Chapter 15

“That was very nasty of you, Achal!” I screamed, as soon as I recovered enough. My

raucous coughing had echoed loud in the silence of the night, and Sunil had rushed out to

my rescue. While he nursed me with soothing strokes and pats on my back, he wore an

unmistakable ‘I-told-you-so’ look all over his face.

“What do you mean?” Achal retorted.

“You turned me into a bloody guinea pig, that’s what I mean! You experimented on me

with the cigarette!”

“What!? What makes you think so?”

“You didn’t even light that goddamned butt of yours, let alone smoke! You just stood

there and watched me convulse with cough, that’s what you did!”

“Hey, Ajay, cool it. It was you who were in such a big hurry. Before we could blink, you

fired your cigarette and took in that deep drag! That’s not the way it’s done! Varun was

there to tell us how to handle a fag, but you took off on your own! As if that was the last

thing you were to do on this planet!

Sunil’s timely intervention prevented further upheaval. Achal slept off after his

customary, slow and irritatingly meticulous, bed-time routine. I lent a patient ear to

Sunil’s inevitable preaching on ills of smoking that lasted half an hour. Thereafter, I

managed to study, unflustered, for the rest of the night.

Now, several years after that incident, and a long time since I lost touch with Achal, and I

wonder if he ever tried smoking again. I, till date, have not been able to muster enough

courage for a second attempt.

The last days before the exams are only a hazy memory; as all I remember now is the

untiring slog. We remained detached from the rest of the world for several days, as we

got the real taste of being medical students. The theory exam papers did not appear too

scary: perhaps because I had expected to see questions printed in Greek and Latin, in the

first place. I was, therefore, content with my overall performance.

As we scrambled out of the lecture-hall after the last of the theory exams - PSM, I

fantasized sleeping for ten hours at a stretch. I was in no mood to take part even in the

mandatory post-exam discussions about the absurdity of some of the questions asked, and

the comedy about most of the answers written.

It was Pankaj who stopped me at the cycle-stand. The rest of my batch-mates joined soon

enough and showered me with birthday wishes. My room-mates too had reserved their

compliments for until after the exam. The morning had been too tense for wishes and

greetings, and any reference to a birthday would have been painfully out of place.

Everyone smiled and laughed as I was handed over thoughtfully chosen cards; even as I

knew that the merriment was augmented by the conclusion of the theory papers.

Nonetheless, I felt elated somewhere deep inside, for everyone remembered my special

day, despite the alienating preoccupation with the tests. Priya’s card had a cute little

teddy bear joyously offering a bunch of flowers. Inside, she wrote ‘Happy Birthday to

Dear Dumbo.’

Dumbo?

Five o’clock was the time set by Achal for everyone to meet at the Kalyan restaurant, at

Sayajiganj: for an uproarious party, as he put it. The end of the theory exams added a

reason for the gathering, and everyone looked forward to it.

‘So that we can get back to the books for the practical exams with fresh minds,’ Rekha

justified the proposed extravaganza.

Kalyan, located in the buoyant hub of the city, and at a short distance from the faculties

of arts and commerce, was one of the most favorite joints for the university students. The

ground floor served fast food of all kinds, and the first floor served traditional meals. Not

a very large property, Kalyan was a triangular building owing to its position within the

‘V’ of a road’s bifurcation. The two walls that faced the roads had wide, clear-glass

windows with Venetian blinds. The pavement outside the restaurant always remained

choc-a-block with motor-bikes and other vehicles; and altercations over parking space

were common among the youthful regulars.

Inside, the tables were intelligently placed to use up maximum floor space without

appearing congested. The tables were taller than usual and had matching, tall revolving

stools with circumferential foot-rests at a comfortable height from the floor. This gave the

occupier of the seat a chance to swivel 360 degrees from his place: pleasantly different

from the commonplace restaurant chairs that forced the occupants to gaze in one

direction only: straight ahead.

Cake-cutting was never a part of our birthday galas in public places, as it was

unanimously considered too silly. Sunil broke the rule, and brought a small chocolate

cake from Cakes and Cookies, a nearby bakery; no one really objected to it, except me.

“Hey, I’m not going to indulge in this infantile business,” I said.

Later, I agreed to cut the cake but with the pre-condition that there would be no candles

and no one would sing the birthday song.

Not only did everyone sing it, quite ostentatiously; Manoj smeared some of the cake on

my face, turning me red from embarrassment. Everyone else in the restaurant looked our

way, amused, and I felt even more conscious of myself. It was a strange feeling: loving

all the attention I was getting, and yet wanting all of it to end instantly.

The restaurant offered only self-service, but bent the rules occasionally for a large group

like ours. Everyone ordered from a lengthy menu and it so happened that each one of us

ordered a different item. That gave us a chance to taste a bit of everything and the one

who ordered the tastiest preparation ended up cribbing for not eating more than a bite of

the chosen meal.

All the time while eating, someone or the other was either cracking a joke or mimicking a

professor. Achal even used the restaurant floor to walk like Chaube.

The snacks were washed down with coffee, tea or lime-juice; and when the tables had

been cleared, Priya pulled out a gift-wrapped package from her hand-bag.

“This is from all of us, happy birthday, once again!”

I accepted the gift and thanked everyone. Sunil had prevented the group from buying me

anything else but a shirt. It was a simple, striped one; and I liked it instantly, and

immensely.

The crowd dispersed with a round of thanks and mention-nots; and byes and take-cares.

My roomies and I stayed back to help me settle the bill, which was not all that

pulverizing. I loved Kalyan.

Achal zoomed off on his Luna, while I helped Sunil pull out his moped from a cluster of

other vehicles that had been parked around it. The moped was nearly out in the open

when its front wheel stuck onto the foot-rest of a 250 cc Enfield Bullet motorcycle.

Unaware of the tangle, and bugged by his unyielding maneuverings, Sunil yanked his

moped with so much force that it toppled the Bullet, causing it to fall on several other

bikes parked near it. The loud crash that ensued attracted the attention of many

bystanders, including the burly owner of the fallen two-wheeler. We immediately heaved

the moped to its stand and rushed to undo the mess. Some considerate bystanders joined

in to help us out.

“Don’t you dare touch my bike!” barked a tall, heavy-set man in his early twenties, who

walked towards us from the restaurant. He wore a black leather jacket over a white,

round-neck T shirt. The bottom of his denim trousers formed a crumpled heap over his

sneakers. He had long, streaked hair and a three-day stubble. Both his wrists were

occupied by expensive accessories: the left had a huge, leather-strapped watch, and the

right had a gold bracelet. Most of his fingers had bulky rings. He walked calmly for

someone whose expensive bike lay tumbled on the street with a smashed headlamp and a

leaking tank. Sunil held my hand and pressed it as if asking me to stay composed. I took a

step ahead to shield Sunil as if a brawl on my birthday bash was my responsibility.

“That wasn’t deliberate…..” I started to speak to the tall guy who had closed upon us by

now. He didn’t wait for me to finish the sentence and grabbed my collar with a powerful,

deliberate thump on my chest. Sunil moved swiftly and used both his hands to pull him

away, seizing his free arm. But he got hold of Sunil’s wrist instead, and twisted it till he

winced with pain. I was too shocked to react immediately, and could only mutter, “Hey,

let go, you crook!”

“If you kids can’t handle a goddamned Luna, maybe you should try moving around in a

pram- with your mommas!” he howled with anger, “who do you think will pay for the

damage to my bike?”

“Santa Claus will pay!” we heard someone say. We were a bit relieved by the

interruption, because that distracted our tormentor, who loosened his grip just a tad. All

three of us turned towards the voice and we saw a familiar figure sitting on another bike,

a few feet away, with his back towards us. It was Kedar! He discarded his cigarette

without bothering to douse it, and jumped off his bike. The tall guy pushed us away and

turned to face his challenger.

“Leave those boys alone, Debu,” said Kedar as he approached us.

So the two know each other! And why not? They’re similar in so many ways!

“You stay out of this, Kedar,” said Debu, “this is none of your business.”

“Oh, yeah? These boys are from my hostel, so just keep your hands off them.”

“Can’t you see what these stupid kids from your hostel just did to my bike?

The taunt in your hostel provoked muffled laughter from some guys who stood by the

restaurant door. So Debu had back-up.

“Yes, I saw the whole thing, and it’s none of their fault,” boomed Kedar, closing upon

Debu. As they stood facing each other, just about an inch apart, I noticed that Kedar

outstood Debu by a good couple of inches. Then I saw Debu take a step backwards. For

me, it was victory of sorts.

Both hunks eyed each other for a while, and it was Debu who winked first. He gave us a quick, sharp glance before signaling his fellow-goons to get scarce from the scene. They left on other

bikes, noisily, leaving the Bullet sprawled on the road; Kedar gestured us to tidy up

things. We quietly hauled up Debu’s bike, as well as the other ones that had taken the toll.

Kedar had disappeared by the time we finished with the chore. He did not even give us a

chance to thank him, for we were sure to be dismantled by the time Debu had finished with

us. Sunil sheepishly said he was sorry for the way my birthday party ended.

Achal was more sorry for missing all the action, and claimed that he could have had

settled the matter all by himself, had he been there. So predictable he was.

The practical exams were filled with their own ups and downs, and almost everyone had

some or the other gaffe to tell about. Just before the biochemistry practical exams, for

example, Arun ran frantically and comically all around, in search of anyone who could

help him recall the name of the particular Vitamin, the properties, the sources, and the

benefits of which he had crammed by heart!

I did not do very badly, barring the physiology practical, where I still think that the

examiner, Mrs. Punjwani, was simply prejudiced against me:

I had dissected the frog perfectly, arranged all my equipments; even had perfect markings

on the oscillograph, with some manipulations, of course. Mrs. Punjwani was perhaps

turned off by my untroubled smile that I flashed at her, when she approached my table.

Maybe the examiners expect the examinees to be peeing in their pants all the time.

“What’s the difference between a frog and a toad?” she’d asked.

I looked at her with a deadpan face. Is this a biology class? Am I in class 12? This is

medical college, ma’m, and this is physiology. Ask me about physiology of the muscle,

ask me, damn it; ask me about actin and myosin, I’ve crammed it all night.

“I don’t know if this is a frog or a toad, ma’m, err…does it matter?”

“Yes, it does. You should know what you’ve cut up.”

“I know I’ve cut up a frog but I can’t tell why it’s not a toad.”

“Wrong. What you’ve cut up is a toad.”

I immediately glanced at the deceased amphibian, just to try and spot the differences.

“Ok, I’ll ask you physiology now, she said, pulling up a chair, indicating that she planned

to spend more time at my table than she could, standing upright. The questions that

followed and the answers I gave or rather didn’t give; made me wonder if I should have

given the frog/toad question a shot.

The results were out in a week’s time and about half of the class, including the three of

us, failed to score passing marks in all the four subjects. Pankaj did well to score sixty

percent marks, and Priya continued to chirp for her score ‘being a whisker short of passmarks’.

We were later consoled by several seniors, who maintained that the professors

deliberately gave measly marks for the first term exams to impress upon the students that

medical education wasn’t easy. As if we needed anyone to tell us that.