White Man in Dark

Becoming a doctor anywhere is no easy work, but becoming one here was equivalent to a squeeze – a tightness which would grip and render one motionless, there was interruption by a series of violent jolts which would shake your interior and exterior. There were those parasites and bugs to be memorized, that death and disease to be classified, that drug and the doze to be calculated, that organ and system to be identified and those muscles and nerves to be tested… for their function. There was so much of fear and so much of confusion. How would you do all – amidst so much tension outside? How does it feel when you study anatomy, physiology and biochemistry in a place which is besieged and caged, where fear thrives and uncertainty prevails, where indoors are trapdoors and outdoors death traps. Why does it go on like this? We always heard with interest about the past of our college – how it was fun to be there, how the bubble and charm of Medical College made it the place of envy for those who could not make it to be there. But for now, we were like a herd of cattle, driven to college in queues, and made to study medicine. Examinations were unwanted. Could we memorize Guyton and Snell’s when our neighborhood was mourning the death of a handsome boy – who went out to play cricket, could we remember those ‘reactions’ in biochemistry when our entire area was under crackdown. But yes, there were no shortcuts, whether we liked it or not, our examinations would be held, surprisingly in time. We were told, there would be concessions for us, and examiners would be lenient and blah, blah blah… But nothing of that sort happened. Examinations for first professional were tough; no helps came from any quarter. Burning midnight oil did not help too, for minds were out of focus. Bearing pain and panic, we made it to college on every examination day. Sometimes there were difficulties, I remember how my class fellow made it to college from the Downtown Srinagar on a day when no one was allowed to move out of his locality as it was ‘crackdown’ I can imagine how he must have got up from the rows of people sitting in an odd posture. I can imagine how he must have pleaded with the Khaki, guarding his group? I can imagine how he must have reasoned with him to set him free – for appearing in his exams. I can imagine how he must have convinced him… We saw him outside the examination hall, we witnessed his tremble and tremor, we saw his parched lips, heard his cracking voice… And he showed us his hand, drenched in sweat and the marks of faded ink on it… It was a ‘pass’ he told, written by one of the officers on his hand, it had helped him negotiate various layers of security as he was moving towards his college…. He dared not to go back, ‘ the faint faded pass’ on his hand would not be accepted and he preferred to stay back in the hostel but still hesitated to wash his hand… May be he would need the pass someday, so he let the imprint last till it would… No one would dare to come to the ‘Paradise on earth’. Not even the examiners. But then how could the examinations go on? Internal arrangements for examiners (from the same university) were permitted to let the academics continue. The internal arrangements were at times annoying for the students, as the same old faces would be there on the other side of the table – torturing the already tortured beings. With restricted enjoyments and burden of turmoil who would feel like reading or feel like working hard? But in spite of unwillingness, in spite of a noticeable disgust, the classes continued, the examinations were held – though never in time, postponements and cancellations became routine…. Some professors were sadists – no matter what would happen inside or outside, they would torture the students. I remember a professor who would call five or six of us into his room – make us line up and shoot questions at us. Our utterings would become public. Those were painful times when the other one would get the question you wished you would get and the chapter you had memorized the entire night would be skipped altogether. This exercise would make you feel low, and would save the professors time and give him an opportunity to ‘laugh out loud’ at you! First professional passed off…..many students failed, but they could join new classes with us, while preparing for a supplementary examination. It pained us to see their depression, but we couldn’t pause for them. They had to bear it all- memorizing, practicing alone during those fearful nights everything- that would push them across into the second professional. That night I remember, there was a gun battle in a nearby Mohalla, we all lied flat and put off our lights. Our asylum that night was a tiny store room which had no windows. There were too many of us in that tiny room and it was mid-July, the temperature high and the air motionless. As there was a lull after the rattle, I was in a fix why I couldn’t crawl back and go to my room? There were those parasites to be learnt, their life cycles, their hosts – the intermediate and the permanent, for a ‘stage’ the next day – what should be done? I was trying hard in that chocking place to memorize those bugs, I was making circles in my mind – connecting the hosts with the diseases they caused and ‘yes’ all seemed to fall apart as I heard a piercing shot perhaps coming from a rifle – it was too close and too sharp, to disturb everything that was in my mind. Safety first! I thought, as my sister pushed me inside further into the darkness of the store room. Recitation of Kalima came as a solace. There is no God but Allah, the forces person with his rifle and his furious mood was not Allah, neither was that Madam of Parasitology who could examine me the next day… It was past midnight when the rattle stopped, my mother lit a candle in the kitchen and we hurriedly had our dinner, not knowing the contents – just attempting to pour something into those bellies which were sucked in with fear. We wrapped ourselves with sheets on those mattresses put haphazardly on floor – no beds to be used, they could prove dangerous! The morning broke; we removed our heavy curtains, to look through the windows. Nothing outside, no activity. We knew- all of us, how we spent the night, but someone had to go outside to see how things were early morning? After sometime, a gentle morning breeze blew, the silence was replaced by the flutter and, we heard a stir an some taps coming from outside. People had started to move on the road-side; the rustle of a few cars was also heard. This population had survived another nightmare –and Thank God all had survived! What happened to me should not bother anyone. It was an isolated incident. The ‘stage’ had to go on… whether I failed or passed, no excuse would do… all I would be asked would be about bugs and nothing about the previous night’s misery…Badshah would come again and take me to the place where I had to be…