Dis-Orientation (nugget 2)

Sometime in July 2006 –
come all ye greenhorns,
Joyful and triumphant,
Come ye o come ye
To medical school …
I wonder, I wonder. That morning, I woke up with an extraordinary amount of butterflies and assorted woodland creatures assaulting my stomach and senses. It was the day of my orientation and the mood at home was jubilant, to say in the least. It was only the second time I was going to the university, the last time having been for my counselling.
As we drove into Manipal, the view pushed all thoughts of medicine out of my mind for the time being. There’s this one slope that you encounter just before entering Manipal, and the scenery still takes my breath away. Green dreams, blue sky and white bird song… oh yeah, and the omnipresent monkeys. But those are another story in the telling.
We drove into campus and past the newly erected monuments to NRI funding. I’ll tell you one thing; Manipal puts its money to good use. And by Manipal, I mean MAHE, or the Manipal Academy for Higher Education. To anyone who’s been there a couple of days, it becomes increasingly apparent that the two are indeed synonymous with each other. The University town has gained increasing prominence over the years, and now attracts students from all over the world, most of who were to become my classmates that year.
As the car rolled into the drive at Valley View International, I looked around apprehensively, but the drive was devoid of people, packed to the limit instead with Ambassadors, the pride of Indian roads( indeed, the only vehicles that can survive them). Was I late? Had the orientation been postponed? Had I read the venue wrong? Ok, calm down. Breathe. I walked into the foyer, and inside was pandemonium. Representatives from KMC Manipal was frantically ushering people upstairs, to Chaitya Hall, where the orientation programme was supposed to be held. Nothing short of a miracle, the Chief Guest was on time. I entered the packed hall and sat down with my parents.
Shortly after, the programme began, and then followed a series of speeches you couldn’t pay me to remember. I get it, medicine is a worthy profession; hard as hell, and therefore we were all fine specimens of humanity for attempting it. All I could think of was “Where on earth is the food?” Amazing how those supposedly motivational speeches had practically no effect on me. At the end of the programme, however, we were told to stand up. With a deafening scrape of chairs, the entire student body stood up as one. Slowly, hesitantly, we were made to repeat the Hippocratic oath. My first taste of the responsibility medicine would bring with it.
The only part of the entire programme I remember with clear detail was an address by Dr. Shakuntala Pai, or Shak Pai as she’s now (affectionately) called. She was supposed to give us a brief overview of the rules that we were to follow as students during our term in school. I was looking up at the Powerpoint presentation when a pair of worn out bathroom slippers appeared and she very sternly told us not to wear bathroom ‘chappals’ to class- ever- a rule which, true to form, I broke during the next one week (unintentionally, of course).
White symbolises purity and hence our coats were to remain spotless throughout the year. Easily enough said, but I challenge anyone who’s attended a histology class to prevent the eosin and haematoxylin dyes from having their share of fun.
Every other rule was punctuated by a reference to vegetable biryani, which I realised she must’ve had a fetish for. Still, she was the most entertaining part of the morning, and I was sorry to see the back of her.
This was followed by a break for lunch and then we were taken in batches to all the buildings where our classes would be held for the year. For the first time I got to see the people I would be spending the year with. A medley of accents emerged from the group, mostly North American and Canadian; N.B. – there is definitely a difference between the two, and they will never let you forget it. A few from the Middle East, conspicuous by their lack of an accent, Singaporean, Australian, Mauritian and Kenyan. To be honest, I was vaguely intimidated by all the diversity.
The only other thing I remember about that afternoon was the amount of walking involved. The buildings sprawled over a large distance and we ran from one department to another, bumping into other batches on the way. Anat, Physio and Biochem ... the words buzzed in my brain as I tried to find landmarks that would help me identify the buildings the next time round. As expected, I failed miserably. I mean, c’mon, how is one large tree different from another large tree, especially when observed while running past them?
I met very few people that day, mostly because I was in a hurry to get out of there – the weather was disgusting, as usual. Also, as a home-scholar, which was the term given to people who lived off campus, I’d missed out on the whole initial bonding that comes from moving into the hostels. I knew practically no one there, and yet they all seemed to know one another. It was as if I’d missed out on a very crucial part of university, more vital, perhaps, than the classes themselves. Anyway, I assured myself, it wasn’t so bad. That was probably why medicine was a 5 and ½ year course, to give everyone a chance to make the same friends three times over. On that vaguely happy note, I left the orientation as the first evening shower joined it.