, Rasam and Rice. We had to stand in line and were dished out a plate with vegetables and beef or just vegetables. The only variations in the week were some days when we got Bhaturas other days Barotas and on other days Chappatis. The Barotas (I suspect this is a corruption of Parothas) were unique in the sense they seem to have been made by pulling the Maida into a string then laying it in a spiral fashion and rolling it into a circle and then roasting it on a Tawa with oil. When you tore the Barota it would unravel in a corkscrew pattern. Surprisingly my son who is studying Architecture in Mumbai was taken by his Malayalee friends to a typical Kerala eating joint and he was describing the Barotas and how he enjoyed it (I suspect that it is his Malayalee blood). I told him “I have eaten enough of those in Men’s Hostel”. What really surprised me was that during our reunion in 2003, Priyo Sada wanted to eat Barotas and we had them ordered in Darling Manor.

The Chappatis were as someone rightly described ‘bullet-proof’ because the cooks did not know how to place them on the fire and inflate them (phulkas). In order to make them chewable a generous dose of oil was added to it.

One day when we were returning from the dissection to the mess for lunch along with B. Venkatesh, he said “De let go fast da, sexy grub today”, to which we asked “what?” he replied “mor da”. To this all of us said “what shit Venky whats so great about mor”. But I guess that was another treat to some ‘mor’. (Reminds me of the Dicksonian character Oliver Twist who went up with his plate and said “please sir may I have some mor-e”. Kai thook!)

However sundays was a treat for the carnivores, chicken with the mandatory ‘chip’ (or should I say ‘sips’). The resident used to line up to get the best pieces, the most popular where the leg and the breast. Some of the residents were more graphic when they requested for breast piece, “Thambi nalla breast piece” and they would squeeze their own breast to emphasize the point.

In our routine dull cuisine there was a single silver lining of a ‘muttai’ which we could order as and extra by paying with coupon of course. The muttais available were:-

  1. Kanadi muttai=Plain old fried egg because of it glass like quality was called Kanadi.
  2. Omlette
  3. Podimas=Scrambled egg
    The variety in Podimas was legendary and had names:-
    Some were named after famous personalities like ‘Ninan Chacko Podima’ (Who the Eff is Ninan Chacko?)
    Others were patriotic like ‘All India Podima’ (This sometimes was corrupted to sound like ‘Olinda Podima’, again I wonder who is she?)
    Then there was the name which call a spade a spade, ‘The All Shit Podima’ (apt description of the cooking in Men’s Hostel).
    The there was the graphic name of ‘Sexy Podima” (perhaps the original name may have been ‘Check-sy Podima’ but got corrupted to sexy!)
    These Podimas had one thing in common all of them contained thakkali, kotmali, vengaayam and pachai milagaai in varying proportions. Which one contained how much of what was known to no one! Sometimes as David Srinivasagam described if someone was served what he thought was a Ninan Chacko Podima rather then the Sexy Podima that he had ordered, it could land on the face of the Thambi. Some residents tried to win immortality by attempting to devise and popularize a podima named after themselves. However after Ninan Chacko no other personality managed to garner that amount of fame and no two podimas were ever the same.

The Seven Wonders of Vellore and the Bushes of Bagayam Campus.

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“If you have an ugly daughter send her to CMC, she will definitely find a husband!” This was a popular aphorism making rounds in 1978.
Perhaps this was a corollary of the seven wonders of Vellore, which were told to us ad nauseum:
1. River without water.
2. Fort without King.
3. Temple without diety.
4. Hill without trees.
5. Police without power.
6. Men without brains.
7. Women without beauty.
Now is it because the men are brainless that they fall for the women without beauty? The women in contrast have plenty of brains because it’s a popular belief that beauty and brains don’t go together. Everyone has heard the stereotyped ‘dumb blonde’. So using the reverse logic we have a ‘plain Jane with brains’.
Someone commented, “whoever coined these wonders obviously did not like Vellore.” But there can be no smoke without fire! There may be some truth in these wonders.

Yes it’s true the Palar river is mainly a dry river bed. There is even a hotel on it’s bank with the a wishfully worded name, ‘Hotel Riverview’. It was built at the end of our tenure in Vellore and at that time defined Vellore Luxe. The management is optimistic that there will be a perennial flow down the Palar in the future. Meanwhile the hotel provides it’s guests, rooms with the soothing sight of sand! Literally throwing sand into people’s eyes.

The Vellore fort is a 16th century fort built by the Vijayanagara Kings and it changed hands to the Bijapur Sultans, the Marathas, the Carnatic Nawabs and finally the British who controlled it till independence. Tipu Sultan’s family and the last king of Sri Lanka, Sri Vikrama Rajasinha were held as prisoners during British rule after which there have been no royal resident.

The temple without a deity refers to the Jalakanteshwarar temple in the fort. According to legend there used to be a giant ant-hill at the site of the temple and it was surrounded by stagnant water and at some stage someone placed a Shiva Lingam near the anthill maybe because of the resemblance of the ant hill to a Shiva Lingam and people began worshipping it. The fort was controlled by a Vijayanagara Chieftain named Chinna Bomi Nayaka who had a dream in which Shiva instructed him to build a temple there. So he demolished the ant-hill and built a temple around the site in 1550 AD. Since the Lingam was surrounded by water (Jalam in Tamil) the deity was called Jalakandeshwarar (Shiva residing in water).
During Muslim invasion and annexation of the fort, there were fears of desecration. So the main deity was removed away to the Jalakanda Vinayakar Temple in Sathuvacheri for safe keeping and the temple remained vacant for 400 years and there was no worship. The deity was smuggled back into the temple in 1981 and worship reinstated. So strictly speaking not true now but yes the deity has been in exile for 400 years.

The hills around Vellore are rocky and don’t have the necessary substrate for growth of trees. Even hospital lacks trees in contrast to the lush college campus, which took years to cultivate.
However those rocks were fuel to the imagination of students and a tall, barren hill overlooking the campus, crowned with a rock which had a resemblance to a toad at some angles, was christened as Toad Hill by the students. During my recent visit I noticed that the rock has got eroded and the resemblance now leaves a lot to imagination.

Perhaps the police are little wary of taking action against ‘CMC Doctors’ whenever they violate traffic rules. May be because they never know when they might require medical aid. So perhaps their kindness has been construed as toothlessness.

Men are famous for acting without thinking. Emotions, intoxicants, testosterones, love and lust has got a lot to do with this. Then you add youth to this heady cocktail and you will understand why men are perceived as brainless or think waist down. But true of all men and not necessarily the ones from Vellore.

Let me put this last wonder of Vellore in perspective using the microcosm of Christian Medical College. After all it was the institution which put Vellore on the world map otherwise Vellore would have remained an obscure village in the hinterlands of Tamil Nadu.
Anybody seeking admission in CMC, know they only stand a chance if they declare their love and acceptance of the Almighty, their deep desire to serve the suffering masses and their willingness to work in rural India. Then they must also look the part! For men its fairly simple, white shirt with black pants but for women it’s a little more complicated. So during the interviews trendy clothes, make up etc are out and the ‘Plain Jane’ or specifically ‘Plain Rural Jane’ look was the norm. Before the interview one of our classmates had recently got her hair permed into an Afro, never expecting to be called for the interview. However once she got the call she must have used a whole bottle of coconut oil to undo the ringlets and make two short pigtails. Also out went the contact lenses and on came a pair of the largest, thickest, horn-rimmed glasses. The Pavadai Daavanis, Langa Vonis, Langa Davanis or half saree were brought out of the mothballs and donned with aplomb. There were the occasional regular sarees and salwar kameez and I remember one maxi but that was only as adventurous as it got. The hair preferably was oiled and plaited and malligai poo or jasmine stringed in a chain adorned the oily plaits. And the look, of a people’s person, willing to dedicate their life to the mission was complete! So the more unattractive the better the chance of cracking the interview.
Was this the origin of the wonder, ‘women without beauty’?

There is nothing like an ugly woman, only a woman who doesn’t know how to look beautiful.
Even the organisers of Beauty Pageants confess that all you require to compete is height, the rest can be manufactured thanks to Dieticians, Plastic Surgeons and Orthodontists.

CMC is not famous for it’s style or sartorial taste. Bathroom slippers were an accepted form of footwear and if you wanted to be haute couture a la CMC you could buy MCR chappals from the Karigiri store. Boys wore the standard white shirt made by MIQ tailor. The shirt was a cross between a bush shirt and a lab coat. It had large pockets like a lab coat near the waist. The girls wore the mandatory starched cotton sarees, there were the occasional salwar kameez but then it had to be covered with a lab coat.
I think the students aped the teachers who were similarly attired. One of my classmates recently commented, “In CMC people believed in simple living and high thinking.”
So simple that one of my classmates mistook a professor of pathology for a lab attendant! The professor wore full white with the mandatory MCR slippers, which was also similar to the attire of the attendants. My classmate got shooed out of the pathology museum but he was still not convinced about the authority of the person, asked the professor, “who shall I say told me to leave the museum?” To which he was told, “tell anyone who asks Professor______ told you to leave the museum.” But the professor was large hearted and he forgave and forgot (maybe it happened to often for him to recall all the culprits, but I’ll give him the benefit of doubt). He was once spotted outside Verghs Canteen (Verghese Canteen but in it’s present avatar it’s has the more amorous moniker of Darling) sharing a chai and cigarette with my classmate.

The two notable changes which occurred the year we joined were a new Principal took over and the fees was hiked from ₹800/- to ₹3000/-, I believe it still remains the same after 39 odd years. The previous principal was liberal and didn’t mind the mixing of sexes, his successor was more straitlaced in these matters. So before we joined not only did every batch give the freshers a welcome party, the freshers gave return parties to all the batches. These parties gave the senior boys a chance to ‘gonad’ with the junior girls. The party games like ‘Shrinking Islands’, in which the couples were supposed to stand on a newspaper which was folded to a smaller and smaller size, promised close physical proximity (is that game still played?). The winners were the ones who could balance themselves on their toes of a single foot and embrace each other tightly for balance.
The parties ended with a disco, with loud music and muted lights. By this time pairing had occurred and dances like ‘the bumps’, where the couples were supposed to collide their hips with the beat of the music and of course the slow waltzes. The Cinderella time of 12 midnight was not rigidly enforced.
The new principal began by cutting down the number of parties so henceforth freshers did not have to give a return party. Then discos were banned and the Cinderella time was enforced. When seniors met him to allow some leeway in the discos and Cinderella time, he was adamant and even made a statement like, “After 12 mn passions rise!” He left a lot unsaid as to what else rose and why it could not rise before 12 mn. He had many acolyte and the women were told in their Hostel, “Girls are like cotton and boys are like fire. And you know what will happen once cotton meets fire!” Again leaving a lot unsaid.

The Community Orientation Programme was designed to prepare us for a life in rural India. It involved staying in a remote village, interacting with the villagers and teaching them healthier practices by example.
Our senior batch broke all records and in the 15 days stay in the village most of them got fixed! Or paired off. This statistic must have come to the notice of the new administration so in our Batch only the boys spent the night in the village while the girls were bused back to the safe confines of the Women’s Hostel. Safe from conflagration.
The boys made hay while the sun shined or in this case ‘set’. We discovered an isolated well and skinny-dipped in it with impunity until we spotted snakes swimming in the light of the day. That ended our night swims.
Life comes to a standstill in rural India after sunset and not much entertainment. One study did blame the population explosion to this factor, citing the example of Mexico when the population growth fell after introduction of popular soaps.

In any residential campus romance definitely prevails and sometimes results in the pairing of the most unlikely people.
Once a couple is paired or fixed, they become inseparable. They study together in the Student’s Association (SA) Hall or library, they eat together in the canteen. Except for sleeping in their respective hostels, they are constantly together.
Ours was a time of limited communication and there was just one phone in Men’s Hostel, under the staircase in a wooden booth next to the mess. The watchmen would answer the phone and in case anyone gets a call, he would stand on the drive, under the block where the person stays and shout “XYZ Saar! XYZ Saar!” This would be repeated until XYZ opens his door and peeks down and says, “Enna Watchman?”. To which he would get a reply, “Phone call Saar!”. Immediately others would burst out of their rooms and shout “De! De! XYZ, steady da!”
All this worked on probability, the chances your parents phoning you was almost zero. In those days having a phone in your house was a rarity and if your parents wished to make a call, they would have to go to the Central Telegraph Office, book a trunk call which was expensive. Only 3 minutes time was given and that was not long enough for you to descend from your room to the phone booth to answer. Instead the probability of it being from the other side of the road was high. The phone call was a public announcement that XYZ is now officially fixed and it’s his wife (as they were wrongly referred to) calling him to SA Hall.
Of course once in a while it was a false alarm, the female class representative calling the male class representative regarding some class matter.

There were designated ‘bushes’ in the Bagayam campus. The base of College Hill, Scudder quadrangle, the corridor in front of the old physics lab leading to the Chapel, the tennis courts, a quiet spot on Arni road, Bagayam oval to mention a few.
There used to be a small gate in front of Women’s Hostel which lead to college hill, now it’s been closed. Arni road is no longer desolate. It’s full of habitation. The tennis courts are used even in the nights now. So these no longer can be counted as bushes.
After intense study in the SA Hall, the fixed couples required an amorous interlude. Then the bushes came in handy. Each couple had their favourite bush and poondaxing or encroaching on other’s bush was not a done thing. In case another couple did poondax they could be sent away by a discreet cough. Once some tennis enthusiasts decided to have a night game. They went into the courts and either didn’t hear the coughs or ignored it and turned on the floodlights. The rest I leave to your imagination!

There used to be a coffee stand in front of the mess run by Swamidoss. Normally the non fixed who studied in their rooms would gather there for coffee and gas session at around 11:30 pm. The Bushmen would be seen walking to their rooms or some of them would join us for coffee. Once in a while a particularly cheeky Watchman would comment in Tamil, “I know why your looking so tired!” Confident because the Bushman didn’t understand Tamil.
Some of them came in pairs, sometimes as a result of chance meeting on the drive but in one of the cases the wives were very good friends and they even shared a bush.
This classically as what you can call ‘strange bedfellows’!

Men’s Hostel Final Year’s Farewell Speech, delivered by yours truly on circa 29/10/1983

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This was my speech on the occasion of Men’s Hostel Final Year’s Farewell. My late father preserved a copy of this speech which I found amongst his papers. I thought it might be interesting to post it.

Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen,
Only on two occasions I have made a speech here in CMC. The first time was during our fresher’s welcome, when I had to stand here introduce myself and talk about my hobbies etc, etc and this is the second time presumably also the last. The time gap between these two occasions has been slightly more than five years. The view from this podium has changed, not only in terms of the people sitting in the audience, but also the fact that the first time I did not look at the audience. My gaze was directed above everybody’s head!
Five years in those days seemed like eternity, one reason for that was, five years was approximately equal to 1/3rd of my total lifetime. Whereas now that fraction is steadily approaching the 1/5th mark. Maybe that’s one reason why I find the days going faster and faster, and with the exams just around the corner, I wish I could slow it down.
At an occasion like this, one tends to recollect past events. Majority of what I recollect is no doubt pleasant, but of course it is natural tendency to forget the unpleasant. I would like to tell you about some of these memories. The first major event which we all had to face was the initiation. It lasted for 3 days and 3 nights, unlike the present 1 hour. It was easy if you behaved subservient and kept your ‘Lord and Master’ amused by cracking jokes or doing stupid things. In retrospect it was a very enjoyable experience, but only in retrospect not when you are in it. The most difficult thing I found was remembering seniors names and they felt very offended if you did not remember their name. One easy solution to this problem was to remember the very common names in the Hostel, for example ‘John’. That would be sufficient to satisfy a John Muthusamy, John D. Ashok, John Israel, John Alexander, John Putur Selvam, Benjamin John, Cherian John, George T. John and not to forget Sajiv John and other members of block John (Block John consist of a block in the Hostel, all of them my classmates and all of them are Johns), but it did not satisfy Cyrus Mills and I ended up doing 10 push ups, but it was better than saying “I don’t know sir”.
The moment initiation was over we concentrated our energies on getting to know each other. I can still remember Priyo Sada on the first day of class with Uma Nair’s chappals in his hand, threatening to throw it out of the window unless she did 10 push ups.
Venkatesh who had the misfortune of sharing a room with Agroo, Datta and me, one day before the final English exam came back tired from S.A. Hall, set his alarm for 4:30 am and went to sleep exactly at 12 am. The moment he was fast asleep someone forwarded his clock by 4 hours. Venky arose, bright and fresh at 12:30 am took his towel, soap, toothpaste, toothbrush and proceeded to the bogs. Enroute he discovered what the time actually was.
Then there was the day Neelam Charles was rudely awoken from his afternoon siesta by the weight of 15 people stacked up on him. His bed buckled on that weight. I offered to straighten the bed out for him, by turning it over and jumping on it. Instead of the bed straightening the planks broke. Neelu’s only reaction was, “I can’t even laugh now Cartoon!”
Then the time we put a bomb under Murli’s bed, the bomb had a slow fuse, it went off in the middle of the night. What dissappointed us the most, who were awake and waiting for the explosion, was that Murli had not stirred.
Then the hot summer nights, a large group of us used to sleep on the terrace. On a full moon night, the moonlight was so brilliant we could play 28 (popular card game). But the most interesting thing was to lie back admire the stars and the clouds. Sometimes with a little help of our fertile imaginations, the shape of these clouds could resemble many familiar objects. One day Murli exclaimed excitedly, “I bet you can’t guess what that cloud looks like.” We all tried, “a boy?, a girl?, a monkey?, an orangutan?”
“No, no, you are all wrong, that cloud looks exactly like a barium meal.” (x-ray picture of the stomach)
Once this feeling of Déjà vu descends on me, I can go on and on, but I will stop here and proceed on to the traditional questions.
Matrimonial plans
At present there exists no plans, but allow me to quote freely J.E. Park and K.E. Park (Authors of ‘A textbook of Preventive and Social Medicine’) on what they call ‘Universality of marriages in India’. “Marriages are universal and sacramental. Everyone sooner or later [then he adds in brackets (usually sooner)] gets married. The individual’s economic security or emotional maturity are seldom a prerequisite to marriage.”
So in that there is hope for me, whenever it takes place whether sooner or later, I’ll let you know.
Ideal woman
One who is seen and not heard.
Future plans
I’ll divide my future plans under two headings, Immediate future and Future future. The immediate future is quite certain, pass exams, finish internship and then finish two years bond period. The future future is uncertain, if not a PG (post graduation) then a GP (general practice), life is full of opportunities and the sky’s the limit. I may even work with a neglected tribe, the ‘Yeti’ or what is more popularly known as the ‘Abominable Snowman’.
Advice to the hostel
The hostel has changed a lot since my first year, but change is inevitable after all nothing remains static. There are varying opinions on whether this change is good or bad, but that is very subjective. Only thing I can say is that it is still a very nice place to stay in, so enjoy your stay and don’t overstay.
So goodnight and goodbye!

Unabashedly the BOSE

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Our entry into CMC

We are the Batch of 1978 or also known by the acronym ‘BOSE’. Every batch in CMC is unique and we are no less as I will elaborate further in this article.

Our entry into the haloed halls of the Christian Medical College, Vellore was on the 17th of July 1978.
In the centre the Janata government was in power. The first non Congress government to rule India since independence. The Prime Minister was Mr. Morarji Desai an ardent advocate of temperance, vegetarianism and auto urine therapy. His famous treatise to this form of treatment describes his early morning walk in his lawn barefooted, allowing the dew to percolate into his system through the soles of his feet. Then going to the squat toilet and cupping his palms for a perfect ‘mid stream clean catch’ of the first urine of the day and drinking it directly from his palms. This of course spawned many jokes like “No whisky for Morarji, only Pissky!“ and When asked by the American President at a state dinner, what he would like to drink? He replied “No thank you! I carry my own drinks.“
There must be something in this therapy because he lived to the ripe age of 99.
The Health Minister, Mr. Raj Narayan was a former wrestler turned politician who was dubbed as a ‘giant slayer’ because he defeated Mrs. Indira Gandhi in her pocket burrough of Raebareilly. He left his mark on Vellore by donating the famous ‘white elephants’, one which was parked outside CHAD and the other outside RUHSA. Some of you may remember them as large white mobile clinics with the basic facilities installed in them. However they were mostly unsuitable for the rough and narrow rural roads, hence were mostly parked. Because of their size and colour and of course utility or rather lack of it, they got the apt moniker of ‘White Elephant.
The state was ruled by the AIDMK party and the Chief Minister was a former film star, who had many monikers one of them ‘Makkal Thilagam’ or people’s King, Maradurur Gopalan Ramachandran Menon or MGR. He had instituted the mid day meal scheme for school children which was very successful. He again was an advocate of temperance and hence Tamil Nadu was a dry state when we joined. If you wanted to drink you had to go to Chitoor or buy army canteen booze from ‘Devil’.
The Devil incarnate was the friendly neighborhood illegal booze seller who would come knocking on your door with a Hercules XXX army rum bottle inside an army stocking, “Saar Rumm wanum Saar?” (Do you want rum sir? ) and he would pull down the stocking just enough to display the label on the bottle.
There was also an Amma near Otteri who distilled some real vile, vomit green stuff. Stored in a matka and dispensed in old bottles. We had a New Year’s party in first year with that vile brew and needless to say some vomited, some passed out, some became emotional and confessed their undying love for a class girl.
One continued to vomit the next day and was admitted in the hospital with Hepatitis A. Luckily no one was condemned to a life with a white cane!
MGR also declared the year we joined that medical education should be in the Tamil language. When a team of medical teachers approached him and tried to explain the logistic difficulties, especially translating all the text books into Tamil. He retorted by producing an ancient Sidda treatise and said “If in ancient times it could be written in Tamil, why should it be a problem now?”
There was a lot of apprehension especially amongst the non Tamil speakers but luckily enough it remained a politician’s election promise and like all election promises it was never seriously followed through.

Let me elaborate some points of our unique points.

1. We were the first batch to have the fee hike to ₹3000/-. The Batch of ’76 paid ₹800/- and the Batch of ’77 paid ₹1500/- but it was doubled for us. I believe it still remains frozen at that princely sum. Though inflation has eroded its royal sheen and made it a more plebeian figure. Our seniors used to refer to us as the 3000 batch and they protested on our behalf even before we had joined. Nice of them because they were not affected.

2. We were the last Batch at least the men to face the 3 days initiation ritual. After our Batch the administration put their foot down and banned the 3 days initiation. It started with the ‘Last Supper’ and ended with the Ducking in the pond. During those 3 days there were no classes and mornings started with group exercise, roll in the mud and getting ducked after appealing to God for rain. The rest of the day was spent in amusing our fagmasters and in the evening amusing the Hostel.

3. We had the least number of intra class fixtures or fixtures per say. Whatever fixtures intra or inter class took, happened at the very end. Of course with some exceptions.
You knew when someone was fixed when the Watchman came shouting down Edward Gault drive, “So and So Saar! “ and So and So would peek out of his room, “Enna Watchman?” (What is it Watchman?) “Phone call Saar!” And the Hostel will reverberate with shouts of “De! De! Steady So and So.” Then he would begin to spend a large amount of time on the other side of the road. In SA Hall, in the library and of course in the bushes.
We had a Principal who would go for a nightly constitutional along with a 6 battery torch and shine it into the bushes. Took pleasure in being a killjoy.

4. We were the last Batch to write the first year exam. The Batches after us never faced the fear of getting failed on a whim of a teacher and the prevailing ‘3 strikes and you are out’, rule.
All of you may not know that in those days the rule was if you failed 3 times in the first year then you had to leave the course. But after the first year you had the freedom of failing as many times as you wished. There were some who took their time leaving.
Until that time only one person had managed to fail thrice in first year and coincidentally he was from my home town of Nagpur.

5. We were the first Batch to have the women bused back to the safe confines of Women’s Hostel during our COP (Community Orientation Programme) in Mottupalayam rather than stay in the village. Because in the previous Batch 90% got fixed during the COP. The administration thought there’s too much Kaadal (love) in the village air so segregation of the sexes was safer.
The boys spent the nights sleeping on the floor in a thatched hut and had Kullu and Kalli (preparation of horse gram and ragi) for dinner while the girls had the luxury of their Hostel rooms and saapdu (food).
We had a Bridge playing set in our class and JP of Community Medicine was an ardent Bridge player. He used to land up after dinner to play bridge. One of the boys got disturbed by the lights and talking in our hut. He got up to agitate and reached for his spectacles but when he put them on and he saw JP and immediately went back to sleep, with his back turned to the players.
We were supposed to go around the villages sing health education and awareness songs in Tamil composed by Mardmuthu the Tamil communicator in Chad. They were mainly about measles vaccination. We were supposed to bathe the children and apply anti scabies ointment on them in that way educate the villagers on prevention. Then we had to go from house to house interviewing people and collecting data as per a proforma.
The questions included their opinion on the medicinal herbs, ‘Sotkataray and Nochuthorai’.
I recently discovered one of them is Aloe vera. We also made a soakage pit by digging a hole in the ground and filling it with broken pieces of bricks. This overflowed on the first day of use.
We used a cement outline of a squat toilet placed over a pit, surrounded by burlap as toilets. Once our sojourn was over the cement slab removed and the pit was filled up with mud and later it could be used for manure. We tested the purity of well water by a Horrocks apparatus. And when the girls had left swam in the same well in our birthday suits in the dark of the night. In the day time we saw were snakes swimming in the well and that was the end of our swims. All this was to lead by example. Hopefully we were good examples!

6. We were the first Batch to stage a march past during our first term Biostatistics exam.
Biostatistics was not a University subject but since it was considered useful for us in the future, especially if we planned to do research. It was taught as an additional subject.
We were all provided a pink coloured book textbook with ghostly white illustrations on the cover as a course book. My book was disfigured by a class mate by writing the moniker of a class girl on every page and the cover. He presumed I was in love with her. I won’t reveal the name suffice to say we were in that precarious age when we were in love with the idea of being in love.
The lectures were pretty boring and as I remember they were held in the biostatistics department near the library. Dr. P.S.S. Sunderao and his minions would teach us the ‘measures of central tendency’. These were really beyond me and only B. Venkatesh appeared to be comprehending. No wonder he did research on ‘The gateway theory of pain’, during MBBS and now of course has many papers to his name.
The motto of CMC was corrupted by our seniors from “Not to be ministered unto, but to minister”, to “Not to be conned but to con”. And our seniors were very serious about this ministry. Before the terminal exams we were told by our seniors that it is a tradition not to complete the biostatistics exam and to wear fancy dresses, submit your papers early and have a march past in the SA Hall.
Each ace con senior would give his spin to the story of what earlier batches had done. One said “we all chanted biostatistics F.O. as a marching beat!” And of course the term tradition was mentioned a number of times. We by then were used to the fact that tradition played an important part in CMC.
Before the Biochemistry exam during one of the terminal examinations I think it was Chemistry the Second Seniors came marching up the steps of the SA Hall in a single file, they marched along the balcony facing Women’s Hostel, chanting loudly “left-right” and then turned right, again right, then left and out via the staircase to the library.
Everyone was initially in stunned silence but then all burst into laughter.
The biostatistics exam was the last exam after which we were going home for the first time since joining CMC. We prepared ourselves for the exam by wearing lab coats. Many carried alarm clock in their pockets which was set to ring within 15 minutes of the start of the exam and further 15 minutes intervals.
There was a litter of kittens in Men’s Hostel, probably Thomas the mascot of Men’s Hostel had fathered them.
He was called Thomas because he was supposed to belong to a senior of the same name. He proved that cats have 9 lives by surviving a fall from the Supertop with only a mild limp. A Super Senior had thrown him in a fit of frustration.
Another classmate put one of the kittens in his lab coat pocket and also wore his lab coat along with the hanger, so you could see the hook protruding out behind his neck. Another classmate had a pair of stripped knee length stockings which he wore displaying the stripes prominently.
Now the exam started and the silence was punctuated by the shrill sound of an alarm clock. The invigilator, a relatively junior person did not know what to do. He would go up to the person and note down his name. Then the final alarm clock went off and then most of the boys submitted their answer papers and assembled near the staircase. After we had assembled in adequate numbers we marched down the same route as our seniors did, circumambulated the hall, chanting, “Biostatistics F.O.”. The invigilator noted down as many names as possible and chose the tallest and most prominent, as the ‘leader’ and ‘Leader’ was written against his name.
Then we all went back to the Hostel and had a good laugh.
Meanwhile Andrew from the Principal’s office, more popularly known as Vice Chancellor came beaming down the Gault drive. “Dr. Job wants to see all of you Saar.”, he said with a smile. Immediately we all ran helter-skelter, I remembering exiting Men’s Hostel via a gap due to a missing bar in the bogs.
In first year I was thin enough to squeeze through the gap, final year I was too big.
We decided to go to the Katpadi station and wait for our respective trains.
During the holidays a letter arrived addressed to my father from the Principal’s office, stating broadly, “Do you know your ward was involved in an incident of gross indiscipline and the authorities take a very serious view of this.” My father being a principal himself knew boys will be boys and laughed it away. He however penned an appropriate reply stating that I had received the necessary dressing down from him.
On returning to college after holidays we were all summoned to the Principal’s office.
I remember my inquisition with Dr. C.K. Job. He minced no words and came straight to the point, “why did you do it?” I mumbled something vaguely about being told it’s a tradition. “Tradition!” he said almost having an apoplectic fit, “do you know this is the first time such an incident has happened!”

7. We were the last Batch where the administration permitted a large number of us including yours truly to be provisionally admitted despite our mark lists not being available. They gave us 15 days time and I suspect it was more due to sympathy for ‘Terry’ Tee Seng Kiong because he had secured admission in 1977 but had to leave because his Malaysian school certificate was not recognized by Madras University. He went to Trivandrum and appeared for 12th from there but like me his results were not declared when we appeared for interview.
The next year anyone not having their mark list was shown the exit and the next on the waiting list was called.
So you guys narrowly missed not having the BOSE in it’s present composition.

8. We joined at a time when there was a change of Principals. Dr. A.S. Fenn the outgoing principal was easy-going but the incoming principal Dr. C.K. Job was strait laced.
He believed in a strict curfew time of 12 midnight for the girls, because “after 12 passions would rise.”
I wonder whether the word passions was used euphemistically.
He was not in favour of ‘Discos’ which had become a tradition post any party.
The parties also previously were more frequent. After each batch gave the Freshers a welcome party, the Freshers were supposed to give a return party.
He stopped the return parties cutting down on the number of parties.
The parties consisted of activities to get to know each other and also party games like ‘shrinking islands’ designed bring people real close…… in proximity at least. During the last
half an hour of the party, the lights were dimmed and the music played loud and the dancing began, which was frequently interrupted by an emissary from the Principal’s office or the Principal himself.

9. We had 3 Sunils in our class, Sunil Agarwal, Sunil Datta and Sunil Thomas Chandy.
Sunil Agarwal was called Dariwallah Sunil by Dr. Theodore due to his hirsute appearance. Dr. Theodore or Teddy as he was popularly known taught us Zoology. Whenever chick embryo was mentioned he would say “This reminds me of Chickmagalur and the impending bye elections from there. Hopefully Mrs. Gandhi will win.” Mrs. Indira Gandhi was standing from the safe constituency of Chickmagalur. Anthonysamy or popularly known as Botanysamy taught us, what else! Botany. Dr. James Verghese who taught us Chemistry was Jimmy but Dr. Rose who taught us Physics remained Dr. Rose. Mrs. Rose or Ma Rose taught us English. Her favorite words were “as such” because she frequently used it.

10. We had 6 Johns in our Batch, John Mathew, John Christo, John Alexander, Sajiv John and Jones (Johns) Kurian and Philipose John. They inhabited the block John of Men’s Hostel along with the other John’s of Men’s Hostel and the john was just nearby.

11. We must be only Batch who had a Sri Lankan Tamil, who neither sang nor played a musical instrument and what is really sacrilegious, did not play cricket.

12. Maybe this is the reason we never won an interclass music competition.
So in our final year we decided to give the bathroom singers and wannabe singers a chance. Lacking in talent, ‘kaaykoo’ (raucous) songs were chosen like Dr. Freud, the words of the song went like this,

“Oh it happened in Vienna, not so very long ago,
When not too many folks were getting sick
That a starving young physician tried to better his position
By discovering what made his patients tick

Oh, Dr. Freud, oh, Dr. Freud
How I wish that you’d been differently employed
For the set of circumstances sure enhances the finances
Of the followers of Dr. Sigmund Freud

He forgot about sclerosis, but invented the psychosis
And a hundred ways that sex could be enjoyed
He adopted as his credo, “Down repression, up libido”
And that was the start of Dr. Sigmund Freud “

Then for the Gumbal there was Changiz Khan. I am sure you don’t want to know the lyrics because it went like” Ohhhf! Aaah!…. Chang! Chang! Changiz Khan” and in the rest in gibberish.

Government of India Candidate

During the interviews I met some seniors who took me to the College Canteen. They were being friendly or a mite over friendly.
On the way we met another group of seniors returning from the canteen with another candidate.
The candidate was wearing a very loud full sleeves shirt with vivid floral prints, a tie, contrasting pants with the cuffs flaring to a full 32″. Bell bottoms as they were called in those days, a fading fashion of the 70s. His hair was heavily greased, moustache and aviator shades.
“Myself Madhuraj Singh, Government of India Candidate from Damoh, Madhya Pradesh. Unlike you who are still to be selected I am already selected and don’t need to be bothered by the interview.”
The seniors accompanying him began pulling his leg, asking him for a treat to celebrate his effortless entry.
I was encouraged by the seniors to join in the leg pulling but I desisted.
During the interviews Madhuraj Singh could be spotted boarding the bus meant for the candidates and even landing up for the physical check ups.
There were two other persons who stood out when we assembled in the Carmen Block. Mainly due to their incongruous dress. One was a small diminutive appearing girl wearing a pleated skirt, tee shirt and two tight plaits, school girl madari (akin). The other was tall thin with a single plait and wearing a top and skirt. These girls I was told were the female Government of India Candidate. The small one was appropriately named ‘Chunmun Jhunjhunwala and the tall one was ‘Evangeline Benedict’.
We didn’t have any interaction with these female candidates but Madhuraj Singh made it a point to be seen heard and be an irritant.
The final selection list was put up in Carmen Block on the 17th of July, 1978 and after completing the admission formalities and saying, good bye to my father. I walked down the path to Men’s Hostel. I met my future roommates down this path.
That evening was a Grand Dinner in Men’s Hostel or as we didn’t know then, the Last Supper. All the tables were joined together in the Mess and our entire class was seated around the table. We had to introduce ourselves to the hostel followed by cheering.
The seniors were very friendly and paid for any extras we wanted like eggs etc.
Then at the appointed hour the trumpet sounded like a bugle, ‘Taatara, Tattara!’
“Down on your knees” screamed all the seniors in unison. We were supposed to crawl up the steps to the common room. Our gazes had to be lowered at all times. During this climb I felt a stick placed under my chin forcing me to look up. “Do you remember me?” I looked carefully at the person dressed in white shorts, white tee shirt and slippers. When I hesitated with a reply he said “I am Madhuraj Singh or actually a final year student. Now you have to pay for all the insults you showered on me!”
Later after ragging was over I discovered another CMC tradition, fake Government of India Candidate. They were supposed be as irritating as possible so that you would either tease them or insult them. Then during ragging they would extract their revenge.
The Females must have also faced a similar fate. I believe one of the female faux Government of India Candidate feigned a panic attack. To which a well meaning class girl told her to take deep breathes and demonstrated how. Then during initiation she had to demonstrate the ‘orgasmic’ deep breathing to the hostel.

The Impact

During the impact in first year we spoofed on the fact that superheroes wear their underwears over their tights. This looks cool in comics but in real life it looks, to put it politely comic!
The men’s hostel had a co-operative store where you could buy the essentials and one of them were, underwears/jocks/jattis/chaddis! The ones popular in our times were manufactured by the TTK conglomerate under the brand name of Tantex. Keeping in mind the taste of the people who liked to add colour, even to their inner wear which were not normally displayed. It came in a rainbow choice of colours, a veritable VIBGYOR!
Since these unmentionables could not be washed by the dhobi. The risk of contacting the ‘Dhobi’s itch’ and having an irresistible desire to scratch down there was high. Hence they were washed in the sink of the bogs and strung out to dry in front of the room.
Seven different colours for seven days of the week. Some however extracted extra mileage from the them by wearing them inside out.
Getting back to the Impact, one of our classmates noticed an indigo jock strung outside a class mate’s room in the slums. By frequent washing the indigo had faded to a purple. Architang (Eureka)! The idea of the Ghost who walks in purple Tantex jocks was born. He borrowed the jocks from the owner who lent it without even giving a thought as to why would anyone want to borrow jocks!
The Impact began with a darkened stage and a prop on stage, then suddenly out jumped a figure from behind the prop. He was a masked man, wearing purple tights and over the tights he wore ‘purple Tantex Jocks’ and he was none other than the ‘Ghost who Walks’ Phantom. He danced a jig singing “Devil O’ my Devil, where the Hell are you my Devil” (Devil is Phantom’s Dog sorry wolf, by the way, not to be mistaken for the other Devil). He really made an impact.

The Treva Marshal Award

The prestigious Treva Marshal Award, for the best incoming student was purportedly to be awarded on Graduation Day. This award was named after a former warden of Women’s Hostel.
The awardees names, a boy and a girl where put up in the Carmen Block. This created some discontent amongst some of our classmates who felt they were deserving. One was even going to meet the principal to ask him on what criteria the awardees were selected.
The seniors swarmed around the awardees like flies for treats. Celebrating such a prestigious award.
But when one of the awardees was going to call her parents to be present during the ceremony, a senior took pity on her and told her it’s a big con.
This was another traditional con of CMC. Normally alleged smart alecks are chosen by the seniors for this honour.
In previous years the con was played to the hilt, seats were reserved for the awardees in the Scudder Auditorium and they were also included in the rehearsals. And on the day of the awards they waited and waited but their names were never called. They went and enquired only to discover they were conned!

Practical use of knowledge

During our second year when we were exposed to anatomy.
We tried to find some practical relevance of this otherwise dry subject. Cunningham’s dissection manual interspersed some vignettes in it’s otherwise dry directions. During dissection of the lower limb, more specifically the gluteal region it mentioned, “weakness in the gluteus medius muscle results in a waddling gait.” This knowledge made one of my classmates awake from his slumber and open his eyes. He scanned the dissection hall till he zeroed on an attractive petite girl with a not so petite derriere.
Her gait was poetry in motion like a ship rolling on the ocean and I was reminded of the Mitch Miller song, “She’s got a pair of hips just like two battleships……….”. A bulb light up in his mind and immediately he went up to her and stuttered “you got a waddling gait, you must be having weakness in the gluteus medius”. As you can imagine the girl was totally flabbergasted and didn’t know how to react. She turned to his companion who was looking sheepish and said “Scold him!”

Sexy Podimas

Men’s Hostel had a very dull menu in those days (I don’t know what the situation is now). You go to the table you could be assured that there would be three vessels full of Sambar, Rasam and Saadam. We had to stand in line and were dished out a plate with vegetables and beef or just vegetables. The only variations in the week were some days when we got Chola Bhaturas or some days the Kerala Barotas and other days Chappatis.
The Barotas (I suspect this is a corruption of Parothas) were unique in the sense they seem to have been made by pulling the Maida into a rope then laying it in a spiral fashion and rolling it into a circle and then roasting it on a Tawa with oil. When you tore the Barota it would unravel in a corkscrew pattern.
The Chappatis were as someone rightly described ‘bullet-proof’ because the cooks did not know how to place them on the fire and inflate them (phulkas). So in order to make them chewable a generous dose of oil was added to it.
However Sundays were a treat for the carnivores, chicken with the mandatory ‘chips’, substituting for the appalams (pappad).
The residents used to line up in advance to get the best pieces, the most popular where the leg and the breast. Some of the residents were more graphic when they requested for breast piece, “Thambi nalla breast piece” (Thambi good breast piece) and they would squeeze their own breast to emphasize the point.
In our routine dull cuisine there was a single silver lining of a ‘muttai’ or egg which we could order as an extra by paying with coupons.
The muttais available were:-
1. Kanadi muttai=Plain old fried egg because of it glass like quality was called Kanadi.
2. Omlette
3. Podimas=Scrambled egg
The variety in Podimas was legendary and had names:-
Some were named after famous personalities like ‘Ninan Chacko Podima’.
Others were patriotic like ‘All India Podima’ (This sometimes was corrupted by our classmates to sound like ‘Olinda Podima’, after a classmate of ours.)
Then there was the name which call a spade a spade, ‘The All Shit Podima’ (apt description of the cooking in Men’s Hostel).
The there was the graphic name of ‘Sexy Podimas.”
These Podimas had one thing in common all of them contained thakkali, kothamalli, vengaayam and pachai milagaai (tomatoes, cilantro, onions, green chillies) in varying proportions. Which one contained how much of what was known to no one!
Sometimes if an aggressive resident was served a Ninan Chacko Podima rather then the Sexy Podima that he had ordered it could land on the face of the Thambi.
Some residents tried to win immortality by attempting to devise and popularize a podima named after themselves. However after Ninan Chacko no other personality managed to garner that amount of fame and no two podimas were ever the same.

Nomenclature of the Thambis

Thambi as you all must be knowing means ‘younger brother’ in Tamil however it is used euphemistically for the servers in the mess. The Thambis of course had names but sobriquets were given to most. So for example if there was a Selvaraj then he would be known as Silverass.
During the time of the Los Angeles Olympics there was a Thambi who some felt resembled the famous American Sprinter so he was christened as Carl Lewis.
The senior of the Thambis who now had a cushy desk job in the mess of collecting money and handing out coupons was Pichamuthu who was affectionately know as ‘Pichu’ (perhaps influenced by the P.T.C.H.W. s of CHAD).
The most famous and perhaps the oldest Moniker was of a certain T.G.S Kuppusamy Reddy a very senior Thambi. He was rumoured to have suffered from congenital syphyllis and had the stigma of saddle nose, opthalmic signs and syhilitic arteritis. He was sometimes kept as a case in Opthal exams.
Our seniors thought he looked like a ‘Creep’, so he was popularly known as ‘Creep’.
I don’t know about the other Thambis but Creep quite like his new name whether he understood the meaning or reason behind it. Maybe the name Creep gave him a unique identity just like the filmstar, Sivaji Ganesan, Gemini Ganesan and Malayasia Ganesan. Everybody remembers Creep but nobody would remember Kuppusamy.
I had the good fortune of meeting Creep whenever I visit Vellore. He looks exactly the same (Creep-like).
He underwent corrective heart surgery perhaps for an Aortic Regurgitation some years ago . He needed monetary support and a lot of ex Men’s Hostelites contributed.
Creep now works as a Watchman in a Government Guest House, but during reunions he is spotted in the campus and Alumni tip him generously because he evokes nostalgia of a bye gone era.

Shopping for Sex

Two ladies of our class went shopping for dress material. They went to a clothes store and asked the shopkeeper to show them ‘checks’. They were horrified when the shopkeeper shouted to his assistant, “thambi sex kunduva” (Thambi get sex). They were further aghast when the shopkeeper asked them, “Enna madari sex vanom, chinna? Persaa?” (What type of sex do you want, small? Big?). Well our classmates did not know whether to be indignant or to laugh out loud.
Checks and sex could be confused by a native Tamil speaker for the same reason Charles would be pronounced ‘Sarless’.
Our native tongues influences the way we speak English to a large extent and I have made some observations in Tamil speakers.
They normally have difficulty in differentiating from ‘ka’ (क) (as in crow), ‘kh’ (ख) (as in Khan), ‘ga’ (ग) (as in grow). I remember trying to teach a Tamil classmate the difference between ‘Khana’ (खाना) (food) and ‘Kana’ (काना). Similarly the name Padma is also pronounced by some people as Badma or even Fadma, because again ‘pa’ (प) (as in party), ‘ba’ (ब) (as in bakery), ‘fa’ (फ) (as in food) are all represented by one alphabet. I remember a classmate telling me that the letter for ‘ha’ (ह) (as in Hare Ram) was adopted from Sanskrit so you find a lot of people don’t use it and Mahalakshmi will be pronounced as ‘Maggalakshmi’ and Bahadur Singh will be ‘Baggadur Singh’. Then we have the example of ‘t’ (त) (as in total), ‘th’ (थ) (as in thought), ‘d’ (द) (as in dumb). We all know that a Sangeeta will becomes a Sangeetha in the South and Anita will become an Anitha and so on. But the ‘th’ (थ) at the end will be pronounced more like ‘d’ (द) so it will sound like Sangeeda. Similarly is it Murlitharan as the cricketer likes to spell it or Murlidharan or Sendhilkumar or Senthilkumar and is it Kaadal or Kaathal?
As a result of this incident ‘checks’ is used commonly in our batch lingo. For example as an adjective to describe how someone is looking, if he or she is looking good then it’s ‘checks’. If someone posts a picture on social media, comments like checks are common.

Challenge a senior

Annually as Batches passed out better rooms became available for the residents in Men’s Hostel. Priorities for choosing these rooms are picked by lots.
The trend was to pick rooms near your friends and as you became senior you chose rooms higher in the Hostel.
One of our classmate was allotted a coveted room and was eagerly awaiting to occupying it. However the senior who was the former resident, despite having moved his stuff had not removed his lock from the room. Perhaps because of his busy schedule and studying late in Dodd Library.
Our classmate was unable to meet him, so finally frustrated he put up a notice on the Hostel Notice Board which read “Could the person occupying Room No.— kindly remove his lock otherwise I will be forced to break the lock”.
Now you can imagine the fury of the senior, a ‘pisser’ albeit now a 2nd Junior daring to even consider breaking his lock and forcibly occupy his room!
He threw down the symbolic gauntlet by writing below the notice, “If you break my lock then watch out for your cock!”

Climb every mountain

We followed tradition to the hilt by climbing every mountain surrounding CMC.
First was the pimple called college hill, then Toad Hill and finally Kailash. Mind you these hills were given these names by the CMC residents, their actual names are different. A climb up Kailash was planned by our Batch and since it involved a long walk to the base we had to set out early.
One of our classmate though most enthusiastic about the trip, did not wake up in time to join the gang. When he got up late, he hired a bicycle from Bagayam and cycled to the base of Kailash hoping to catch up with the gang. Then he began his solo ascent up Kailash and got completely lost. He had not carried any supplies with him not even water, confident of catching up with the gang.
After climbing for some time in the hot sun he became dehydrated and hungry. He spotted a grazing cow and was so desperate that he attempted unsuccessfully to drink milk directly from the udders. He also drank from any puddles he could find.
He was really in a desperate shape when a good Samaritan in the form of a Cattle Herder picked him up and carried him on his shoulders to his hut and lay him down on a cot. Our friend had limited knowledge of Tamil and could only mumble to the herder, “Passi! Passi!” (hungry), miming the act of eating with his left palm and right hand. The good Samaritan shared with him their humble repast and helped him get back on the road to the base of Kailash.

Picnic in Pondy

Legend has it that a Frenchman was in love with a local girl called Ponda. He lovingly called her ‘Ponda ma cherie’ or Ponda my dear and from that came the name of the French colony, Pondicherry.
Though now the name has been changed to Puducherry or New Town.
It was a former French colony but came under Indian rule in 1954. Being a union territory and under indirect control of the centre it has very low taxes on commodities like liquor. Hence liquor is very cheap in Pondy making it an attractive destination for trippers.
The men had superior numbers and hence voting powers and since there were no fixtures we were not influenced by the residents of the other side of the road. This voting power came in handy when the venue of class picnics had to be decided. Pondy was a very popular choice with the men for obvious reasons and unpopular with the women for the same reasons. The men prevailed due to superior numbers.
It was during a picnic in Pondy the choice of which the girls opposed vehemently but lost in the hand count. The day was spent on the beach wetting our toes and we split in the evening going to various restaurants for dinner. Two of our classmates went to a Vietnamese restaurant for dinner and consumed 250 ml of Old Monk Rum between the them. They returned to the parked Silver and Blue bus early and waited for the rest of the crowd to return.
One felt nauseous and suffocated inside the Silver and Blue and the other had dozed off. Waking up his sleeping friend he told him that he was going to the roof of the bus to get some fresh air. The drowsy friend mumbled incoherently his consent. So he climbed onto the roof and lay down taking in the fresh sea air and fell asleep. Next thing he remembers is being woken up by a classmate and being “We have to go, everyone was searching for you.” On climbing down he discovered what had transpired, when everyone had returned they found him missing and no one knew where he was. There was a desperate manhunt until his friend woke just long enough to tell them that he was sleeping on the roof.

Obituary to our departed classmates

I could go on and on about our days in CMC but I have to end it at some point. My account would not be complete without remembering the classmates who are no longer with us. We lost Praneeth Peter to an unfortunate swimming accident in our first year. In our second year Shantilata Devi also succumbed to head injuries following a motorcycle accident. Zita Shobharani left us after she finished her PG. Srideo Jha was next, died due to massive cerebral haemorrhage. B. Samson left us last year due to a massive heart attack. I’m sure they are in a happier place and to quote Billy Joel “Only the good die young.” May the souls of the departed Rest in Peace.
This has been a sample of our sojourn in CMC. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.