As part of our training in our final year MBBS we had a residential posting in Obstetrics. Where it was mandatory for us to conduct 20 normal deliveries and maintain a diligent record. This was to give us a hands on experience of the child birth process. It was a real eye opener.
In Obstetrics there is an adage, “what begins in the night, ends in the night”. Most of us were conceived in the night so we also chose to enter this cruel cold world in the night or in the wee hours of the morning. Unless it was a planned Caesarean Section, then it’s according to the convenience of the Obstetricians. There are also the ‘Mahurat Caesars’, where an auspicious day and time is chosen after consultation with an astrologist or priest. It is believed that the day and time of the birth determines the future. So being born on an auspicious day and at an auspicious time, would give the child a head start in life.
In order to be available 24 X 7, we were allotted two rooms just above the labour room, one for the boys and one for the girls. At some recent past this must have been one single room but then was divided into two by constructing a wall in between which stopped short by a foot from the ceiling. Possibly there may have been some difficulty laying the bricks up to the ceiling. This gave a convenient gap in which an electric bell was affixed, which was audible to occupants of both rooms. The bell was connected to the labour room and as soon as a lady in labour was admitted, the nurse would ring the bell and the residents of the rooms would turn by turn descend down and take down the details of the lady and monitor her progress until she delivered.
This was our first experience of sleep deprivation and most of us would be going down muttering under our breath, as to why this innocent soul chose this unearthly hour. Sometimes the nurses were charitable and told us to go back to sleep as the lady is not in advanced labour. They would call us when she’s ready to deliver. Others would play by the rules which say we should monitor the lady until she delivers. The labour room which wore a desolate look during the day, was chock a block with ladies in various stages of labour. As the auspicious moment for each lady approached the contractions of the uterus became more frequent. Each contraction was associated with pain and every lady began remembering their mother and their God. So on one bed you had a lady screaming with each painful contraction, ‘Andavane Muruga!’, or just ‘Muruga!’ Muruga referred to Murugan or Kartikeyan, son of Shiva and Parvati and brother of Ganesh, who is revered in South India. ‘Andavane Muruga’ roughly translates into ‘Oh Lord! I believe in you!’ But Muruga in Hindi means a Cock! As in Rooster and not what you’re thinking. Pun unintended! The next bed you had a lady wearing a hijab and shouting ‘Allahaa’! When repeated over and over again, it sounded more like ‘La la laa’. The next bed you had a lady shouting ‘Yeshu Swami’! All the major religions of India represented in one room and all entering into this world in a similar manner. In other words we are equal in birth and in death.
Then as the appointed hour drew nigh, it was heralded by an increased intensity of screams and supplications to the Almighty. Indicating an increased frequency of labour pains. To determine the stage of labour a pelvic examination was done by a resident. Two gloved fingers, the index and the middle finger were introduced in the vagina and the effacement and dilatation of the cervix or in plain English, how much the mouth of the uterus had opened and stretched thinly over the baby’s descending head, was assessed.
There would be a bulge of the amniotic membrane over the advancing head in what is called fore water. This was ruptured by the resident, an ARM or artificial rupture of membrane to speed up labour. We hear it often in movies or serials, “My water just broke!” Indicating an imminent delivery. Then the lady was transferred to the labour table.
The labour table as one layman commented resembled a medieval torture table! Often seen in places like the Tower of London. There are stirrups to string up and part the legs and the foldable lower part of the table, allowing the buttocks to be at the edge. The student was seated on a stool between the parted legs, wearing cap and mask, gloves and a plastic apron hands placed in the classic catching stance of a fielder, waiting to catch the child. A resident would be standing behind and guide the student. Cheer leaders consisting of student nurses and staff nurses, lined up on either sides, cajoling her to bear down. The chorus they chanted in Tamil was “Mukh Ma! Mukh Ma! Viraday Mukh Ma! Vellilay pon madari Mukh Ma! Which roughly translates into “Bear down! Bear down like when you go out to defecate!” Meanwhile the others would massage the abdomen and apply pressure on to fundus of the uterus to stimulate it to contract. If the lady so much as to dared to scream in pain, she would be rewarded with a slap and an admonition, “chumma kataaday!” or don’t shout unnecessarily. Definitely shades of medieval torture or police third degree.
But I have worked in the extreme South, Central and North of India and have found similar rituals, transcending cultures and languages. When I was doing my bond in Maharashtra, the cheer leaders used to chant, “Laga! Laga! Laga!” Roughly the same meaning only for in a different language and it used to sound like “Lagalagalagalagaaa!”, in one breath.
Then came the stage of the ‘crowning’ of the head! The head would emerge from the vaginal verge and the verge would form a ‘crown’. The resident directing the student from behind would ask him or her to take the episiotomy scissors and make a radial cut on this crown at the 7 o clock position. This was to give space for the head to come out and avoid haphazard tears of the vagina. One consultant once opined “I prefer using a scalpel as invariably the scissors are blunt”. However one question always troubled me as to how he managed to avoid incising the crowning head.
Then the head of the child emerged and once mouth of the child was visible, suction was given to remove any secretions in the throat and nose. The head is caught by passing the index and middle fingers of both hands on either side of the neck and applying traction downwards and out comes the child. Then the child is held upside down and suction to his mouth and nose is given. The child is initially patted gently all over to encourage him to cry, but if it doesn’t cry then the pat becomes akin to a slap. Next the student is supposed to tie the umbilical cord in two places with a sterile thread. Then cover the tied area with the left hand and severe the cord using a cord cutting scissors with the right hand. The idea of covering was to prevent blood splattering around as the cord becomes engorged. I once didn’t cover and the spray hit a senior nurse’s hat. Least to say she was not amused and if looks could kill I would have fallen dead on the spot. The student would then have to wait to deliver the placenta, examine it to determine if it was complete or some part remaining which could cause a post partum bleed. Then along with the help of the resident the student was taught how to suture the episiotomy wound. This was our first exposure to suturing and therefore was very exciting. The residents mainly females varied from having a motherly attitude to being impatient or being an outright bitch. One of the nicer ones encouraged me and praised my suturing, she also prophetically said “you will become a surgeon!” God Bless her!
The child meanwhile is wiped and cleaned by another team of nurses, an identification band is placed on the child’s wrist to prevent a mix up and wrapped in a blanket. A paediatrician examines the child for any congenital anomalies.
I once read that the famous cricketer Sunil Gavaskar got exchanged at birth and was almost being taken by the wrong set of parents but was saved by an observant relative and the correct child was given to the parents. Otherwise he commented he would have been a fisherman rather than a cricketer.
The next step is the child is shown to the mother and she is asked what sex did she hope for? The mother invariably gives a diplomatic answer and then the child’s genitalia is uncovered to reveal the sex of the child. Mother being a mother accepts the child whether boy or girl but the relatives waiting outside may not be so altruistic.
During our COP or Community Orientation Program, we stayed in a Village Mottupalayam for 15 days and interacted with the villagers. There was one family which had 3 daughters, the first was named ‘Tamilselvi’ or pride of Tamils. When the next girl was born they named her ‘Ventam’, meaning ‘don’t want’, hoping that God would get the hint but when the third girl was born there was mourning and chest beating. They realized God does not take subtle hints so she was named, ‘Inniki pothum’, or enough is enough!
Now I know why it’s called labour! Maybe fulfilling the Biblical prophecy by God to Eve for the original sin, “I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labour you will give birth to children Genesis 3:16
The Greek hero Hercules was given 12 labours by King Eurystheus as penance, but I think all of them paled in comparison to what a woman faces.
My appreciation to all the women of this world for all you have to face in life but still emerge  smiling.

I have an iPhone 5s bought in 2014 when it was the latest. It had been functioning satisfactorily until this August. I was traveling and in order to charge it I had to balance it precariously on top of a switch board. Needless to say it fell flat on it’s face twice. After that it began freaking out, the touch screen would not respond and it became difficult to take calls. On examining it in the sunlight there was a hairline crack on the screen. Being an Indian and not believing in the ‘use and throw’ policy of the west I took it to the authorised Apple Service Centre. It was an impressive place with service technicians sitting in a row across the table to customers, who where telling them the problem with their phones. The technicians would nod sympathetically.
There were plenty of glamorous faces waiting for their turn. In order to get an appointment with a technicians I had to get a token from a machine at the entrance. It spat out a slip with a number printed on it . When my turn finally came I found myself sitting across a young man wearing the mandatory Apple tee shirt. I told him my problem and he nodded sympathetically. Then he gave me a solution, “most probably the display is damaged” he said.
I felt like kissing him for his brilliance.
“You can leave the phone and we will have to send it to Bangalore for diagnosis”.
Sounded okay so far to me so I nodded.
Then came the double whammy, “In case the display has to be changed it will cost you ₹14000/-” he said.
“Can you say that again!” I said not really believing my ears. He smiled and patiently repeated himself. I immediately picked up my phone and thanked him profusely for his time and politely enquired whether I owed him anything for the consultation, which he graciously declined. I also asked him how much I would get for a buy back offer, to which he referred me to sales department. There I discovered I could get a princely reduction on the purchase of another model of ₹2000/-.
Now what to do with the phone was the question. Repair would cost 14k and exchange would get me 2k, choice between the Devil and the deep blue sea.
So I decided to take a second opinion. Gym trainers are the people to get the best advice. They deal with a cross section of people. One of them advised me to go to the electronic market in front of Shani Mandir and seek the repair shop of an individual. He apparently was very famous and everyone knew him.
Shani Mandir is very congested area and parking is a nightmare. I decided not even to attempt parking there and instead parked at least half a kilometer away and walked into the market, feeling happy getting some more mileage on my fitness tracker.
He did turn out to be a well known person because on enquiring I was told to walk down a particular lane and his repair shop would be at the end. The problem was there two repair shops at the end of the road and since I only knew the name of the person it was difficult for me to decide which was the correct shop. I also didn’t feel like barging into a shop and enquiring whether it belonged to the person as they would definitely be rivals. So I went to a neighbouring shop dealing in electronic parts and asked him. I was surprised when he claimed to be totally oblivious of such a person. So I entered one of the shops and saw the person behind the counter was a Sardar. Wrong shop I thought and immediately made an exit. Then I went to the next shop and was relieved to find the name of the owner written in small print on the board.
On entering the store I was surprised to find that they also had a set up in a similar to the Apple service center, albeit on a smaller scale. The person manning the counter asked me the problem and went further than sympathetically nodding, he expertly removed two screws at the base of the mobile then with a metal spatula he levered the display off. First time I had seen the inside of an iPhone. I could make out the black battery in an interior coloured black. I remembered Steve Job was particular that the inside should also be as presentable as the outside.
Again the diagnosis was a display problem and that it had gone into an automatic mode. You press one app and another is activated.
“The display may have to be changed” he said. “Okay!” I replied and waited for the whammy. “Original display will cost ₹3000/- and first copy will cost ₹1500/-“. I was a little amused with the terminology. There are degrees to duplicates, first degree and so on. I remember shopping for fake Swiss watches in Dubai. The shopkeeper refused to say fake, “It’s a replica Saar!”, they were Malayalees.
I was tempted to ask how much a 3rd or 4th copy would cost.
He went on to say that they will get back to me once they determine that the display has to be changed. Then I was given a sketch pen and asked to sign on the screen, presumably to prevent any replacement.
Two days later I got a call saying the display needs to be changed and I foolishly opted for the original. The phone came back as good as new. I have put it up for sale on OLX but the replaced ‘original’ display is eating my profit margin ☹️. But every cloud has a silver lining and at least it’s better than the ₹2000/- buy back.

There were many pets in Men’s Hostel, when we joined one of the seniors had kept a monkey in appendix. Favourite ragging question was “what does he feed his monkey?” The answer was bananananaa.” Which had to match Beethovan’s Symphony which began with a ‘Tanananaa’.
There was a cat christened Thomas, named after it’s owner but it came to along with anyone who fed it. We used to use Thomas’s services to rid of the lizards in our rooms. Just bring him to your room and tap the wall with a stick, above where the lizard is perched. It would race down in the opposite direction and Thomas would pounce and grab it with his paws and swallow it whole. One of our Super Seniors decided to test the 9 lives of Thomas by throwing it down from the Supertop. Thomas landed on his feet and limped away. He had now 8 lives remaining!
Our juniors bought two Yorkshire Piglets from RUHSA. They were very cute with pink skin. They were Christened ‘Coccus’ after a Professor of Microbiology, Grace Koshy and Pulli after the Principal the great Benjamin Pulimood. These names were written on there bellies in bold writing. They were let free in the enclosure behind the kitchen in Men’s Hostel and the Thambis fed them all the left overs and vegetable peels. Within 6 months time they grew to 200 pounds, which speaks miles about the Hostel leftovers.
Now we come to the sad part, as the pigs had been bought by contribution amongst the juniors with profit on their minds. One of them had to be sacrificed to realise the profits. A professional butcher was brought from town and I think Coccus was the first one to go. The meat the enterprising juniors sold to lot of staff and with the proceeds bought what else but booze and organised a pig party on Appendix terrace. The menu was pig, fried, boiled, grilled and curried. I had the privilege of being invited to this party and throughly enjoyed. Luckily no one ended with ‘Pig Bel’. I was not there to know about the fate of Pulli, however I learnt that RUHSA got smart after that and refused to part with their Piglets.

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. 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!” 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 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 place, 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?” “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. After the first year you had the freedom of failing as many times as you wished. There were some who took their time leaving. Uptil that time only one person had managed to fail thrice and coincidentally he was from my home town of Nagpur.
5. 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 Kaadil 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 for dinner while the girls had the luxury of their Hostel rooms and saapdu. We had a Bridge playing set in our class and JP was an ardent Bridge player. He used to land up after dinner to play bridge with them. 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, 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. 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 until we discovered that there were snakes in the well. 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 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. 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 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 had an important role in the CMC.
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.
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 and 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 the 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’. ‘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 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 from 12th from there but like me his results were not declared when we appeared for interview. The next year anyone not having their marklist 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 also 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 another tradition post any party. The parties were also more frequent. After each batch giving 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.
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 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.
10. We had 6 Johns in our Batch, John Mathew, John Christo, John Alexander, Sajiv John, Philipose John and Jones (Johns) Kurian. 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. Needless to say we never won an interclass music competition. So in our final year we decided to give the bathroom and wannabe singers a chance. Lacking in talent, ‘kaaykoo’ 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.

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, underwear/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 in to their inner wear which was 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 and irresistible desire to scratch there. 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! 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 and impact.

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. The Kailash marked an unique adventure in the life of one of our classmates. He did not wake up in time to join the gang. When he got up he hired a bicycle from Bagayam and cycled to the base of Kailash hoping to catch up with the rest of the gang. Then he began his solo ascent up Kailash and got completely lost. He had not carried anything with him hoping to catch up with the gang, so he was dehydrated and hungry. He spotted a grazing cow and was so desperate that he attempted unsuccessfully to drink milk directly from the udders. 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!”, 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.

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.