A medical college is a very different universe. It is a place students come as strangers and go back as friends and sometimes even more than friends. In Armed Forces Medical College, Pune, students become brothers (never sisters though!) and share laughs, scares and sometimes even tears.
The legends of ragging were not the only stories in AFMC. There were many ‘enterprising’ students as well. As Basi Menon recalls, ‘Satwant Singh Lamba was from the E batch. He was a tall guy who joined AFMC in 1966. He was a broad chested man who was quite well known for his white coat, white pant , white shoes. He had also snagged ties from somewhere. He could do anything for some extra drinks or money. He could impersonate everybody. One of the episodes was that he goes to the Officers Institute (club) and posed like an officer. As students the officers institute was out of bounds for us. But he went. He sat there like an officer and had a couple of drinks and lo and behold to his bad luck, one of the teachers who taught us physiology happened to visit the institute for a drink. Satwant Singh Lamba still pretended to be an officer. Next day, this guy goes to meet the teacher in his office. He wishes him good morning and says, ‘I believe you met my twin brother. He was telling me about you.’ The teacher accepted this explanation but after a few weeks he understood everything. Once Satwant Singh Lamba went and inaugurated a school as a major saab. He was taking a walk somewhere and he saw this crowd. These people saw him and since he was always dressed smartly, they made him their chief guest since their chief guest did not come. The event was featured in a vernacular newspaper with his photograph. But he wasn’t good in studies. He left the medical college and he became a medical representative and given his ability to ‘adjust and manoeuvre in all kinds of circumstance’, he did well for himself.’
The floor and block monitors were very powerful people in the AFMC. For the freshers, they were God himself! As Firdaus Bot, an I batcher says, ‘If you could get the ‘kripa’ of the block monitor, no one could dare to rag you. When we came to AFMC, our block monitor had just one requirement. We had to get up at 6 am and go to his room to massage his feet. If anyone would ask us where we are going, we could take his name and we would be spared.’
Admiral Sudeep Naidu narrates his experience, ‘Soon, the college was flooded with new ‘murgas’ and the attention span of seniors waned a bit as far as I was considered. My floor monitor was from the senior most batches and lived at the end of the corridor in a room appointed to the manor born. I was the major domo tasked with keeping it clean and most importantly in charge of the mid-sized aquarium he had. This was stocked with many small colourful fish and it was my job to give them feed thrice a day and clear the muck which floats up. This “thrice” a day routine was proving to be a bit of a problem. The feeding schedule matched the exact times when the corridors were crawling with seniors, so I started altering it subtly to suit my requirements. This was instantly frowned upon and I got a warning. Sundays, when the good lord ordained rest, was particularly tough – creeping back into the hostel to feed the damn fish. One Sunday, the senior left for a long weekend to Bombay and I decided that fish were too dumb to recognise the hand that feeds them. The entire days feed was upturned in the bowl and I decamped to savour the sights of Pune. I crept back at seven in the evening and per chance thought, I should check on the feeding orgy the fish would have had. At first glance, everything seemed all right, but something was amiss. A closer scrutiny revealed that one of the prized Siamese fighters was missing. I shook the aquarium, rustled the weeds and checked the shells and one silly looking sunken boat, but there was no Siamese fighter lurking. Right at the end, I saw him or her! Belly bloated and floating at the top – very very dead! I was at my wits end now – the senior was cantankerous, doted on his fish and actually spoke to them. I had to replace it by next morning. I jogged out from the back gate, spent precious funds on an auto and reached the little pet shop at Bata crossing which was just pulling its shutters down. The owner at first refused to sell me a single Siamese insisting that they are always in pairs, until he realised I had only enough money for one! I parted with the princely sum of 10 rupees, came back, and plonked the fish in. The next two days were spent nervously watching for any recognition of the deed, but nothing happened. In fact, I noticed that this new ‘jodi’ did not swim around together and kept apart. Talk of disjointing “Siamese twins!”’
While ragging was a norm, there were some who escaped ragging all together and have no regrets about it. Firdaus Bot, an I batcher thanks his stars that he was a late admission to AFMC. ‘I was the last boy to be admitted in September. By then the ragging fever had subsided. When the warden counted me, there were 100 students. So 99 students had already been allotted triple seater rooms and I was the only one left and I could not be left alone. So, I got a room with a G batcher who was interning as an assistant warden. So, the seniors who wanted to meet me had to take permission and hence no one could rag me, I didn’t miss it because I was from Mumbai so I didn’t agree with this ragging concept.’
The girls probably had it a bit easier. Probably because each batch had 100 boys and 25 girls. Dr. Jatti Ravindranath recalls, ‘ Our job was to sing and dance in the girls hostel. I used to sing while my classmates used to do the cabaret during the night in front of all the girls. We couldn’t stop laughing because it was so funny. So, our seniors said that since you cannot stop laughing you need to put buckets on your heads and sing. We put plastic buckets over our heads and we would sing while the others would dance. We were told to oil our hair everyday and not wash it. We had to make pigtails with pink ribbons and look as unattractive as possible.’
Apart from the ragging, the students had a lot of other adventures as well. They were shows that the boys put up especially for girls too.
Admiral Sudeep Naidu says, ‘Something we looked forward too was the skits we had to put up on the roof of 1 top, facing the girl’s hostel (later U block). Planned over weeks, the arrangements would start late in the evening with electric cables being run to the roof for spotlights (table lamps covered with coloured crepe’ paper), a scratchy cassette player and props, all set up in pitch darkness. Then with a resounding entree’, the skit would start. It was always a sight to watch the girls shut of their lights one by one and to hear the giggles and gasps emanating from across the fence. The skits were always about lost love and aspiring Lotharios with messages being conveyed in prose, poetry and song. The best response was when the Mr. AFMC contest was conducted under lamp light with the 10 skinniest guys of the batch in their briefs, preening and strutting on the roof of 1 Top, accompanied by a raucous MC who behaved as he was at a Sotheby’s auction for prime males. I believe the girls had their own version of this staged in their quadrangle, but we were never privy to these lurid tales from across.’
The evenings and mornings of Jalsa were all about tales and stories from the good old days. The old and the young were busy recounting their adventures and misadventures with bursts of laughter. When they encountered a long lost friend, it was a heartfelt hug and a friendly slap on the back. Dr. Meeta Singh believes such reunions help bolster strong relationships. ‘When these long lost friends and classmates meet, it is like they time travel to the days where everything was fun and possible. We love organizing these events because we believe AFMC is one big family and like they say, the family that has fun together, is always together!’
– Concluded
This article by Shailaza Singh appeared in Rashtradoot Newspaper’s Arbit Section May 8th, 2024.
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