To the College I Never Wanted to Join

Med School Starter Pack:

• Neatly kempt hair
• Crisply pressed clothes
• Well-polished shoes
• A bright white apron

I entered the college with excitement. It still feels like yesterday; my mind refuses to believe that six years have passed.

The dissection hall scared a few, made a few faint, and amused others. But the strong, pungent smell of formalin definitely haunted all of us for weeks.

The first-year professional exams hit us hard—not because they were difficult, but because we were new to this world. Then came the second year, and we soon realized that medical school is never going to be like Arjun Reddy—a screwed-up alcoholic addict with anger management issues.

Every clinical posting was an experience in itself. Our wards were a constant reminder of how densely populated our country is, often filled with the odor of urine, pus, or at times unfortunately a blend of both.

In dimly lit, air-conditioned operation theatres, accompanied by the sound of beeping monitors, we learned how burnt tissue smells. We witnessed surgeons, often with a God complex, working meticulously with their blood-stained hands.

Every year, we transformed ourselves to look innocent by shaving off our facial hair to secure that coveted "Dharma Pass." Each trip was an emotion in itself, and deep down, we all know it was those trips that carried us through to the last day of our practical examinations.

Dear CHMC, you introduced me to terms like "Vidiyal Podradhu," "Rasam Kudikardhu," and "Dharma Pass."—phrases outsiders may not understand, but which will forever remain a part of our stories.

How grateful I am that you enlightened me about the intricacies of the human body and made me realize that we are God's greatest creation.

You taught me how to deal with life and death.

You witnessed my downfalls, heartbreaks, and moments of joy and somewhere along the way, you stopped being just a college. You became a home, a teacher, and a part of who I am.

I am grateful for everything that happened—for the professors, seniors, juniors, and friends who became part of this journey.

Dear CHMC, I'll be honest: you were never my first choice. But if life were to happen all over again, I will choose you again.

A million times.