Dedicate day to doctors with a difference, too

This Doctors’ Day, I’m reminded of my stint with the scalpel and scissors at a medical college. I landed up in Amritsar for higher education and the holy city became an integral part of the storehouse of my memories. With no medical college in my hometown two decades ago, I had no option but to stay put in Amritsar. Though I had no inclination of donning the white coat, it was my dad’s dream that I sincerely wanted to translate into reality.

Back in the good old days, getting a seat in a medical college was not as daunting as it is today. On top of it, the score in the qualifying test readily ensured me a seat in the medical college. But the journey ahead was not going to be as smooth as I had expected it to be.

I was an innately artistic soul with a predilection for painting, music, literature and birds. My father, on the contrary, a dedicated doctor, wanted to pass on his legacy to me, the burden of which my frail shoulders were not prepared to carry. His wish was nothing short of a command and nobody in the family dared defy his orders. His inarticulate, docile son was not capable of refusing to toe his line. Thus, blindly following in his footsteps I was in the medical college with bare minimum enthusiasm.

What finally brought me down on my knees was not the bulky books of medical science but the blood-curdling practical sessions. An animal lover was made to rip apart frogs and birds in dissection and vivisection sessions. The blood and gore at the laboratory would nauseate me ad nauseam and I would abstain from the practical sessions almost on a daily basis.

One day having bunked the class, I was caught napping in the college garden by a professor. The nemesis that befell on me was a Herculean one as I was deputed to participate in a postmortem session to help dissect a human body. With sweating palms and a trembling body, when I approached the ‘subject’, I fainted and fell flat on the ground.

Leaving the dead alone, the team of doctors rushed to the rescue of the live ‘subject’. This was perhaps the turning point of my life. I was declared unanimously misfit to become a doctor by the jury of professors. My father, too, had realised my predicament and thereon softening his stance allowed me to take admission in an arts college in Amritsar. Today, I am a doctor with a difference, in philosophy, a subject of subtlety.

My loving father finally forgave me fully when my younger sister successfully completed her MBBS and donned the white coat to serve humanity with utmost devotion. My father is now content that both his children are contributing to making a healthy society in their different ways. The dreams of both of us have got translated into reality without causing any differences. Thus, July 1 should not only be dedicated to doctors in white coats but also to all those doctors with a difference.

MY FATHER, A DEDICATED DOCTOR, WANTED TO PASS ON HIS LEGACY TO ME. HIS WISH WAS NOTHING SHORT OF A COMMAND AND NOBODY IN THE FAMILY DARED DEFY HIS ORDERS